The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles

by Julie Andrews

  "Okay."

  "Tell us about the zoo today," said Mr. Potter.

  "We met the funniest little man there," Lindy suddenly remembered. "He told us about an animal called a Whangdoodle. Have you ever heard of it, Daddy?"

  "A Whangdoodle? No, I can't say I have. What is it?"

  "I don't know. He said it looks a bit like a horse. It has horns. . . ."

  "I don't think there is such an animal," said Tom. "I told him so. He said to look it up in the dictionary when we got home."

  "Well, go ahead," said Mr. Potter.

  Tom ran into his father's study and took from a shelf a large, heavy, black dictionary that had obviously seen a great deal of use. He carried it carefully back into the living room and placed it on the table.

  The children gathered around him as he thumbed through the tissue-thin pages. "Watchband, waybill, webbing, Wessex, West Orange, whammy. Here we are," he suddenly cried excitedly. "Whangdoodle."

  "Oooh, what does it say?" Lindy pushed in close.

  "It says-'noun, slang: a fanciful creature of undefined nature." Tom looked up. "What the heck does that mean?"

  Mr. Potter rose and knocked his pipe against the side of the fireplace. "It probably means that a Whangdoodle is a made-up word for some kind of imaginary creature. Which, I would think, is why the dictionary uses the word 'fanciful' to describe it."

  "So I was right," Tom said. "A Whangdoodle doesn't exist."

  "Probably not," replied Mr. Potter.

  "There you are." Tom turned to Ben and Lindy. "I told you so."

  "But you're not sure about that," Lindy protested. "Yes, I am. I knew that old man was a phony."

  "Oh, he wasn't." Lindy turned to Ben. "You don't think he was, do you, Ben?"

  "Oh, Lindy. Who knows?" Ben sighed. "But if he wasn't a phony or crazy or anything, then what do you suppose he meant by all his talk?"

  "We shall probably never find out," Mrs. Potter summed up. "Come on, children, it's time to get ready for bed."

  THREE

  The following day Lindy wished very much that she had not accepted Tom's dare. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that she would never be able to approach Stone House on Halloween, or at any other time, for that matter. She was inwardly terrified at the whole idea, but her courage and pride forbade her from mentioning this to anyone. So she spent a very miserable day worrying about it.

  At bedtime, when Mrs. Potter came in to kiss her daughter good night, she found her lying wide-eyed and clutching her teddy bear.

  "Don't turn the light out, Mummy. I need to talk to you for a moment."

  "What is it, darling?"

  "I want to know something. Is it true you can die from fright?" she asked.

  Mrs. Potter tried not to smile at the solemnity with which Lindy asked her question. "Why? Are you frightened about tomorrow night?"

  Lindy nodded.

  "In what way are you frightened? Because you're going with the boys for the first time? Or is it something else?"

  "No, it's sort of that," Lindy said.

  "Well, you know, it's very easy to change your mind and come with Daddy and me instead."

  Lindy hesitated. "No, I really would like to go with the boys. I was just thinking about it."

  Mrs. Potter tucked the blankets snugly around her daughter.

  "Why don't you speak to Ben and tell him you're a bit worried? He's very understanding about things like that."

  Lindy felt a wave of relief at her mother's suggestion. Ben would watch out for her and keep her safe. She hugged her mother and kissed her.

  "Good night, Mummy."

  "Good night, darling. Sleep well."

  In spite of Mrs. Potter's comforting reassurance, Lindy had terrible nightmares that night. She spoke to Ben immediately after school the next day. "Ben, can you keep a secret?"

  "Of course I can."

  "Well . . .” Lindy took a deep breath. "You see, I'm a bit scared about tonight. I want to keep my dare and win the twenty-five cents. But I was wondering . . . would you please stay very near when I go up to Stone House? And if I scream or faint or anything will you come and save me?"

  Ben was flattered that Lindy would turn to him in a time of crisis and he answered in a big-brotherly way. "Of course I will, Lindy. Don't you worry about anything. I'll be right beside you."

  "Oh, Ben, that's super."

  At six thirty P.M., after a very early dinner, the children assembled at the front door to say goodbye to their parents.

  Lindy's lion costume was a great success. She wore a furry bonnet with two soft, pointed ears on top of it, and furry mittens. She had ruby lips and there were black whiskers painted on her cheeks and a large black spot on the tip of her nose. On the back of her costume, Mrs. Potter had pinned a long silken tail with a gold tassel at the end of it.

  Tom looked incredibly mean and ugly. He had put on his oldest clothes and padded them into a grotesque shape. He wore a pair of his father's shoes, which were much too big for him. He had used a gluelike substance to pull his face into an agonized expression. It made Lindy shudder just to look at him and even Mrs. Potter remarked in a startled voice, "Good heavens, Tom. Is that really you?"

  Ben looked rather dashing, considering he was meant to be Dracula. He wore a long black cloak with a high collar over a black turtleneck sweater and brown trousers. He had painted his face white and his lips a dark, purplish red. His wig was shiny black. The only really frightening touch was the two fangs he had attached to his teeth.

  Mr. Potter gave last-minute instructions. "Now, Dracula, you're in charge. Act in a responsible manner. No egg throwing, no vandalism."

  "How about shaving cream?" Tom asked.

  "Well, all right. In moderation. Off you go. Be home by nine thirty or ten. No later."

  It was dusk already and the streetlamps were glowing. Lindy, Tom and Ben saw people in costumes of every shape, color and size. There were ghosts and hoboes, Frankensteins and monsters, princesses and ballet dancers, gypsies, chimney sweeps and all manner of other disguises. Ghostly music emanating from some of the houses mingled with the sounds of cackling laughter and shrieking vampires. Candlelit pumpkins flickered while the moonlight cast moving shadows on the lawns.

  As the night grew darker Lindy pressed closer to Ben. Tom studied her.

  "Now, Lindy, are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, it's going to be spooky and dangerous."

  She nodded her head bravely.

  "Well, okay." Tom spoke with grudging admiration.

  The three children pushed on towards the town, occasionally pausing to knock on the door of any house that looked appealing and cheerful.

  They collected a sizable bag of candy, chewing gum and toffee apples—a good portion of which they happily ate. By the time they reached the park

  Lindy was feeling decidedly odd. She couldn't tell if it was from fear or from too many treats.

  There were two magnificent bonfires on the grass. Children were piling sticks and dry branches onto the flames, and sparks rose high into the air.

  But the nearer the Potter children got to Stone House the less activity they saw. The area was heavily wooded. The grass was higher and obviously uncared-for. Stone House loomed tall and ghostly grey in the moonlight.

  Lindy pulled Ben to a halt outside a pair of large iron gates. "You've got to come in with me," she whispered. "I'll never make it alone." The gate creaked on rusty hinges. Lindy's heart was pounding.

  There was not a sign of life anywhere as they tiptoed along the edge of the gravel drive. Dry leaves crackled under their feet. A loose shutter banged noisily in an upstairs window of the house and all three children jumped with fright.

  The wind moaned through the branches of the trees. A dog howled and, as the children paused near the front door, an owl hooted mournfully in the darkness. Lindy's legs almost gave out beneath her and she was close to tears.

  "I told you this'd be too much for her," Tom hisse
d nervously.

  Ben motioned him to be quiet. A light swung and glowed on the porch, revealing grey paint, cracked and flaked from wind and rain. Another light shone high up in the house, and another at the back spilled a ghostly yellow beam onto the grass.

  "Lindy, it's now or never," Ben said solemnly. He let go of his sister's hand. "Do you think you can make it?"

  Her eyes were wide with fear and she swayed a little.

  "Go on, go on," Tom said and he prodded her in the back.

  "Don't do that," she snapped.

  She took a deep breath and began to walk. She fixed her eyes on the elaborate door knocker and looked neither right nor left. The few yards to the porch seemed endless. Her shoes made a hollow sound as she climbed the wooden steps.

  The owl hooted again as she stood on tiptoe and raised a trembling hand to the door knocker. With a burst of courage she banged it hard three times. The sound rang out in the stillness of the night and echoed through the trees. For a brief moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the front door swung open and a very sweet and cheerful-looking lady stood smiling down at her.

  Lindy let out a piercing scream.

  Tom and Ben charged out of the darkness.

  "I'm here, Lindy!" shouted Ben.

  "You leave my sister alone!" Tom yelled.

  The boys' sudden appearance scared the lady so badly that she screamed too. This had the interesting effect of completely silencing the children. There was a sound of running footsteps inside the house and a voice cried out, "What is it, Mrs. Primrose? I'm coming." A small, funny-looking gentleman raced out of the house and flung a protective arm around the lady's ample figure.

  "What on earth have we here?" The man peered at the children. "A lion and a Dracula and some other weird fellow. No, it's the Hunchback of Notre Dame. But wait a minute. Wait a minute. Bless my soul. Haven't we all met before?"

  Ben cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. We met you at the zoo last Sunday."

  "Of course. But how very nice." He seemed genuinely pleased as he turned to his housekeeper. "Mrs. Primrose, these children are my friends. What on earth is all the fuss about?"

  Everyone started talking at once. The man held up his hands. "I really think this should be explained inside, where we will be out of the cold. Mrs. Primrose, we'll have some hot chocolate and whipped cream for everyone, please. Come in, come in," he said to the children, and he held the door open invitingly.

  FOUR

  The house was marvelously interesting. To the left of a wide staircase stood a complete suit of armor. There were portraits on the walls, and it was easy for the children to guess that they were ancestors or relatives of their host since the resemblance to him was unmistakable.

  There was a round table in the center of the hall, overflowing with books and magazines. The brass centerpiece was bursting with orange and red and yellow chrysanthemums.

  The man ushered the children into a small room. There were so many books that there didn't seem to be space for anything else. Yet there was also a desk with a swivel chair behind it, and a large globe of the world standing in the corner. Three complex and wonderful mobiles hung from the ceiling.

  The man motioned for them to sit down by the fire. "You'll have to sit on the carpet, I'm afraid," he said. "You see, I never have more than one armchair in here. It discourages company. Though of course

  I'm very pleased to see you this evening." He sat down in the chair. "Now, let me see if I can remember your names. You're Melinda and you're Benjamin. Right?"

  Ben and Lindy nodded.

  "And, oh dear." He paused as he looked at Tom. "Is it Teddy?"

  "Thomas, sir."

  "Thomas, of course. Silly of me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Samuel Savant."

  Ben gasped. "Golly. Are you the Professor Savant? The one who works at the University?"

  "I am."

  "Dad was telling us about you the other day," Tom said.

  "Was he, indeed?"

  "Yes. Where's your prize?" Lindy asked.

  "My prize?"

  "She means the Nobel Prize, sir."

  The professor chuckled. "I won't be receiving it for a while. But come now. I am most interested to know how you found me."

  "We didn't know this was your house," said Tom. "We were out trick-or-treating," explained Ben. "Tom bet me twenty-five cents that I wouldn't knock on the door," added Lindy. "I thought an awful witch lived here."

  "A witch? Mrs. Primrose, are you a witch?" the professor asked as the sweet-looking woman entered the room with a tray.

  "I sometimes think I'd like to be one, sir," she said with a smile.

  Mrs. Primrose gave a steaming mug of hot chocolate to each child, and placed a plate of cookies on the floor in front of them.

  The professor sipped his hot chocolate. "Mm, that's good. So, you thought a witch lived here, eh?"

  Ben felt embarrassed. "Everyone at school thinks this house is haunted."

  Their host suddenly became serious.

  "I'm afraid I'm responsible for that rumor. You see, I do hate to be bothered. I need a lot of peace and quiet when I'm working."

  "What do you really do?" asked Tom.

  "Well—I think a lot."

  "That's not much," said Lindy.

  "On the contrary. It's a great deal," replied the professor. "Right now I'm thinking about life. I ask myself questions about it—its origin and its meaning. Believe me, that takes a great deal of thought." He leaned forward in his chair. "Do you know that the secret of life has almost been captured? It's part of the alphabet now. Have you heard of DNA and RNA?"

  "I think so, sir," Ben said, but he looked puzzled and Tom shook his head.

  "DNA. That stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. Good word, huh?" The professor grinned.

  "What does it mean?" Ben wanted to know.

  "Well, let's see if I can explain it very simply." The professor touched the tips of his fingers together as he gave it some thought. "Try to imagine a human cell. A single, microscopically small unit of life. Inside the nucleus, the very center, is a sort of ladder, a ladder twisted into a spiral. On that spiral is all the information as to how life comes about."

  "That's a bit too complicated for me," said Tom.

  "It is indeed complicated," answered the professor. "Actually it's miraculous. And DNA and RNA are the codes to life itself."

  "I always thought life had to do with G.O.D.," said Lindy in a clear voice.

  "Oh, my dear." The professor laughed and touched her head gently. "I'm sure it does have a lot to do with G.O.D. Believe me, I think about Him a great deal too. But, however life began—and some scientists say it was by an incredible accident, and some say it was by God's design—we do have the unique privilege of being on this earth right now, and that's something we shouldn't take lightly."

  "I like life very much," declared Lindy. She was a trifle confused by all the talk, though she was trying her best to understand it. "There's only one thing I really hate, and that's P.E."

  "P.E.?"

  "Physical education."

  "Oh, I see."

  "I'm absolutely no good at it," complained Lindy. "And I'm always being forced to do it."

  Tom spoke in a disgusted tone. "Lindy, that has absolutely nothing to do with what we're talking about."

  "I know, I know," she fibbed.

  "I hope P.E. is the most serious problem you ever have to contend with," the professor said. He paused and then asked, "What do you suppose is the most serious problem that grown-ups have?"

  The children gave it some thought.

  Tom said, "Ecology."

  "Daddy says it's too much starch in his shirts," said Lindy.

  "I think it's the hydrogen bomb," said Ben after a moment.

  "They're good answers. Ben is the closest, I think. But there is one thing more serious than that."

  "More serious than the hydrogen bomb?" Ben was surprised.

  "Oh, yes, indeed. You see, in a very short ti
me the scientists who have discovered the secret of life will be able to make life. Then in a way we'll be playing G.O.D., as Lindy so aptly puts it. That's a huge responsibility. And we must hope that people won't be foolish. You know, the mind is a thing of extraordinary beauty. It has taken several million years for the human brain as we know it today to develop. Now all we have to do is to learn how to use it properly."

  Nobody in the room spoke for a while. The fire crackled noisily. The professor seemed lost in thought.

  Suddenly he came out of his reverie and addressed himself to Tom. "Did you look up Whangdoodle' in the dictionary as I suggested, young man?"

  Tom smiled knowingly. "I did. And it doesn't make sense. Dad says a Whangdoodle probably doesn't exist."

  "Of course it exists," the professor declared. "I told you it did."

  'Well, where is the Whangdoodle? Where does it live?" challenged Tom.

  Professor Savant looked at the children for a long moment, as though trying to make up his mind about something. Then he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and said quietly: "The Whangdoodle lives in Whangdoodleland, where he is king. He is the only animal left of his species, although there are other wonderful, fascinating creatures that live with him. There are Gazooks and Sidewinders. Tree Squeaks and Swamp Gaboons. There is an animal called an Oinck and another called a Prock. They have hardly ever been seen; in fact they would do anything possible to avoid mankind. So far, they have been remarkably successful."

  The boys were enthralled. Lindy was so fascinated that she gazed at the professor with her mouth open as he continued. "Hundreds of years ago, things were very different. Man believed in magic and miracles and folklore and legend. Myths and witchcraft and the spirits and such were all quite real because people believed in them.

  "There were many Whangdoodles. They were found mostly in China and Greece, Africa, England and the Scandinavian countries. Later, I believe, there were some Whangdoodles found in the islands of the Pacific."

  The professor opened his eyes and stretched his legs towards the fire. "The popularity of the Whangdoodle was probably at its height in the Middle Ages, when people also believed in animals like the Unicorn and the Wyvern and the great Roc and the Hippogriff. The Whangdoodle was said to be the wisest, the most generous and the most endearing of all the creatures.