Mr. Munchausen
XIV
THE POETIC JUNE-BUG, TOGETHER WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE GILLYHOOLY BIRD
"Uncle Munch," said Diavolo one afternoon as a couple of bicyclerssped past the house at breakneck speed, "which would you rather have,a bicycle or a horse?"
"Well, I must say, my boy, that is a difficult question to answer,"Mr. Munchausen replied after scratching his head dubiously for a fewminutes. "You might as well ask a man which he prefers, a hammock or asteam-yacht. To that question I should reply that if I wanted to sellit, I'd rather have a steam-yacht, but for a pleasant swing on a coolpiazza in midsummer or under the apple-trees, a hammock would be farpreferable. Steam-yachts are not much good to swing in under an appletree, and very few piazzas that I know of are big enough--"
"Oh, now, you know what I mean, Uncle Munch," Diavolo retorted,tapping Mr. Munchausen upon the end of his nose, for a twinkle in Mr.Munchausen's eye seemed to indicate that he was in one of his chaffingmoods, and a greater tease than Mr. Munchausen when he felt that wayno one has ever known. "I mean for horse-back riding, which would yourather have?"
"Ah, that's another matter," returned Mr. Munchausen, calmly. "Now Iknow how to answer your question. For horse-back riding I certainlyprefer a horse; though, on the other hand, for bicycling, bicycles arebetter than horses. Horses make very poor bicycles, due no doubt tothe fact that they have no wheels."
Diavolo began to grow desperate.
"Of course," Mr. Munchausen went on, "all I have to say in thisconnection is based merely on my ideas, and not upon any personalexperience. I've been horse-back riding on horses, and bicycling onbicycles, but I never went horse-back riding on a bicycle, orbicycling on horseback. I should think it might be exciting to gobicycling on horse-back, but very dangerous. It is hard enough for meto keep a bicycle from toppling over when I'm riding on a hard,straight, level well-paved road, without experimenting with my wheelon a horse's back. However if you wish to try it some day and will getme a horse with a back as big as Trafalgar Square I'm willing to makethe effort."
Angelica giggled. It was lots of fun for her when Mr. Munchausenteased Diavolo, though she didn't like it quite so much when it washer turn to be treated that way. Diavolo wanted to laugh too, but hehad too much dignity for that, and to conceal his desire to grin fromMr. Munchausen he began to hunt about for an old newspaper, or a lumpof coal or something else he could make a ball of to throw at him.
"Which would you rather do, Angelica," Mr. Munchausen resumed, "go tosea in a balloon or attend a dumb-crambo party in a chicken-coop?"
"I guess I would," laughed Angelica.
"That's a good answer," Mr. Munchausen put in. "It is quite asintelligent as the one which is attributed to the Gillyhooly bird.When the Gillyhooly bird was asked his opinion of giraffes, hescratched his head for a minute and said,
"'The question hath but little wit That you have put to me, But I will try to answer it With prompt candidity.
The automobile is a thing That's pleasing to the mind; And in a lustrous diamond ring Some merit I can find.
Some persons gloat o'er French Chateaux; Some dote on lemon ice; While others gorge on mixed gateaux, Yet have no use for mice.
I'm very fond of oyster-stew, I love a patent-leather boot, But after all, 'twixt me and you, The fish-ball is my favourite fruit.'"
"Hoh" jeered Diavolo, who, attracted by the allusion to a kind of birdof which he had never heard before, had given up the quest for a paperball and returned to Mr. Munchausen's side, "I don't think that was avery intelligent answer. It didn't answer the question at all."
"That's true, and that is why it was intelligent," said Mr.Munchausen. "It was noncommittal. Some day when you are older and knowless than you do now, you will realise, my dear Diavolo, how valuablea thing is the reply that answereth not."
Mr. Munchausen paused long enough to let the lesson sink in and thenhe resumed.
"The Gillyhooly bird is a perfect owl for wisdom of that sort," hesaid. "It never lets anybody know what it thinks; it never makespromises, and rarely speaks except to mystify people. It probably hasjust as decided an opinion concerning giraffes as you or I have, butit never lets anybody into the secret."
"What is a Gillyhooly bird, anyhow?" asked Diavolo.
"He's a bird that never sings for fear of straining his voice; neverflies for fear of wearying his wings; never eats for fear of spoilinghis digestion; never stands up for fear of bandying his legs and neverlies down for fear of injuring his spine," said Mr. Munchausen. "Hehas no feathers, because, as he says, if he had, people would pullthem out to trim hats with, which would be painful, and he never goesinto debt because, as he observes himself, he has no hope of payingthe bill with which nature has endowed him, so why run up others?"
"I shouldn't think he'd live long if he doesn't eat?" suggestedAngelica.
"That's the great trouble," said Mr. Munchausen. "He doesn't livelong. Nothing so ineffably wise as the Gillyhooly bird ever does livelong. I don't believe a Gillyhooly bird ever lived more than a day,and that, connected with the fact that he is very ugly and keepshimself out of sight, is possibly why no one has ever seen one. He isknown only by hearsay, and as a matter of fact, besides ourselves, Idoubt if any one has ever heard of him."
Diavolo eyed Mr. Munchausen narrowly.
"Speaking of Gillyhooly birds, however, and to be serious for amoment," Mr. Munchausen continued flinching nervously under Diavolo'sunyielding gaze; "I never told you about the poetic June-bug thatworked the typewriter, did I?"
"Never heard of such a thing," cried Diavolo. "The idea of a June-bugworking a typewriter."
"I don't believe it," said Angelica, "he hasn't got any fingers."
"That shows all you know about it," retorted Mr. Munchausen. "Youthink because you are half-way right you are all right. However, ifyou don't want to hear the story of the June-bug that worked thetype-writer, I won't tell it. My tongue is tired, anyhow."
"Please go on," said Diavolo. "I want to hear it."
"So do I," said Angelica. "There are lots of stories I don't believethat I like to hear--'Jack the Giant-killer' and 'Cinderella,' forinstance."
"Very well," said Mr. Munchausen. "I'll tell it, and you can believeit or not, as you please. It was only two summers ago that the thinghappened, and I think it was very curious. As you may know, I oftenhave a great lot of writing to do and sometimes I get very tiredholding a pen in my hand. When you get old enough to write real longletters you'll know what I mean. Your writing hand will get so tiredthat sometimes you'll wish some wizard would come along smart enoughto invent a machine by means of which everything you think can betransferred to paper as you think it, without the necessity ofwriting. But as yet the only relief to the man whose hand is worn outby the amount of writing he has to do is the use of the type-writer,which is hard only on the fingers. So to help me in my work twosummers ago I bought a type-writing machine, and put it in the greatbay-window of my room at the hotel where I was stopping. It was amagnificent hotel, but it had one drawback--it was infested withJune-bugs. Most summer hotels are afflicted with mosquitoes, but thisone had June-bugs instead, and all night long they'd buzz and butttheir heads against the walls until the guests went almost crazy withthe noise.
"At first I did not mind it very much. It was amusing to watch them,and my friends and I used to play a sort of game of chance with themthat entertained us hugely. We marked the walls off in squares whichwe numbered and then made little wagers as to which of the squares aspecially selected June-bug would whack next. To simplify the game wecaught the chosen June-bug and put some powdered charcoal on his head,so that when he butted up against the white wall he would leave ablack mark in the space he hit. It was really one of the most excitinggames of that particular kind that I ever played, and many a rainy daywas made pleasant by this diversion.
"But after awhile like everything else June-bug Roulette as we calledit began to pall and I grew tired of it and wished there never hadbee
n such a thing as a June-bug in the world. I did my best to forgetthem, but it was impossible. Their buzzing and butting continueduninterrupted, and toward the end of the month they developed aparticularly bad habit of butting the electric call button at the sideof my bed. The consequence was that at all hours of the night,hall-boys with iced-water, and house-maids with bath towels, andporters with kindling-wood would come knocking at my door and routingme out of bed--summoned of course by none other than those horriblebutting insects. This particular nuisance became so unendurable that Ihad to change my room for one which had no electric bell in it.
"So things went, until June passed and July appeared. The majority ofthe nuisances promptly got out but one especially vigorous andathletic member of the tribe remained. He became unbearable andfinally one night I jumped out of bed either to kill him or to drivehim out of my apartment forever, but he wouldn't go, and try as Imight I couldn't hit him hard enough to kill him. In sheer desperationI took the cover of my typewriting machine and tried to catch him inthat. Finally I succeeded, and, as I thought, shook the heedlesscreature out of the window promptly slamming the window shut so thathe might not return; and then putting the type-writer cover back overthe machine, I went to bed again, but not to sleep as I had hoped. Allnight long every second or two I'd hear the type-writer click. This Iattributed to nervousness on my part. As far as I knew there wasn'tanything to make the type-writer click, and the fact that I heard itdo so served only to convince me that I was tired and imagined that Iheard noises.
"Most singular of all was the fact that consciously orunconsciously the insect had butted out a verse." _Chapter XIV._]
"The next morning, however, on opening the machine I found that theJune-bug had not only not been shaken out of the window, but hadactually spent the night inside of the cover, butting his head againstthe keys, having no wall to butt with it, and most singular of all wasthe fact that, consciously or unconsciously, the insect had butted outa verse which read:
"'I'm glad I haven't any brains, For there can be no doubt I'd have to give up butting If I had, or butt them out.'"
"Mercy! Really?" cried Angelica.
"Well I can't prove it," said Mr. Munchausen, "by producing theJune-bug, but I can show you the hotel, I can tell you the number ofthe room; I can show you the type-writing machine, and I have recitedthe verse. If you're not satisfied with that I'll have to stand yoursuspicions."
"What became of the June-bug?" demanded Diavolo.
"He flew off as soon as I lifted the top of the machine," said Mr.Munchausen. "He had all the modesty of a true poet and did not wish tobe around while his poem was being read."
"It's queer how you can't get rid of June-bugs, isn't it, UncleMunch," suggested Angelica.
"Oh, we got rid of 'em next season all right," said Mr. Munchausen. "Iinvented a scheme that kept them away all the following summer. I gotthe landlord to hang calendars all over the house with one full pagefor each month. Then in every room we exposed the page for May andleft it that way all summer. When the June-bugs arrived and saw these,they were fooled into believing that June hadn't come yet, and offthey flew to wait. They are very inconsiderate of other people'scomfort," Mr. Munchausen concluded, "but they are rigorously bound byan etiquette of their own. A self-respecting June-bug would no moreappear until the June-bug season is regularly open than a gentleman ofhigh society would go to a five o'clock tea munching fresh-roastedpeanuts. And by the way, that reminds me I happen to have a bag ofpeanuts right here in my pocket."
Here Mr. Munchausen, transferring the luscious goobers to Angelica,suddenly remembered that he had something to say to the Imps' father,and hurriedly left them.
"Do you suppose that's true, Diavolo?" whispered Angelica as theirfriend disappeared.
"Well it might happen," said Diavolo, "but I've a sort of notion thatit's 'maginary like the Gillyhooly bird. Gimme a peanut."