"Citizens of Whangdoodleland. Honored guests. Your attention, please. It is with greatest pleasure that I present to you His Majesty the King . . . and his lovely Queen."
The entire congregation sank to their knees, and there was a sigh of delight, as the royal couple entered.
The Whangdoodle's antlers were adorned with the royal jewels and he glittered and sparkled like a Christmas tree. His shy and enchanting bride wore a simple diamond coronet.
Everyone cheered. Love and happiness filled the beautiful room.
The Prock danced with Lindy. Ben was an instant success with the female Jiffies. They thought him most handsome and plied him with sweets and paid him so much attention that he became quite embarrassed.
Lindy was asked to sing and she happily complied. Her sweet voice pleased everyone, and the Splinter-cat obligingly put his head in the punch bowl to keep from howling.
The Whangdoodle spent every second with his bride. He was unashamedly in love and very keen
to impress her. At one point his exuberance got the better of him and he turned every color of the rainbow while dancing cabrioles and banging his new slippers together.
Lindy said, "Your Majesty, you're changing color. Is that Flange?"
"Yes! Yes! Flange! Flange! Flange!" the King yelled at the top of his voice. "It's surprisingly simple this evening. Can't think why."
The grand ball continued long into the night. Everyone agreed that there had never been such a party. The doors of the palace were opened and dancing couples spilled out into the crystal courtyards and waltzed beneath a sparkling, starry sky.
The professor sat quietly beside the royal couple and watched them proudly. The Whangdoodle moved over to speak with him.
"My good friend, my dear, dear Professor," he lisped affectionately. "How can I ever thank you for what you have done? You have given me all that my heart desired."
"I'm glad, Your Majesty. That makes me very happy. Remember that your wife will need a lot of care. She is still fragile and needs to gain strength. Have you decided on a name for her yet?"
"I thought that I'd leave the choice to you. Will you do me the honor and think of something pretty?
We intend to have a quiet christening in a couple of days."
The professor thought about it. "I think that I would like the Queen to be named something simple. She is the very essence of what my work is all about, and I am most proud of the achievement. How about Clarity?"
"Splendid. Splendid. A lovely name. Claire for short."
The Whangdoodle turned to his wife and said, "My dear, the professor has thought of a perfect name for you. You are to be christened Clarity."
The little Whangdoodle looked at the King and murmured, "Umbledumbledum."
The Whangdoodle immediately turned Crash Pink.
The professor smiled. "What does that word mean, Your Majesty?"
"It is a special term of endearment known to all Whangdoodles."
The professor smiled. "Sire, there is one very important thing that I would like to discuss with you, and that is the children and the matter of their hats—the scrappy caps. It is imperative that you give them back to me."
The Whangdoodle looked uncomfortable. "Couldn't we talk about that tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid not. You see, tomorrow, we simply must be on our way."
"Bother." The Whangdoodle fell silent for a moment. He looked up. "I don't want you to go, you know."
"Oh, Your Majesty. We don't want to go either."
"I know that it will somehow get out that you came to see me. That will be the beginning of the end. Life is so wonderful now. There's more reason than ever for me to protect it." The King looked worried and dispirited. "I don't see how I can possibly let you go."
"But, Sire . . . think of the children and their family. It would be unfair and not at all like you if you refused to allow them to go home. It is important that they continue to live their lives as they were meant to live them. Consider how you would feel if you were separated from your wife and were unable to see her again."
"Oh, my goodness." The King turned white. "I do see what you mean. But humans aren't to be trusted, are they?"
"Might I suggest you start learning to trust again, Your Majesty? You used to, in the old days. Why would any of us want to spoil life for you? We'd be destroying the very thing we've come to appreciate and love."
"I shall miss you." The Whangdoodle's eyes grew moist and he blinked several times.
"We will miss you too."
"Will you come back and visit?"
The professor spoke sincerely. "You have only to send word."
"Yes. Good." The Whangdoodle beckoned to the Prock. "Prock, old boy. Fetch the hats—the scrappy caps. The professor and the children will be leaving in the morning. Also, have The Jolly Boat brought up. I want to escort them home."
Everyone turned out to see them off.
It was a sparkling fresh morning. The Jolly Boat moved down the Golden River with the professor and the children and the Prock and the Whangdoodle aboard. Clarity stayed behind at the palace in order to rest for her royal christening.
The children felt mixed emotions of happiness and sadness. It was good to be going home, but sad to be saying goodbye. They brightened, however, when the professor revealed that the Whangdoodle had extended an invitation to come and visit again another day.
As they sailed along they made good use of the royal soda fountain. Having eaten their fill, the children reflected on all the exciting things they had done and the wonders they had seen.
Lindy looked at the mountains and remembered the Gyascutus and wondered how she had ever managed to pluck up enough courage to cross the bridge for the professor.
Ben saw the needle rock and thought how narrowly they had missed being caught by the Splintercat.
Tom recalled his valiant dash to catch up with The Brainstrain. Each child concluded that every danger, every challenge, had finally been worthwhile.
The Whangdoodle was deep in conversation with the professor. "I'm going to tell you a secret," he confided. "The Prock said never to tell anyone, but I want to tell you. When all the other Whangdoodles disappeared so many hundreds of years ago, it was because humanity chose to forget them. The only reason I was able to stay alive in those dreadful times was because I was certain that somebody, somewhere, still believed in me. I thought you might like to know how good it feels to have my faith justified after all these years."
The professor was so touched, he was unable to reply. The Whangdoodle continued. "I don't suppose you could stay on, could you? I understand about the children having to go. But couldn't you stay?"
"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. There is a lot of work for me to finish."
"Mmm. I was just thinking that I could use your advice. I mean, I've never been married before. I hope I'll be able to look after Claire properly—you know, be a wise husband and everything."
"I don't think you'll have any problems, Your Majesty. Just love her very much, as she so obviously loves you, and you'll find the answers, never fear."
The Jolly Boat pulled into its mooring on the Blandlands plain. The children and the professor said their goodbyes. It was a sad moment.
There was a sudden flurry of feathers and the Whiffle Bird appeared out of nowhere and flew straight onto Tom's shoulder. She screamed "MAYDAY!" right in his ear.
"What is it, Whiffle Bird? What is it?" he gasped. She made frantic little sounds and hung on to his jacket.
The Prock stepped forward and said wisely, "It is because you are leaving. Come along, Whiffle Bird. Thomas will be back another day."
"Of course I will," said Tom bravely. He lifted her off his shoulder and handed her gently to the Prock.
"Now, you take care of yourself, dear Whiffle Bird. I'll see you soon." He turned away so that she could not see his distress.
The professor glanced at the children, then looked at the Whangdoodle. He gave a meaningful nod of farewell. The c
hildren suddenly felt the world beginning to spin, and the familiar dazzling light surrounded them. Almost immediately they found themselves back in the professor's garden.
The professor said quietly, "You'd better hurry on home. Ethel will be waiting for you."
Lindy flung her arms about him. "Oh, Professor, thank you for the best time ever. It was wonderful. Will we see you soon?"
"Yes, I'll be here from time to time, though Washington will be my base."
"It's not going to be the same without you," said Ben.
"Good heavens, you can't have life handed to you on a platter every day," said the professor. "That would be very boring and there'd be no satisfaction in it. You shouldn't be needing me at all for a while. You've learned your lessons well. Look around you. Don't you see things differently now?"
The children gazed at the garden and the familiar house and the sky above and realized that they were aware of every detail, every color, every texture. It was hard to believe there had ever been a time when they had not seen the world with the same clarity.
The professor put his arms around them and said firmly, "Listen to me. You have all the tools, all the equipment necessary to make your own world as wonderful as Whangdoodleland. So how about trying? If you set a good enough example you could start a fashion. Think of the favor you'd be doing the Whangdoodle. He might be persuaded to visit one day; he might just stay around if we all tried hard enough. It's up to each and every one of us. Now be off with you. I love you, and I'll write you a long letter from Washington."
Epilogue
It felt .good to be home.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter returned on Sunday and Mrs. Potter cooked a delicious evening meal.
Mr. Potter said, "Well, how was your vacation? Did you miss us?"
"The professor gave us a lovely time, but yes, we did miss you," said Ben.
"How's Grandma?" asked Lindy.
"She's much better, darling. She knitted you these pretty slippers." Mrs. Potter handed Lindy a pair of pink woolen slippers with floppy tassels on them.
Lindy gasped in surprise. "Why, they're almost exactly like the Whangdoodle's!" she blurted out.
"The what?" Mrs. Potter looked puzzled.
The telephone rang and Mr. Potter got up to answer it.
Ben nudged Lindy fiercely under the table. He said evenly, "The professor was telling us about a funny creature in olden times that was supposed to grow slippers."
"Is that the creature you were looking up in the dictionary a few weeks ago?"
"Yes." Ben glanced at Tom. The conversation was getting out of hand.
Mrs. Potter began to clear the dishes from the table. "Did you ever find out if it existed or not?"
There was a long pause. Ben stammered, "The—the professor said it was up to us to decide."
Fortunately, it ended there, because Mr. Potter walked excitedly into the room.
"Freda, that was the University on the phone. The most amazing thing has happened. You know all that equipment that was stolen from the laboratory? Well, it has been returned. Every single piece."
"It must have been a student hoax, dear."
"It must have been." Mr. Potter sat down by the fire and opened the Sunday paper. "Fetch my pipe, will you, Tom? Did the professor say anything to you, Ben, about the theft? It was his stuff that was stolen, you know."
"No, sir."
"Hmm. It's very odd. Ah . . . here's a photograph of your friend in the paper. I see he's going to Washington as Special Scientific Adviser to the President. Well, let's hope he does some good."
"Oh, I'm certain he will, Dad," Ben said with a smile.
Mr. Potter frowned. "This work he's doing, this genetics thing. I'm not sure I like the idea. In the final analysis, I wonder if it'll be good for mankind."
Ben felt a sudden tremendous need to communicate with his father.
"Well, whether we like it or not, I think genetics is here to stay, Dad, and it could be the answer to a lot of things." He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "We will have a tremendous responsibility on our hands. If we're going to play God we must try to do it with honor and decency."
Edwin Potter stared at his son. Then he said quietly, "Ben, you're growing up. Those are very wise remarks and you're absolutely right."
Ben felt a warm glow of happiness at his father's praise. "I . . . I think the professor helped me think it out," he explained.
Mrs. Potter took up her knitting. "Professor. Professor. That's the only word I ever hear," she admonished gently. "Will you ever stop talking about that man, I wonder?"
The children looked at each other.
"Oh, I don't think so," they all answered at exactly the same moment.
Julie Andrews Edwards, The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles
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