XII.
VENICE
It was late at night when Mollie and her friends arrived at Venice andthe Unwiseman, sleeping peacefully as he was in the cavernous depths ofhis carpet-bag, did not get his first glimpse of the lovely city of thewaters until he waked up the next morning. Unfortunately--or possibly itwas a fortunate circumstance--the old gentleman had heard of Venice onlyin a very vague way before, and had no more idea of its peculiaritiesthan he had of those of Waycross Junction, Georgia, or any other placehe had never seen. Consequently his first sight of Venice filled himwith a tremendous deal of excitement. Emerging from his carpet-bag inthe cloak-room of the hotel he walked out upon the front steps of thebuilding which descended into the Grand Canal, the broad waterway thatruns its serpentine length through this historic city of the Adriatic.
"'Gee Whittaker!'" he cried, as the great avenue of water met his gaze."There's been a flood! Hi there--inside--the water main has busted, andthe whole town's afloat. Wake up everybody and save yourselves!"
He turned and rushed madly up the hotel stairs to the floor upon whichhis friends' rooms were located, calling lustily all the way:
"Get up everybody--the reservoy's busted; the dam's loose. To the boats!Mollie--Whistlebinkie--Mister and Mrs. Mollie--get up or you'll bewashed away--the whole place is flooded. You haven't a minute to spare."
"What's the matter, Mr. Me?" asked Mollie, opening her door as sherecognized the Unwiseman's voice out in the hallway. "What are youscaring everybody to death for?"
"Get out your life preservers--quick before it is too late," gasped theUnwiseman. "There's a tidal wave galloping up and down the street, andwe'll be drowned. To the roof! All hands to starboard and man theboats."
"What _are_ you talking about?" said Mollie.
"Look out your front window if you don't believe me," panted theUnwiseman. "The whole place is chuck full of water--couldn't bail it outin a week----"
"Oh," laughed Mollie, as she realized what it was that had so excitedher friend. "Is that all?"
"All!" ejaculated the Unwiseman, his eyebrows lifting higher withastonishment. "Isn't it enough? What do you want, the whole AtlanticOcean sitting on your front stoop?"
"Why--" began Mollie, "this is Venice----"
"Looks like Watertown," interrupted the Unwiseman.
"Thass-swattit-izz," whistled Whistlebinkie. "Venice is a water town.It's built on it."
"Built on it?" queried the Unwiseman looking scornfully at Whistlebinkieas much as to say you can't fool me quite so easily as that. "Built onwater?" he repeated.
"Exactly," said Mollie. "Didn't you know that, Mr. Me? Venice is builtright out on the sea."
"Well of all queer things!" ejaculated the Unwiseman, so surprised thathe plumped down on the floor and sat there gazing wonderingly up atMollie. "A whole city built on the sea! What's the matter, wasn't thereland enough?"
"Oh yes, I guess there was plenty of land," said Mollie, "but maybesomebody else owned it. Anyhow the Venetians came out here where therewere a lot of little islands to begin with and drove piles into thewater and built their city on them."
"Well that beats me," said the Unwiseman, shaking his head inbewilderment. "I've heard of fellows building up big copperations onwater, but never a city. How do they keep the water out of theircellars?"
"They don't," said Mollie.
"Maybe they build their cellars on the roof," suggested Whistlebinkie.
"Well," said the Unwiseman, rising from the floor and walking to thefront window and gazing out at the Grand Canal, "I hope this hotel isanchored good and fast. I don't mind going to sea on a big boat that'sbuilt for it, but I draw the line at sailin' all around creation in ahotel."
The droll little old gentleman poised himself on one toe and stretchedout his arms. "There don't seem to be much motion, does there," heremarked.
"There isn't any at all," said Mollie. "It's perfectly still."
"I guess it's because it's a clam day," observed the Unwiseman uneasily."I hope it'll stay clam while we're here. I'd hate to be caught out inmovey weather like they had on that sassy little British Channel. Thishotel would flop about fearfully and _I_ believe it would sink ifsomebody carelessly left a window open, to say nothing of its fallingover backward and letting the water in the back door."
"Papa says it's perfectly safe," said Mollie. "The place has been heremore'n a thousand years and it hasn't sunk yet."
"All right," said the Unwiseman. "If your father says that I'm satisfiedbecause he most generally knows what he's talking about, but all thesame I think we should ought to have brought a couple o' row boats and alot of life preservers along. I don't believe in taking any chances.What do the cab-horses do here, swim?"
"No," said Mollie. "There aren't any horses in Venice. They havegondolas."
"Gondolas?" repeated the Unwiseman. "What are gondolas, trained ducks?Don't think much o' ducks as a substitute for horses."
"Perfly-bsoyd!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"I should think they'd drive whales," said the Unwiseman, "or porpoises.By Jiminy, that would be fun, wouldn't it? Let's see if we can't hire afour whale coach, Mollie, and go driving about the city, or better yet,if they've got them well broken, get a school of porpoises. We might puton our bathing suits and go horseback riding on 'em. I don't take muchto the trained duck idea, ducks are so flighty and if they shied atanything they might go flying up in the air and dump us backwards out ofour cab into the water."
"We're going to take a gondola ride this morning," said Mollie. "Justyou wait and see, Mr. Me."
THEY ALL BOARDED A GONDOLA]
So the Unwiseman waited and an hour later he and Mollie andWhistlebinkie boarded a gondola in charge of a very handsome and smilinggondolier who said his name was Giuseppe Zocco.
"Soako is a good name for a cab-driver in this town," said theUnwiseman, after he had inspected the gondola and ascertained that itwas seaworthy. "I guess I'll talk to him."
"You-do-know-Eye-talian," laughed Whistlebinkie.
"It's one of the languages I _do_ know," returned the Unwiseman. "I buyall my bananas and my peanuts from an Eye-talian at home and for two orthree years I have been able to talk to him very easily."
He turned to the gondolier.
"Gooda da morn, Soako," he observed very politely. "You havea daprett-da-boat."
"Si, Signor," returned the smiling gondolier, who was not whollyunfamiliar with English.
"See what?" asked the Unwiseman puzzled, but looking about carefully tosee what there was to be seen.
"He says we're at sea," laughed Whistlebinkie.
"Oh--well--that's it, eh?" said the Unwiseman. "I thought he only spokeEye-talian." And then he addressed the gondolier again. "Da weather'smighta da fine, huh? Not a da rain or da heava da wind, eh? Hopa da babeis vera da well da morn."
"Si, Signor," said Giuseppe.
"Da Venn greata da place. Too mucha da watt for me. Lika da dry landmoocha da bett, Giuseppe. Ever sella da banann?" continued theUnwiseman.
"Non, Signor," replied Giuseppe. "No sella da banann."
"Bully da bizz," said the Unwiseman. "Maka da munn hand over da fist.You grinda da org?"
"Huh?" grinned Giuseppe.
"He doesn't understand," said Mollie giggling.
"I asked him if he ever ground a hand-organ," said the Unwiseman."Perfectly simple question. I aska da questch, Giuseppe, if you evergrinda da org. You know what I mean. Da musica-box, wid da monk forclimba da house for catcha da nick."
"What's 'catcha da nick'?" whispered Whistlebinkie.
"To catch the nickels, stoopid," said the Unwiseman; "don't interrupt.No hava da monk, Giuseppe?" he asked.
"Non, Signor," said the gondolier. "No hava da monk."
"Too bad," observed the Unwiseman. "Hand-org not moocha da good withoutda monk. Da monk maka da laugh and catcha da mun by da cupful. If youever come to America, Giuseppe, no forgetta da monk with a redda dacap."
With which admonition the Unwiseman
turned his attention to otherthings.
"Is that really Eye-talian?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Of course it is," said the Unwiseman. "It's the easiest language in theworld to pick up and only requires a little practice to make you speakit as if it were your own tongue. I was never conscious that I waslearning it in my morning talks with old Gorgorini, the banana man athome. This would be a great place for automobiles, wouldn't it, Mollie?"he laughed in conclusion.
"I don't guesso," said Whistlebinkie.
The gondolier now guided the graceful craft to a flight of marble stepsup which Mollie and her friends mounted to the Piazza San Marco.
"This is great," said the Unwiseman as he gazed about him and took inits splendors. "It's a wonder to me that they don't have a lot of placeslike this on the way over from New York to Liverpool. Crossing the oceanwould be some fun if you could step off every hour or two and stretchyour legs on something solid, and buy a few tons of tumblers, and feedpigeons. Fact is I think that's the best cure in the world forsea-sickness. If you could run up to a little piazza like this threetimes a day where there's a nice restaurant waiting for you and nomotion to spoil your appetite I wouldn't mind being a sailor for therest of my life."
The travellers passed through the glorious church of San Marco,inspected the Doge's Palace and then returned to the gondola, upon whichthey sailed back to their hotel.
"Moocha da thanks, Giuseppe," said the Unwiseman, as he alighted."Here's a Yankee da quart for you. Save it up and when you come toAmerica as all the Eye-talians seem to be doing these days, it will helpstart you in business."
And handing the gondolier a quarter the Unwiseman disappeared into thehotel. The next day he entered Mollie's room and asked permission to sitout on her balcony.
"I think I'll try a little fishing this afternoon," he said. "It isn't abad idea having a hotel right on the water front this way after all. Youcan sit out on your balcony and drop your line out into the water andjust haul them in by the dozen."
But alas for the old gentleman's expectations, he caught never a fish.Whether it was the fault of the bait or not I don't know, but the onlythings he succeeded in catching were an old barrel-hoop that wentfloating along the canal from the Fruit Market up the way, and, sad torelate, the straw hat of an American artist on his way home in hisgondola from a day's painting out near the Lido. The latter incidentcaused a great deal of trouble and it took all the persuasion thatMollie's father was capable of to keep the artist from having theUnwiseman arrested. It seems that the artist was very much put outanyhow because, mix his colors as he would, he could not get thatpeculiarly beautiful blue of the Venetian skies, and the lovelyiridescent hues of the Venetian air were too delicate for such a brushas his, and to have his straw hat unceremoniously snatched off his headby an old gentleman two flights up with an ordinary fish hook baitedwith macaroni in addition to his other troubles was too much for histemper, not a good one at best.
"I am perfectly willing to say that I am sorry," protested theUnwiseman when he was hauled before the angry artist. "I naturally wouldbe sorry. When a man goes fishing for shad and lands nothing but a lastyear's straw hat, why wouldn't he be sorry?"
"That's a mighty poor apology!" retorted the artist, putting the strawhat on his head.
"Well I'm a poor man," said the Unwiseman. "My expenses have been veryheavy of late. What with buying an air-gun to shoot Alps with, andgiving a quarter to the Ganderman to help him buy a monkey, I'm reducedfrom nine-fifty to a trifle under seven dollars."
"You had no business fishing from that balcony!" said the artistangrily.
"I haven't any business anywhere, I've retired," said the Unwiseman."And I can tell you one thing certain," he added, "if I was going backinto business I wouldn't take up fishing for straw hats and barrel-hoopsin Venice. There's nothing but to trouble in it."
"I shall lodge a complaint against you in the Lion's Mouth," said theartist, with a slight twinkle in his eye, his good humor returning inthe presence of the Unwiseman.
"And I shall fall back on my rights as an American citizen to fishwhenever I please from my own balcony with my own bait withoutinterruption from foreign straw hats," said the Unwiseman with dignity.
"What?" cried the artist. "You an American?"
"Certainly," said the Unwiseman. "You didn't take me for an Eye-talian,did you?"
"So am I," returned the artist holding out his hand. "If you'd only toldme that in the beginning I never should have complained."
"Don't mention it," said the Unwiseman graciously. "I was afraid youwere an Englishman, and then there'd been a war sure, because I'll nevergive in to an Englishman. If your hat is seriously damaged I'll give youmy tarpaulin, seeing that you are an American like myself."
"Not at all," said the artist. "The hat isn't hurt at all and I'm veryglad to have met you. If your hook had only caught my eye on my way upthe canal I should have turned aside so as not to interfere."
"Well I'm mighty glad it didn't catch your eye," said the Unwiseman. "Icould afford to buy you a new straw hat, but I'm afraid a new eye wouldhave busted me."
And there the trouble ended. The artist and the Unwiseman shook handsand parted friends.
"What was that he said about the Lion's Mouth?" asked the Unwisemanafter the artist had gone.
"He said he'd lodge a complaint there," said Mollie. "That's the waythey used to do here. Those big statues of lions out in front of theDoggies' Palace with their mouths wide open are big boxes where peoplecan mail their complaints to the Government."
"Oh, I see," said the Unwiseman. "And when the Doggies get thecomplaints they attend to 'em, eh?"
"Yes," said Mollie.
"And who are the Doggies?" asked the Unwiseman. "They don't have dogsinstead of pleece over here, do they? I get so mixed up with theseJohns, and Bobbies, and Doggies I hardly know where I'm at."
"I don't exactly understand why," said Mollie, "but the people in Veniceare ruled by Doggies."
"They're a queer lot from Buckingham Palace, London, down to this oldtow-path," said the Unwiseman, "and if I ever get home alive there's nomore abroad for your Uncle Me."
On the following day, Mollie's parents having seen all of Venice thattheir limited time permitted, prepared to start for Genoa, whence thesteamer back to New York was to sail. Everything was ready, but theUnwiseman was nowhere to be found. The hotel was searched from top tobottom and not a sign of him. Giuseppe Zocco denied all knowledge ofhim, and the carpet-bag gave no evidence that he had been in it thenight before as was his custom. Train-time was approaching and Molliewas distracted. Even Whistlebinkie whistled under his breath for fearthat something had happened to the old gentleman.
"I hope he hasn't fallen overboard!" moaned Mollie, gazing anxiouslyinto the watery depths of the canal.
"Here he comes!" cried Whistlebinkie, jubilantly, and sure enough downthe canal seated on a small raft and paddling his way cautiously alongwith his hands came the Unwiseman, singing the popular Italian ballad"Margherita" at the top of his lungs.
"Gander ahoy!" he cried, as he neared the hotel steps. "Sheer off there,Captain, and let me into Port."
The gondolier made room for him and the Unwiseman alighted.
"Where _have_ you been?" asked Mollie, throwing her arms about his neck.
"Up the canal a little way," he answered unconcernedly. "I wanted tomail a letter to the Doggie in the Lion's Mouth."
"What about?" asked Mollie.
"Watertown, otherwise Venice," said the Unwiseman. "I had somesuggestions for its improvement and I didn't want to go way withoutmaking them. There's a copy of my letter if you want to see it," headded, handing Mollie a piece of paper upon which he had written asfollows:
29 Grand Canal St., Venice, It.
ANCIENT & HONORABLE BOW-WOWS:
I have enjoyed my visit to your beautiful but wet old town very much and would respectfully advise you that there are several things you can do to keep it unspiled. These are
as follows to wit viz:
I. Bale it out once in a while and see that the barrel hoops in your Grand Canal are sifted out of it. They're a mighty poor stubstishoot for shad.
II. Get a few trained whales in commission so that when a feller wants to go driving he won't have to go paddling.
III. Stock your streets with trout, or flounders, or perch or even sardines in order that us Americans who feel like fishing won't have to be satisfied with a poor quality of straw hat.
IV. During the fishing season compel artists returning from their work to wear beaver hats or something else that a fish-hook baited with macaroni won't catch into thus making a lot of trouble.
V. Get together on your language. I speak the very best variety of banana-stand Italian and twenty-three out of twenty-four people to which I have made remarks in it have not been able to grasp my meaning.
VI. Pigeons are very nice to have but they grow monotonous. Would suggest a half dozen first class American hens as an ornament to your piazza.
VII. Stop calling yourself Doggies. It makes people laugh.
With kind regards to the various Mrs. Ds, believe me to be with mucho da respecto,
Yoursa da trool, Da Unadawisamann.
P.S. If you ever go sailing abroad in your old town point her nose towards my country. We'll all be glad to see you over there and can supply you with all the water you need.
Y da T, MISTER ME.
It was with these recommendations to the Doges that the Unwiseman leftVenice. Whether they were ever received or not I have never heard, butif they were I am quite sure they made the "Doggies" yelp with delight.