XV.
HOME, SWEET HOME
"Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie thenext morning after their return from abroad. "I want to run around tothe Unwiseman's House and see if everything is all right. I'm just crazyto know how the burglar left the house."
"I-mall-ready," whistled Whistlebinkie. "I-yain't-very-ungry."
"Lost your appetite?" asked Mollie eyeing him anxiously, for she was amotherly little girl and took excellent care of all her playthings.
"Yep," said Whistlebinkie. "I always do lose my appetite after eatingthree plates of oat-meal, four chops, five rolls, six buckwheat cakesand a couple of bananas."
"Mercy! How do you hold it all, Whistlebinkie?" said Mollie.
"Oh--I'm made o'rubber and my stummick is very 'lastic," explainedWhistlebinkie.
So hand in hand the little couple made off down the road to thepleasant spot where the Unwiseman's house stood, and there in the frontyard was the old gentleman himself talking to his beloved boulder, andpatting it gently as he did so.
"I'M NEVER GOING TO LEAVE YOU AGAIN, BOLDY," HE WASSAYING]
"I'm never going to leave you again, Boldy," he was saying to the rockas Mollie and Whistlebinkie came up. "It is true that the Rock ofGibraltar is bigger and broader and more terrible to look at than youare but when it comes right down to business it isn't any harder or tomy eyes any prettier. You are still my favorite rock, Boldy dear, so youneedn't be jealous." And the old gentleman bent over and kissed theboulder softly.
"Good morning," said Mollie, leaning over the fence. "Whistlebinkie andI have come down to see if everything is all right. I hope thekitchen-stove is well?"
"Well the house is here, and all the bric-a-brac, and the leak has growna bit upon the ceiling, and the kitchen-stove is all right thank you,but I'm afraid that old burgular has run off with my umbrella," said theUnwiseman. "I can't find a trace of it anywhere."
"You don't really think he has stolen it do you?" asked Mollie.
"I don't know what to think," said the Unwiseman, shaking his headgravely. "He had first class references, that burgular had, and claimedto have done all the burguling for the very nicest people in the countryfor the last two years, but these are the facts. He's gone and theumbrella's gone too. I suppose in the burgular's trade like ineverything else you some times run across one who isn't as honest as heought to be. Occasionally you'll find a burgular who'll take things thatdon't belong to him and it may be that this fellow that took my housewas one of that kind--but you never can tell. It isn't fair to judge aman by disappearances, and it is just possible that the umbrella gotaway from him in a heavy storm. It was a skittish sort of a creatureanyhow and sometimes I've had all I could do in windy weather to keep itfrom running away myself. What do you think of my sign?"
"I don't see any sign," said Mollie, looking all around in search of theobject. "Where is it?"
"O I forgot," laughed the old gentleman gaily. "It's around on the otherside of the house--come on around and see it."
The callers walked quickly around to the rear of the Unwiseman's house,and there, hanging over the kitchen door, was a long piece of board uponwhich the Unwiseman had painted in very crooked black letters thefollowing words:
THE BRITISH MUSEUM JUNIOR Admishun ten cents. Exit fifteen cents. Burgulars one umbrella. THE FINEST COLECTION OF ALPS AND SOFORTHS ON EARTH. CHILDREN AND RUBER DOLLS FREE ON SATIDYS.
"Dear me--how interesting," said Mollie, as she read this remarkablelegend, "but--what does it mean?"
"It means that I've started a British Museum over here," said theUnwiseman, "only mine is going to be useful, instead of merelyornamental like that one over in London. For twenty-five cents a man canget a whole European trip in my Museum without getting on board of asteamer. I only charge ten cents to come in so as to get people tocome, and I charge fifteen cents to get out so as to make 'em stay untilthey have seen all there is to be seen. People get awfully tiredtravelling abroad, I find, and if you make it too easy for them to runback home they'll go without finishing their trip. I charge burgularsone umbrella to get in so that if my burgular comes back he'll have tomake good my loss, or stay out."
"Why do you let children and rubber dolls in free?" asked Mollie,reading the sign over a second time.
"I wrote that rule to cover you and old Squizzledinkie here," said theold gentleman, with a kindly smile at his little guests. "Although itreally wasn't necessary because I don't charge any admission to peoplewho come in the front door and you could always come in that way. That'sthe entrance to my home. The back-door I charge for because it's theentrance to my museum, don't you see?"
"Clear as a blue china alley," said Whistlebinkie.
"Come in and see the exhibit," said the Unwiseman proudly.
And then as Mollie and Whistlebinkie entered the house their eyes fellupon what was indeed the most marvellous collection of interestingobjects they had ever seen. All about the parlor were ranged row uponrow of bottles, large and small, each bearing a label describing itscontents, with here and there mysterious boxes, and broken tumblers andall sorts of other odd things that the Unwiseman had brought home in hiscarpet-bag.
"Bottle number one," said he, pointing to the object with a cane, "isfilled with Atlantic Ocean--real genuine briny deep--bottled it myselfand so I know there's nothing bogus about it. Number two which looksempty, but really ain't, is full of air from the coast of Ireland,caught three miles out from Queenstown by yours trooly, Mr. Me. Numberthree, full of dust and small pebbles, is genuine British soil gatheredin London the day they put me out of the Museum. 'Tain't much to lookat, is it?" he added.
"Nothin' extra," said Whistlebinkie, inspecting it with a critical airafter the manner of one who was an expert in soils.
"Not compared to American soil anyhow," said the Unwiseman. "This hardcake in the tin box is a 'Muffin by Special Appointment to the King,'"he went on with a broad grin. "I went in and bought one after we had ourrumpus in the bake-shop, just for the purpose of bringing it over hereand showing the American people how vain and empty roilty has become. Itis not a noble looking object to my eyes."
"Mine neither," whistled Whistlebinkie. "It looks rather stale."
"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "And that's the only roil thing about it.Passing along rapidly we come soon to a bottleful of the BritishChannel," he resumed. "In order to get the full effect of that veryconceited body of water you want to shake it violently. That gives yousome idea of how the water works. It's tame enough now that I've got itbottled but in its native lair it is fierce. You will see theinstructions on the bottle."
Sure enough the bottle was labeled as the Unwiseman said with fullinstructions as to how it must be used.
"Shake for fifteen minutes until it is all roiled up and swells aroundinside the bottle like a tidal wave," the instructions read. "You willthen get a small idea of how this disagreeable body of water behavesitself in the presence of trusting strangers."
"Here is my bottle of French soil," said the Unwiseman, passing on tothe next object. "It doesn't look very different from English soil butit's French all right, as you would see for yourself if it tried totalk. I scooped it up myself in Paris. There's the book--French in FiveLessons--too. That I call 'The French Language,' which shows people whovisit this museum what a funny tongue it is. That pill box full of sandis a part of the Swiss frontier and the small piece of gravel next to itis a piece of an Alp chipped off Mount Blanc by myself, so that I knowit is genuine. It will give the man who has never visitedSwaz--well--that country, a small idea of what an Alp looks like andwill correct the notion in some people's minds that an Alp is a wildanimal with a long hairy tail and the manners of a lion. The next twobottles contain all that is left of a snow-ball I gathered in atChamouny, and a chip of the Mer de Glace glazier. They've both meltedsince I bottled them, but I'll have them frozen up again all right whenwinter comes, so there's no harm done."
"What's this piece of broken china on the
table?" asked Mollie.
"That is a fragment of a Parisian butter saucer," said the Unwiseman."One of the waiters fell down stairs with somebody's breakfast at ourhotel in Paris one morning while we were there," he explained, "and Irescued that from the debris. It is a perfect specimen of a brokenFrench butter dish."
"I don't think it's very interesting," said Mollie.
"Well to tell you the truth, I don't either, but you've got to remember,my dear, that this is a British Museum and the one over in London ischuck full of broken china, old butter plates and coffee cups from allover everywhere, and I don't want people who care for that sort of thingto be disappointed with my museum when they come here. Take that plasterstatue of Cupid that I bought in Venice--I only got that to pleasepeople who care for statuary."
"Where is it?" asked Mollie, searching the room with her eye for theCupid.
"I've spread it out through the Museum so as to make it look more like acollection," said the Unwiseman. "I got a tack-hammer as soon as I gothome last night and fixed it up. There's an arm over on themantel-piece. His chest and left leg are there on top of the piano,while his other arm with his left ear and right leg are in the kitchen.I haven't found places for his stummick and what's left of his head yet,but I will before the crowd begins to arrive."
"Why Mr. Me!" protested Mollie, as she gazed mournfully upon the scrapsof the broken Cupid. "You didn't really smash up that pretty littlestatue?"
"I'm afraid I did, Mollie," said the Unwiseman sadly. "I hated to do it,but this is a Museum my dear, and when you go into the museum businessyou've to do it according to the rules. One of the rules seems to be 'Noadmission to Unbusted Statuary,' and I've acted accordingly. I don'twant to deceive anybody and if I gave even to my kitchen-stove the ideathat these first class museums over in Europe have anything butfractures in them----"
"Fragments, isn't it?" suggested Mollie.
"It's all the same," said the Unwiseman, "Fractures or fragments, thereisn't a complete statue anywhere in any museum that I ever saw, and ineducating my kitchen-stove in Art I'm going to follow the lead of theexperts."
"Well I don't see the use of it," sighed Mollie, for she had admired thepretty little plaster Cupid very much indeed.
"No more do I, Mollie dear," said the Unwiseman, "but rules are rulesand we've got to obey them. This is the Grand Canal at Venice," he addedholding up a bottle full of dark green water in order to change thesubject. "And here is what I call a Hoople-fish from the Adriatic."
"What on earth is a Hoople-fish?" cried Mollie with a roar of laughteras she gazed upon the object to which the Unwiseman referred, an oldwater soaked strip of shingley wood.
"It is the barrel hoop I caught that day I went fishing from the hotelbalcony," explained the Unwiseman. "I wish I'd kept the artist's strawhat I landed at the same time for a Hat-fish to complete my collectionof Strange Shad From Venice, but of course that was impossible. Theartist seemed to want it himself and as he had first claim to it Ididn't press the matter. The barrel-hoop will serve however to warnAmericans who want to go salmon fishing on the Grand Canal just whatkind of queer things they'll catch if they have any luck at all."
"What's this?" asked Whistlebinkie, peering into a little tin pepper potthat appeared to contain nothing but sand.
"You must handle that very carefully," said the Unwiseman, taking it inone hand, and shaking some of the sand out of it into the palm of theother. "That is the birth-place of Christopher Columbus, otherwise thesoil of Genoa. I brought home about a pail-ful of it, and I'm going tohave it put up in forty-seven little bottles to send around to peoplethat would appreciate having it. One of 'em is to go to the President tobe kept on the White House mantel-piece in memory of Columbus, and therest of them I shall distribute to the biggest Museums in each one ofthe United States. I don't think any State in the Union should bewithout a bottle of Columbus birth-place, in view of all that he did forthis country by discovering it. There wouldn't have been any States atall of it hadn't been for him, and it strikes me that is a very simpleand touching way of showing our gratitude."
"Perfectly fine!" cried Mollie enthusiastically. "I don't believethere's another collection like this anywhere in all the world, do you?"she added, sweeping the room with an eye full of wondering admirationfor the genius that had gathered all these marvellous things together.
"No--I really don't," said the Unwiseman. "And just think what a finething it will be for people who can't afford to travel," he went on."For twenty-five cents they can come here and see everything wesaw--except a few bogus kings and things like that that ain't reallyworth seeing--from the French language down to the Venetian Hoople-fish,from an Alp and a Glazier to a Specially Appointed Muffin to the Kingand Columbus's birth-place. I really think I shall have to advertise itin the newspapers. A Trip Abroad Without Leaving Home, All for aQuarter, at the Unwiseman's Museum. Alps a Specialty."
"Here's a couple of empty bottles," said Whistlebinkie, who had beensnooping curiously about the room.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "I've more than that. I'm sorry to say thatsome of my exhibits have faded away. The first one was filled withLondon fog, and as you remember I lost that when the cork flew out theday they dejected me from the British Museum. That other bottle when Iput the cork in it contained a view of Gibraltar and the African Coastthrough the port-hole of the steamer, but it's all faded out, just asthe bird's-eye view of the horizon out in the middle of the ocean that Ihad in a little pill bottle did. There are certain things you can't keepeven in bottles--but I shall show the Gibraltar bottle just the same. Abottle of that size that once contained that big piece of rock and theAfrican Coast to boot, is a wonderful thing in itself."
In which belief Mollie and Whistlebinkie unanimously agreed.
"Was the kitchen-stove glad to see you back?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Well--it didn't say very much," said the Unwiseman, with anaffectionate glance out into the kitchen, "but when I filled it up withcoal, and started the fire going, it was more than cordial. Indeedbefore the evening was over it got so very warm that I had to open theparlor windows to cool it off."
"It's pretty nice to be home again, isn't it," said Mollie.
"Nice?" echoed the old gentleman. "I can just tell you, Miss MollieWhistlebinkie, that the finest thing I've seen since I left home, finerthan all the oceans in the world, more beautiful than all the Englandsin creation, sweeter than all the Frances on the map, lovelier than anyAlp that ever poked its nose against the sky, dearer than all theVenices afloat--the greatest, most welcome sight that ever greeted myeyes was my own brass front door knob holding itself out there in thetwilight of yesterday to welcome me home and twinkling in the fadinglight of day like a house afire as if to show it was glad to see meback. That's why the minute I came into the yard I took off my hat andknelt down before that old brass knob and kissed it."
The old man's voice shook just a little as he spoke, and a smallteardrop gathered and glistened in a corner of his eye--but it was atear of joy and content, not of sorrow.
"And then when I turned the knob and opened the door," he went on,"well--talk about your Palaces with all their magnificent shiny floorsand gorgeous gold framed mirrors and hall-bedrooms as big as the MadisonSquare Garden--they couldn't compare to this old parlor of mine with thepiano over on one side of the room, the refrigerator in the other, theleak beaming down from the ceiling, and my kitchen-stove peeking inthrough the door and sort of keeping an eye on things generally. And nota picture in all that 9643 miles of paint at the Loover can hold acandle to my beloved old Washington Crossing the Delaware over mymantel-piece, with the British bombarding him with snow-balls and theriver filled to the brim with ice-bergs--no sirree! And best of all,nobody around to leave their aitches all over the place for somebodyelse to pick up, or any French language to take a pretty little bird andturn it into a wazzoh, or to turn a good honest hard boiled egg into anoof, but everybody from Me myself down to the kitchen-stove using thegood old American language
whenever we have something to say and holdingour tongues in the same when we haven't."
"Hooray for us!" cried Whistlebinkie, dancing with glee.
"That's what I say," said the Unwiseman. "America's good enough for meand I'm glad I'm back."
"Well I feel the same way," said Mollie. "I liked Europe very muchindeed but somehow or other I like America best."
"And for a very good reason," said the Unwiseman.
"What?" asked Mollie.
"Because it's Home," said the Unwiseman.
"I guess-thassit," said Whistlebinkie.
"Well don't guess again, Fizzledinkie," said the Unwiseman, "becausethat's the answer, and if you guessed again you might get it wrong."
And so it was that Mollie and the Unwiseman and Whistlebinkie finishedtheir trip abroad, and returned better pleased with Home than they hadever been before, which indeed is one of the greatest benefits any of usget out of a trip to Europe, for after all that fine old poet was rightwhen he said:
"East or West Home is best."
In closing I think I ought to say that the Unwiseman's umbrella turnedup in good order the next morning, and where do you suppose?
Why up on the roof where the kind-hearted burglar had placed it toprotect the Unwiseman's leak from the rain!
So he seems to have been a pretty honest old burglar after all.
THE END.
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