Mollie and the Unwiseman Abroad
XI.
THE UNWISEMAN PLANS A CHAMOIS COMPANY
The Unwiseman's disappointment over the failure of his Switzer Snow &Ice Company was very keen at first and the strange old gentleman wasinclined to be as thoroughly disgusted with Switzerland as he had beenwith London and Paris. He was especially put out when, after travellingseven or eight miles to see a "glazier," as he called it, he discoveredthat a glacier was not a frozen "window-pane mender" but a stream of iceflowing perennially down from the Alpine summits into the valleys.
"They bank too much on their snow-drifts over here," he remarked, afterhe had visited the _Mer-de-Glace_. "I wouldn't give seven cents to _see_a thing like that when I've been brought up close to New York where wehave blizzards every once in a while that tie up the whole city till itlooks like one glorious big snow-ball fight."
And then when he wanted to go fishing in one of the big fissures of theglacier, and was told he could drop a million lines down there withoutgetting a bite of any kind he announced his intention of getting out ofthe country as soon as he possibly could. But after all the Unwisemanhad a naturally sun-shiny disposition and this added to the wonderfulair of Switzerland, which in itself is one of the most beautiful thingsin a beautiful world, soon brought him out of his sulky fit and set himto yodeling once more as gaily as a Swiss Mountain boy. He began to seesome of the beauties of the country and his active little mind was notslow at discovering advantages not always clear to people with lessinquisitiveness.
"I should think," he observed to Mollie one morning as he gazed up atMount Blanc's pure white summit, "that this would be a great ice-creamcountry. I'd like to try the experiment of pasturing a lot of fineJersey cows up on those ice-fields. Just let 'em browze around one ofthose glaciers every day for a week and give 'em a cupful of vanilla, orchocolate extract or a strawberry once in a while and see if theywouldn't give ice-cream instead o' milk. It would be worth trying,anyhow."
Mollie thought it would and Whistlebinkie gave voice to a long lowwhistle of delight at the idea.
"It-ud-be-bettern-soder-watter-rany-way!" he whistled.
"Anything would be better than soda water," said the Unwiseman, who hadonly tried it once and got nothing but the bubbles. "Soda water's toofoamy for me. It's like drinking whipped air."
But the thing that pleased the Unwiseman more than anything else was apet chamois that he encountered at a little Swiss Chalet on one of histours of investigation. It was a cunning little animal, very timid ofcourse, like a fawn, but tame, and for some reason or other it tookquite a fancy to the Unwiseman--possibly because he looked so like aSwiss Mountain Boy with a peaked cap he had purchased, and ribbons woundcriss-cross around his calves and his magnificent Alpen-stock upon whichhad been burned the names of all the Alps he had _not_ climbed. And thenthe Unwiseman's yodel had become something unusually fine and originalin the line of yodeling, which may have attracted the chamois and madehim feel that the Unwiseman was a person to be trusted. At any rate thelittle animal instead of running away and jumping from crag to crag atthe Unwiseman's approach, as most chamois would do, came inquiringly upto him and stuck out its soft velvety nose to be scratched, andpermitted the Unwiseman to inspect its horns and silky chestnut-browncoat as if it recognized in the little old man a true and tried friendof long standing.
"Why you little beauty you!" cried the Unwiseman, as he sat on the fenceand stroked the beautiful creature's neck. "So you're what they call ashammy, eh?"
The chamois turned its lovely eyes upon his new found friend, and thenlowered his head to have it scratched again.
"Mary had a little sham Whose hide was soft as cotton, And everywhere that Mary went The shammy too went trottin'."
sang the Unwiseman, dropping into poetry as was one of his habits whenhe was deeply moved.
THE CHAMOIS EVIDENTLY LIKED THIS VERSE FOR ITS EYESTWINKLED]
The chamois evidently liked this verse for its eyes twinkled and it laidits head gently on the Unwiseman's knee and looked at him appealingly asif to say, "More of that poetry please. You are a bard after my ownheart." So the Unwiseman went on, keeping time to his verse by slighttaps on the chamois' nose.
"It followed her to town one day Unto the Country Fair, And earned five hundred dollars just In shining silver-ware."
Whistlebinkie indulged in a loud whistle of mirth at this, which sostartled the little creature that it leapt backward fifteen feet in theair and landed on top of a small pump at the rear of the yard, and stoodthere poised on its four feet just like the chamois we see in picturesstanding on a sharp peak miles up in the air, trembling just a littlefor fear that Whistlebinkie's squeak would be repeated. A moment ofsilence seemed to cure this, however, for in less than two minutes itwas back again at the Unwiseman's side gazing soulfully at him as ifdemanding yet another verse. Of course the Unwiseman could notresist--he never could when people demanded poetry from him, it cameso very easy--and so he continued:
"The children at the Country Fair Indulged in merry squawks To see the shammy polishing The family knives and forks.
"The tablespoons, and coffee pots, The platters and tureens, The top of the mahogany, And crystal fire-screens."
"More!" pleaded the chamois with his soft eyes, snuggling its head closeinto the Unwiseman's lap, and the old gentleman went on:
"'O isn't he a wondrous kid!' The wondering children cried. We didn't know a shammy could Do such things if he tried.
"And Mary answered with a smile That dimpled up her chin 'There's much that shammy's cannot do, But much that shammy-skin.'"
Whistlebinkie's behavior at this point became so utterly and inexcusablyboisterous with mirth that the confiding little chamois was againfrightened away and this time it gave three rapid leaps into the airwhich landed it ultimately upon the ridge-pole of the chalet, fromwhich it wholly refused to descend, in spite of all the persuasion inthe world, for the rest of the afternoon.
"Very intelligent little animal that," said the Unwiseman, as he trudgedhis way home. "A very high appreciation of true poetry, inclined to makefriendship with the worthy, and properly mistrustful of people full ofstrange noises and squeaks."
"He was awfully pretty, wasn't he," said Mollie.
"Yes, but he was better than pretty," observed the Unwiseman. "He couldbe made useful. Things that are only pretty are all very well in theirway, but give me the useful things--like my kitchen-stove for instance.If that kitchen-stove was only pretty do you suppose I'd love it the wayI do? Not at all. I'd just put it on the mantel-piece, or on the pianoin my parlor and never think of it a second time, but because it isuseful I pay attention to it every day, polish it with stove polish,feed it with coal and see that the ashes are removed from it when itsday's work is done. Nobody ever thinks of doing such things with a plainpiece of bric-a-brac that can't be used for anything at all. You don'tput any coal or stove polish on that big Chinese vase you have in yourparlor, do you?"
"No," said Mollie, "of course not."
"And I'll warrant that in all the time you've had that opal glass jug onthe mantel-piece of your library you never shook the ashes down in itonce," said the Unwiseman.
"Mity-goo-dreeson-wy!" whistled Whistlebinkie. "They-ain't never noashes in it."
"Correct though ungrammatically expressed," observed the Unwiseman."There never are any ashes in it to be shaken down, which is a prettygood reason to believe that it is never used to fry potatoes on or tocook a chop with, or to roast a turkey in--which proves exactly what Isay that it is only pretty and isn't half as useful as mykitchen-stove."
"It would be pretty hard to find anything useful for the bric-a-brac todo though," suggested Mollie, who loved pretty things whether they hadany other use or not.
"It all depends on your bric-a-brac," said the Unwiseman. "I can findplenty of useful things for mine to do. There's my coal scuttle forinstance--it works all the time."
"Coal-scuttles ain't bric-a-brac," said Whistlebinkie.
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"My coal scuttle is," said the Unwiseman. "It's got a picture of a daisypainted on one side of it, and I gilded the handle myself. Then there'smy watering pot. That's just as bric-a-bracky as any Chinese china potthat ever lived, but it's useful. I use it to water the flowers insummer, and to sift my lump sugar through in winter. Every pound of lumpsugar you buy has some fine sugar with it and if you shake the lumpsugar up in a watering pot and let the fine sugar sift through thenozzle you get two kinds of sugar for the price of one. So it goes allthrough my house from my piano to my old beaver hat--every bit of mybric-a-brac is useful."
"Wattonearth do-you-do with a-nold beevor-at?" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"I use it as a post-office box to mail cross letters in," said theUnwiseman gravely. "It's saved me lots of trouble."
"Cross letters?" asked Mollie. "You never write cross letters to anybodydo you?"
"I'm doing it all the time," said the Unwiseman. "Whenever anythinghappens that I don't like I sit down and write a terrible letter to thepeople that do it. That eases off my feelings, and then I mail theletters in the hat."
"And does the Post-man come and get them?" asked Mollie.
"No indeed," said the Unwiseman. "That's where the beauty of the schemecomes in. If I mailed 'em in the post-office box on the lamp-post, thepost-man would take 'em and deliver them to the man they're addressed toand I'd be in all sorts of trouble. But when I mail them in my hatnobody comes for them and nobody gets them, and so there's no troublefor anybody anywhere."
"But what becomes of them?" asked Mollie.
"I empty the hat on the first Tuesday after the first Monday of everymonth and use them for kindling in my kitchen-stove," said theUnwiseman. "It's a fine scheme. I keep out of trouble, don't have to buyso much kindling wood, and save postage."
"That sounds like a pretty good idea," said Mollie.
"It's a first class idea," returned Mr. Me, "and I'm proud of it. It'sall my own and if I had time I'd patent it. Why I was invited to a partyonce by a small boy who'd thrown a snow-ball at my house and wet one ofthe shingles up where I keep my leak, and I was so angry that I sat downand wrote back that I regretted very much to be delighted to say thatI'd never go to a party at his house if it was the only party in theworld besides the Republican; that I didn't like him, and thought hismother's new spring bonnet was most unbecoming and that I'd heard hisfather had been mentioned for Alderman in our town and all sorts ofdisgraceful things like that. I mailed this right in my hat and used itto boil an egg with a month later, while if I'd mailed it in thepost-office box that boy'd have got it and I couldn't have gone to hisparty at all."
"Oh--you went, did you?" laughed Mollie.
"I did and I had a fine time, six eclairs, three plates of ice cream, apound of chicken salad, and a pocketful of nuts and raisins," said theUnwiseman. "He turned out to be a very nice boy, and his mother's springbonnet wasn't hers at all but another lady's altogether, and his fatherhad not even been mentioned for Water Commissioner. You see, my dear,what a lot of trouble mailing that letter in the old beaver hat savedme, not to mention what I earned in the way of food by going to theparty which I couldn't have done had it been mailed in the regular way."
Here the old gentleman began to yodel happily, and to tell passersby insong that he was a "Gay Swiss Laddy with a carpet-bag, That never knewfear of the Alpine crag, For his eye was bright and his conscienceclear, As he leapt his way through the atmosphere, Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,Trala-lolly-O."
"I do-see-how-yood-make-that-shammy-useful," said Whistlebinkie. "Exceptto try your poems on and I don't b'lieve he's a good judge o' potery."
"He's a splendid judge of queer noises," said the Unwiseman, severely."He knew enough to jump a mile whenever you squeaked."
"Watt-else-coodie-doo?" asked Whistlebinkie through his hat. "Youhaven't any silver to keep polished and there aren't enough queer noisesabout your place to keep him busy."
"What else coodie-do?" retorted the Unwiseman, giving an imitation ofWhistlebinkie that set both Mollie and the rubber doll to giggling. "Whyhe could polish up the handle of my big front door for one thing. Hecould lie down on his back and wiggle around the floor and make it shinelike a lookin' glass for another. He could rub up against my kitchenstove and keep it bright and shining for a third--that's some of thethings he couldie-doo, but I wouldn't confine him to work around myhouse. I'd lead him around among the neighbors and hire him out forfifty cents a day for general shammy-skin house-work. I dare sayMollie's mother would be glad to have a real live shammy around that shecould rub her tea-kettles and coffee pots on when it comes to cleaningthe silver."
"They can buy all the shammys they need at the grocer's," saidWhistlebinkie scornfully.
"Dead ones," said the Unwiseman, "but nary a live shammy have you seenat the grocer's or the butcher's or the milliner's or the piano-tuner's.That's where Wigglethorpe----"
"Wigglethorpe?" cried Whistlebinkie.
"Yes Wigglethorpe," repeated the Unwiseman. "That's what I have decidedto call my shammy when I get him because he will wiggle."
"He don't thorpe, does he?" laughed Whistlebinkie.
"He thorpes just as much as you bink," retorted the Unwiseman. "But as Iwas saying, Wigglethorpe, being alive, will be better than any ten deadones because he won't wear out, maids won't leave him around on theparlor floor, and just because he wiggles, the silver and the hardwoodfloors and front door handles will be polished up in half the time ittakes to do it with a dead one. At fifty cents a day I could earn threedollars a week on Wigglethorpe----"
"Which would be all profit if you fed him on potery," said Whistlebinkiewith a grin.
"And if I imported a hundred of them after I found that Wigglethorpe wassuccessful," the Unwiseman continued, very wisely ignoringWhistlebinkie's sarcasm, "that would be--hum--ha----"
"Three hundred dollars a week," prompted Mollie.
"Exactly," said the Unwiseman, "which in a year would amountto--ahem--three times three hundred and sixty-five is nine, twice nineis----"
"It comes to $15,600 a year," said Mollie.
"Right to a penny," said the Unwiseman. "I was figuring it out by theday. Fifteen thousand six hundred dollars a year is a big sum of moneyand reckoned in eclairs at fifty eclairs for a dollar is--er--is--wellyou couldn't eat 'em if you tried, there'd be so many."
"Seven hundred and eighty thousand eclairs," said Mollie.
"That's what I said," said the Unwiseman. "You just couldn't eat 'em,but you could sell 'em, so really you'd have two businesses right away,shammys and eclaires."
"Mitey-big-biziness," hissed Whistlebinkie.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman, "I think I'll suggest it to my burgular whenI get home. It seems to me to be more honorable then burguling and it'sjust possible that after a summer spent in the uplifting company of mykitchen stove and having got used to the pleasant conversation of myleak, and seen how peaceful it is to just spend your days exercising asweet gentle umbrella like mine, he'll want to reform and go intosomething else that he can do in the day-time."
By this time the little party had reached the hotel, and Mollie's fatherwas delighted to hear of the Unwiseman's proposition. It was an entirelynew idea, he said, although he was doubtful if it was a good businessfor a burgular.
"People might not be willing to trust him with their silver," he said.
"Very well then," said the Unwiseman. "Let him begin on front door knobsand parlor floors. He's not likely to run away with those."
The next day the travellers left Switzerland and when I next caughtsight of them they had arrived at Venice.