Part 16 (1/2)

Jimmieboy watched, and such a romp as followed he never had seen before.

The jumping Billikins was everywhere all the time. One second he'd be riding pickaback on one man, the next you'd find him sitting on another man's head trying to put his feet into the vest pockets of the third and fourth men, while with his hands he'd be playing tag with the others.

There was no describing that romp, but as the tiger had said, before five minutes the men were exhausted and the jumping Billikins, fresh as ever, was bowing his thanks to the audience for their applause. Then he walked proudly from the ring and the worn-out men were carried off by the baboon's a.s.sistants.

The next thing on the programme was a talking contest between a parrot and a chatterbox, but this Jimmieboy never saw, for a sudden shriek from the engine waiting with the train at the station for his return called him away. The animals expressed their regret at his early departure and requested him to come again sometime, which the little fellow promised to do.

”_I_ doan tink yo'll go again, mistah,” said the porter, with a smile, as the train drew away from the station.

”Why not?” asked Jimmieboy.

”Because----” said the porter. ”Be-cause----”

And then, strange to say, he faded out of sight and Jimmieboy, rubbing his eyes, was astonished to find that he wasn't on a railway train at all but in his papa's lap, where he had been all along.

AN ELECTRICAL ERROR

_AN ELECTRICAL ERROR_

Jimmieboy's father and mother had occasion to go to the city for a couple of days recently, and inasmuch as Jimmieboy is such a very movey young person they did not deem it well to leave him at home in the care of the nurse, who had as much as she could do taking care of his brothers, and so they took him along with them. One evening, having to go out to dinner, they invited a young man in Jimmieboy's father's employ to come up to the hotel and stay about and keep the little fellow amused until his bedtime, and to look out for him as well after that time until their return, which Fred was very willing to do since he received $2 reward for his trouble. He said afterward that he earned the two dollars in the first ten minutes playing Waterloo with Jimmieboy, in which pleasing game Jimmieboy was Wellington and Fred was Napoleon, but once a year he didn't mind earning a dollar or two extra in that way.

After the game of Waterloo was over and the Napoleonic Fred had managed to collect the b.u.t.tons which had been removed from his vest in the first half of the game, the Wellingtonian Jimmieboy decided that he was tired enough to go to bed, and inasmuch as Fred didn't oppose him very hard, to bed he went, and a half hour later both the boys, young and old, were snoring away as though their lives depended on it. It was quite evident that neither of them was as yet sufficiently strong to stand the game of Waterloo for more than an hour--and I don't really wonder at it, for my own experience has led me to believe that even Bonaparte and Wellington themselves would have been wearied beyond endurance by an hour's play at that diversion, however well they may have stood up under the anxieties of the original battle. In my first game with Jimmieboy I lost five pounds, eight b.u.t.tons, a necktie, two handfuls of hair and a portion of my temper. So, as I say, I do not wonder that they were exhausted by their efforts and willing to rest after them, though how either of them could sleep with the other snoring as loud as a factory whistle I could never understand.

Fred must have been unusually weary, for, as you will see, he slept more than Jimmieboy did--in fact, it wasn't later than nine o'clock when the latter waked up.

”Say, Fred,” he cried.

Fred answered with a deeper snore than ever.

”Fred!” cried Jimmieboy again. ”I want a drink of water.”

”Puggrrh,” snored Fred.

”Stop your growling and ring the telephone for some ice water,” said Jimmieboy, and again Fred answered with a snore, and in his sleep muttered something that sounded like ”It'll cost you $10 next time,” the meaning of which Jimmieboy didn't understand, but which I think had some reference to what it would cost his father to secure Fred as a companion for Jimmieboy on another occasion.

”Guess I'll have to ring it up myself,” said Jimmieboy, and with that he jumped out of bed and rushed to that delightful machine which is now to be found in most of the modern hotels, by means of which you can ring up anything you may happen to want, by turning a needle about on a dial until it points to the printed description of the thing you desire and pus.h.i.+ng a red b.u.t.ton.

”Wonder how they spell ice water,” said Jimmieboy. ”E-y-e spells I, and s-e spells sss-e-y-e-s-e, ice.” But he looked in vain for any such thing on the dial.

”O, well,” he said, after searching and searching, ”I'll ring up anything, and when the boy comes with it I'll order the ice water.”

So he gave the needle an airy twist, pushed the b.u.t.ton, and sat down to wait for the boy. Meanwhile he threw a pillow at Fred, who still lay snoring away on the sofa, only now he was puffing like a freight train engine when its wheels slip on an icy railway track.

”Lazybones,” snickered Jimmieboy, as the pillow landed on Fred's curly head. But Fred answered never a word, which so exasperated Jimmieboy that he got up with the intention of throwing himself at his sleeping companion, when he heard a queer noise over by the fireplace.

”Hullo, down there, 521. Is that you?” cried somebody.

Jimmieboy stared at the chimney in blank amazement.