"As the years passed, man became involved in technology and agriculture and industry. Of course, it was natural for him to want to learn about his environment and the laws of nature, about the universe and how to get to the moon, and so on. But as he broadened the new part of his mind, so he closed down a beautiful and fascinating part of the old—the area of fantasy. The more knowledge man gained, the more self-conscious he became about believing in fanciful creatures. People began to think that such things as dragons, goblins and gremlins didn't exist. The terrible thing is that when man dismissed all the fanciful creatures from his mind, the Whangdoodles disappeared along with them."
"But where did the Whangdoodles go?" cried Lindy.
"By the time the Whangdoodles and the other animals realized what was happening to them, it was almost too late," said the professor. "There was a tremendous upheaval. The dragons and the monsters became fearfully anxious, and they made a great fuss and fought with each other and killed or destroyed themselves by the thousands. Which was no help at all, of course. Many of the wonderful creatures from the past just faded away from sadness and neglect. That is why only a few remain today.
"King of them all is the last of the really great Whangdoodles. Being very wise and very clever, he retreated to a realm where man could not see or harm him."
"But if no one can see him, how do you know he's there?" asked Lindy.
The professor took a moment to drink the last of his hot chocolate, then he carefully set the cup to one side. "I know he's there, because I have been to Whangdoodleland."
The children sat in stunned silence.
He continued, "I have not actually met the Whangdoodle. He's elusive, and of course, he's as anxious to avoid me as I am determined to try to meet him."
"Well, where is Whangdoodleland?" Lindy whispered. "How do you get there?"
The professor spoke slowly and distinctly.
"There is only one possible road you can take," he said, "and that is to go by way of your imagination."
"But that's ridiculous," Ben cried. "You couldn't use your imagination to go anywhere."
Tom said in a disbelieving voice, "That's just impossible."
"No it isn't. Nothing is impossible," replied the professor. "In fact, I have a saying in my office: `Whatever man imagines is possible.' I've proved that hundreds of times in my work."
"Okay. Then how did you do it?" challenged Tom.
"I had to go into training. I had to stimulate and teach my mind to become aware and open to any possibility. I was like an astronaut preparing to go to the moon. Think how long they study before they begin their journey. That's a perfect example of what I'm talking about." The professor jabbed a finger at the children. "Two hundred years ago who would have believed it possible that man could get to the moon? It would have seemed just as fanciful as my saying today that I have been to Whangdoodleland. But man imagined going to the moon, and now it's a reality."
Lindy asked a vital question. "But do you suppose we could ever get to Whangdoodleland? Do you suppose ordinary people like us could ever see it?"
The professor smiled a secret smile. "Yes, I believe you could," he said casually. "It would mean a great deal of hard work. But you're young and you actually stand a better chance of getting there than most adults. Your imaginations are vivid and fresh and you haven't closed your minds to possibilities the way so many grown-ups have."
"What would we have to do?" Tom asked cautiously.
"You would study with me," said the professor. "We would have to meet each day and work hard. When I thought you were ready we would begin trying to find the Whangdoodle. But you would have to do exactly as I say. More importantly, you would not be able to mention this to another living soul."
"Couldn't I tell Mummy?" asked Lindy.
The professor shook his head. "No, Lindy, it would spoil everything. You see, most grown-ups would not—indeed, they could not—understand what we would be trying to do."
"Then how come you understand so much about the Whangdoodle?" demanded Tom.
"That's because I am different. Some people consider me an eccentric. I specialize in imagination. I imagine things most people wouldn't even dream of."
"Like DNA and RNA," said Ben.
"Precisely. And the Whangdoodle. I have made it my life's work to study this extraordinary creature."
"I'd sure love to see a Whangdoodle," Ben said thoughtfully. "Gosh, what a thrill that'd be. To be the only people to have seen it in all these years."
"I still don't really see how it's possible," said Tom. "But it would be fun. What about Lindy, though?
Do you suppose she should go? She's too young, isn't she?"
"Of course I'm not," Lindy protested instantly. "I'm old enough to go. Aren't I, Professor?"
"I would think it important that you go, Lindy," he replied. "Being the youngest, your imagination is the most fertile. You could help where the rest of us might fail."
"See!" She turned in triumph to her two brothers.
"But wait a minute." The professor held up his hand. "I have not yet said that you could go."
The children all spoke at once. "Oh, please, Professor, do let us."
"We'd love to go."
"We'll do anything you say."
The professor deliberated a moment.
Finally he said, "All right. But there have to be conditions. First of all, I must be in complete charge. Secondly, you must tell your mother that we have met this evening and that I will be telephoning her to discuss your coming visits. I think that is correct and it will save your parents worry. The third condition is the one I have already mentioned. You must not talk of this to anyone. Is that quite clear?"
The children nodded.
"Then I see no reason why we should not try this experiment together. I should just add that, once committed, there can be no turning back for any of us." He turned to Tom and Ben. "Are you ready to take on that responsibility?"
Without a moment's hesitation, the boys nodded. The professor looked at Lindy.
"When can we get started?" she asked eagerly.
The professor walked to the study door and called for Mrs. Primrose. He said politely, "I'm afraid that I must leave you now. Ah, Mrs. Primrose, I would like you to jot down the telephone number of my friends here and then perhaps you'd show them out for me." He smiled at the children. "I shall expect you after school on Friday. Goodbye for the time being. Goodbye."
The children were left with the feeling that there were a thousand questions they would like to have asked. The evening had passed so rapidly. It was already late.
Professor Savant walked quickly up the wide staircase of his house until he came to the third landing. He passed through a draped archway and proceeded to climb a narrower flight of stairs until he reached a small white door. He took from his waistcoat pocket a key on a silver chain and, inserting it into the lock, he let himself into a most unusual room. At the far end, at the top of a spiral staircase, beneath a wide skylight, there stood a large telescope pointing to the heavens. Next to it was a large planetarium globe. A bench in the center of the room contained a most complicated series of beakers and flasks.
Against the right wall stood a pyramid of cages containing white mice, a hamster, a toad and one extraordinary, multicolored rabbit.
Hanging from the ceiling above the bench was an amazing structure. It resembled a finely wrought stepladder and it was made of different-colored plastic segments, all brightly illuminated. A high-backed wing chair faced away from the door.
The professor closed the door behind him and approached the chair, speaking in a quiet voice. "So sorry to keep you waiting, Prock. I had some unexpected visitors."
"So I gathered," said a distinctly unusual voice. A unique figure rose from the chair in one sinuous movement.
The visitor was tall and exceedingly thin. He had a long, narrow face which accentuated his large black eyes and prominent nose. He had a long body and very long arms. His legs
seemed permanently bent at the knees and his shoulders hunched forward. His hands were limp, the fingers thin and tapered.
The stranger wore baggy pants and a loose turtleneck sweater which did not sit comfortably on his narrow shoulders. On his head a battered grey trilby hat was pulled down at a rakish angle.
"So, you're thinking of taking those three to Whangdoodleland, eh?" he said. His voice had a stretched, echoing quality—a rasping whisper that seemed to hang in the air long after he had spoken.
"I was considering it, yes," replied the professor easily.
"Well, you're a fool," said the Prock rudely. "Except for you, no one has ever reached Whangdoodleland, and no one ever will again. You're wasting your time, and you'll find yourself saddled with children who'll turn out to be a big nuisance."
"That's a possibility," said the professor. "But on the other hand, we could just make it, my friend."
"Hmph." The Prock looked bad-tempered. "It's a clever idea, I'll grant you that. One thing's for sure—you'd never reach the Whangdoodle on your own. And I'm going to do everything I can to stop you and the children. I'm not even going to mention this to His Majesty. He'd only fret."
"I wish you'd tell him that I mean no harm."
"I'll do no such thing." The Prock was highly indignant. "Can't see why you're so anxious to pursue this idea of yours anyway. Why don't you just leave us in peace?" he grumbled.
"But I've no intention of disturbing the peace. Can't you see that?" said the professor.
"It's not only you we're worried about," the Prock continued. "If you make it to Whangdoodleland with the children, what's to stop others from doing it? It's too big a risk to take and I won't allow it," he snapped.
"Nevertheless, I do intend to try this experiment." The professor was quietly adamant. "Right now, I don't think there's a thing you can do about it, Prock."
"Not now, no." The Prock was distinctly annoyed. "But I'll be waiting for you, and you won't get far." He wagged a spindly finger at the professor. "Those children won't be so easy to teach, although I'll enjoy watching you try. In fact, I'll be watching everything you do from now on."
He eased himself to the door with a slithering, sliding walk. "I'm going," he declared. "This whole conversation has given me a terrible headache."
Without even bothering to say goodbye, the Prock drew himself up to an immense height and then, as if being pulled by an invisible hand, he slid down to the floor in a single motion and disappeared through the crack under the door.
FIVE
Mrs. Potter was thrilled when the professor telephoned to ask if the children could come to tea. She asked them again and again for details of their visit. "What is the professor like? What did he say? What kind of house does he live in?" They told her all they could without once mentioning the Whangdoodle. It was hard on Lindy, for she was very excited and she desperately wanted to tell someone about their plans. But her brothers reminded her of the professor's warning and she remained silent. -
The following Friday after school, Ben, Tom and Lindy found themselves back at Stone House.
"The professor is out in the garden," Mrs. Primrose said cheerfully as she showed the children into the lounge. She opened the French windows and pointed to a small pavilion on the other side of the lawn. "He's over there."
"Hello, hello, hello." The professor's head popped up over the trellis. "Come and see what I've got."
The children ran across the grass. Professor Savant was kneeling on the floor of the summerhouse, playing with a large multicolored rabbit.
"Ohhh." Lindy dropped to her knees. "Isn't he beautiful."
"What's his name?" asked Tom.
"Sneezewort. He lives in my laboratory. I hate to see him in a cage all the time, so I bring him down for a walk as often as I can."
"Where did you get him?" Ben wanted to know.
"Sneezewort is the result of a study I did in crossbreeding," the professor said proudly. "His great-grandfather was a Belgian hare and his great-grandmother was a Himalayan black-and-white. I went on from there. You should have seen the combinations I produced." He chuckled.
Lindy held out a rolled piece of paper that she had been carrying. "Here, Professor. I did a drawing for you." She shyly handed it to him. "It's a Whangdoodle."
"Why, Lindy. How nice." The professor unrolled the paper. "But that's wonderful. That looks very much like a Whangdoodle. But you've left out his bedroom slippers."
"Bedroom slippers?" asked Tom.
"Yes. He always wears bedroom slippers. Actually he grows them, and each year he grows a different pair—a different color and a different style."
Lindy drew in her breath. "That's fantastic."
"It is, isn't it?" agreed the professor. "And what's more, the Whangdoodle never knows what the slippers will look like until he has shed the old pair and grown the new. It's a surprise even to him."
The children hardly had time to digest this piece of information when the professor continued. "There's one other remarkable thing about the Whangdoodle. He can change color whenever he feels like it. It's a safety device. He can blend in with anything so no one can see him."
Lindy whispered, "What color is he normally?"
"Oh, a sort of warm grey-brown. Rather ordinary, really," the professor replied. "But of course if he's feeling cheerful he can turn Scotch plaid if he wants to."
The children laughed delightedly. "He sounds like such fun," said Lindy. "Does he have a beautiful palace?"
"Well, I've only seen it from a distance. But it is rather remarkable. Lots of turrets and things, you know."
"Does he live there alone?" Ben asked.
"Oh, yes. Totally."
Lindy was concerned. "Doesn't he get lonely?"
"I would think so."
"Why is the Whangdoodle a king?" asked Tom. "Because he's the best of all the creatures. I told you about that, remember?"
"So he's very smart?"
"Smart? I should say so," the professor replied emphatically. "Could you grow bedroom slippers? Or change color? Could you preserve peace? Yes, indeed—he is quite remarkable, and if we are ever going to see him we must get to work."
The children seated themselves beside the professor and he pointed to the garden.
"First of all, take a look around," he said. "A very good look. Now, I want you to tell me all the colors that you can see. Benjamin, I think you should begin."
Ben had the feeling that he was not going to be very good at this kind of exercise. "Well," he began hesitantly, "I see the grey house. Brown trees and a blue sky. Oh, and green grass, of course."
"Is that all?"
"Well, I see a dark-brown roof and the curtains at that window."
"Tom, what about you?"
"This white summerhouse," Tom began, "and I see Sneezewort. A green door. Er—that's all, except for what Ben said."
The professor turned to Lindy.
She took a deep breath. "There are little white clouds in the sky and those leaves are golden. There's a bird with a red-brown chest. Your logs over there are sort of yellow. Those flowers are orange and white."
"They're late chrysanthemums," said the professor. "We'll have a look at them in a moment. But first of all, look at the trees again. They're not just brown, are they? That one there is almost black. And the trunk of that one is copper and smooth, and that one is grey and rough. Those dead leaves are a russet color, aren't they? Now look under the hedge there. Do you see anything?"
The children looked. They saw nothing.
"Can't you see the cluster of red berries hanging up under the leaves?"
The children looked closer. Suddenly, as if the focus were being changed on a camera, the red berries came into their view.
"Why didn't I see them?" Tom was bewildered.
"Because you weren't looking," replied the professor. "There aren't many people in this world who really know how to look. Usually one glance is enough to register that grass is green and the sky is blue
and so on. They can tell you if the sun is shining or if it looks like rain, but that's about all. It's such a pity, for there is texture to everything we see, and everything we do and hear. That's what I want today's lesson to be about. I want you to start noticing things. Once you get used to doing it you'll never be able to stop. It's the best game in the world."
The children found themselves beginning to share the professor's excitement; he spoke with such passion and enthusiasm.
"Every walk we take from now on, every place that we go," he continued, "I want you to tell me all that you see. Even this close to winter you'll be surprised how much color there is. In the town there'll be shops and rooftops, flags and curtains and bright lights, traffic signals, balloons, the colors of cars and the clothes people are wearing.
"In the country, there will be color in the leaves and flowers and trees, under the hedgerows, by the wayside, in the grass." He pointed to the ground. "Ben, look closely here. See the earth between the blades? See how rough and hard it is after the frost? Think of being as small as an ant down there. Look at it as if you were indeed a beetle or a worm. Wouldn't the earth be different to you then? Wouldn't it be a whole new countryside? The lumps of clay would be mountains and the blades of grass would be a forest."
Ben stared at the ground and to his amazement he saw what the professor meant. "I've never thought to look at it that way before," he said. He was completely fascinated.
The professor slapped his knee. "Well, that's just my point. Nobody thinks to look."
He turned to Lindy. "Tell me what you see in the hedgerow there, Lindy. Do you see anything beyond that opening in the branches? Can you see how the shadow on the grass makes it look as though there's a path in there and that it might lead somewhere exciting?"
Lindy looked at the hedge carefully and concentrated hard. The light and shade played strange tricks on her eyes. There was a shimmering quality to the afternoon, and her head felt a little fuzzy. It seemed to her as though the hedge began to move, to twist into a different shape, like a tunnel. She leaned forward, mesmerized. For one second she was convinced that if she could just go through the tunnel she would come out into a new and unknown land. She was so excited that she looked up at the professor to tell him about it, and as she did so the spell was broken.
The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles Page 3
