Part 6 (1/2)
He had lain in his little bed barely more than an hour, when from outside the window there came a whisper:--”Hi, there, Jimmieboy!”
Jimmieboy got up on his elbow to listen, but just then the door opened and Dr. Pump, accompanied by the landlord, walked in. So he lay back and the words at the window were not repeated.
Dr. Pump walked to the side of Jimmieboy's cot.
”Well, young man,” said he, ”what do you think of air pies up here, now?”
”They're bully,” said Jimmieboy, weakly, and resolved to give in.
”H'm,” said Dr. Pump. ”Bad case, this. I can't say whether of insanity or compulsion. There's only one course. We'll order a pie. If he's insane he'll eat it. If he is acting under compulsion”----
”I won't eat it,” roared Jimmieboy, springing up from his pillow. ”I won't; I won't; I won't. I'll take cod liver oil on my strawberries first!”
His was evidently an awful case, for immediately Dr. Pump, the nurse and the landlord and every patient in the place fled from the room, shrieking with terror.
”Good for you! You've scared them silly,” whispered the voice at the window. ”Now, Jimmieboy, hurry. Jump out. I'll catch you and we'll be off. Be quick, for they'll be back in a moment. Jump!”
”Who are you?” cried Jimmieboy, for he was still the same cautious little traveller.
”Bikey! I only went back on you to help you!” he said. ”Jump!”
And then the door opened again, and the landlord and Dr. Pump and the nurses and all the patients and a platoon of policemen crashed into the room.
”Catch him, quick!” cried the landlord. But Jimmieboy had already jumped, landing upon the friendly saddle of Bikey. In an instant he found himself speeding away through s.p.a.ce.
”Are we still on Saturn?” he gasped.
”Not we!” cried Bikey. ”That place is too hot for us. We're not on anything. I'm simply tumbling through the clouds and whirring my wheels for fun. I like to see the wheels go round. Don't bother. We'll land somewhere.”
”But,” cried Jimmieboy, ”where?”
And then there was a crash. Bikey made no reply, but----
”Here,” said a well known and affectionate voice.
”Where's here?” asked Jimmieboy, faintly, opening his eyes and gazing up into a very familiar face.
”You interrupted me, my son,” remarked the owner of the familiar face.
”I was about to say, 'Here now, Jimmieboy, this business of falling out of bed has got to stop.' This is the fifth time in two weeks that I have had to restore you to your comfortable couch. Where have you been this time?”
”Off with Bikey,” murmured Jimmieboy, rubbing his eyes and gazing about his nursery.
”Nonsense,” said his daddy, the owner of the familiar voice. ”With Bikey? Why Bikey has been in the laundry all night.” Which fact Bikey never denied, but nowadays when the incident is mentioned he agitates his cyclometer violently, and shakes all over as if he thought it was a good joke on somebody.
In all of which I am inclined to agree with him.
THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE