Part 6 (1/2)
”I don't know what else to do,” said Jimmieboy. ”I'm obeying orders. The colonel told me to get those things, and I supposed I ought to get 'em.”
”It doesn't pay to suppose,” said the Parallelopipedon. ”Many a victory has been lost by a supposition. As that old idiot Major Blueface said once, when he tried to tell an untruth, and so hit the truth by mistake:
'Success always comes to The mortal who knows, And never to him who Does naught but suppose.
For knowledge is certain, While hypothesees Oft drop defeat's curtain On great victories.'”
”What are hypothesees?” asked Jimmieboy.
”They are ifs in words of four syllables,” said the Parallelopipedon, ”and you want to steer clear of them as much as you can.”
”I'll try to,” said Jimmieboy. ”But how am I to get knowledge instead of hypotheseeses? I have to take what people tell me. I don't know everything.”
”Well, that's only natural,” said the Parallelopipedon, kindly. ”There are only two creatures about here that do know everything. They--between you and me--are me and myself. The others you meet here don't even begin to know everything, though they'll try to make you believe they do. Now I dare say that tin colonel of yours would try to make you believe that water is wet, and that fire is hot, and other things like that. Well, they are, but he doesn't know it. He only thinks it. He has put his hand into a pail of water and found out that it was wet, but he doesn't know why it is wet any more than he knows why fire is hot.”
”Do you?” queried Jimmieboy.
”Certainly,” returned the Parallelopipedon. ”Water is wet because it is water, and fire is hot because it wouldn't be fire if it wasn't hot. Oh, it takes brains to know everything, Jimmieboy, and if there's one thing old Colonel Zinc hasn't got, it's brains. If you don't believe it, cut his head off some day and see for yourself. You won't find a whole brain in his head.”
”It must be nice to know everything,” said Jimmieboy.
”It's pretty nice,” said the Parallelopipedon, cautiously. ”But it's not always the nicest thing in the world. If you are off on a long journey, for instance, it's awfully hard work to carry all you know along with you. It has given me a headache many a time, I can tell you. Sometimes I wish I did like your papa, and kept all I know in books instead of in my head. It's a great deal better to do things that way; then, when you go travelling, and have to take what you know along with you, you can just pack it up in a trunk and make the railroad people carry it.”
”Do you know what's going to happen to-morrow and the next day?” asked Jimmieboy, gazing in rapt admiration at the spot whence the voice proceeded.
”Yes, indeed. That's just where the great trouble comes in,” answered the Parallelopipedon. ”It isn't so much bother to know what has been--what everybody knows--but when you have to store up in your mind thousands and millions of things that aren't so now, but have got to be so some day, it's positively awful. Why, Jimmieboy,” he said, impressively, ”you'd be terrified if I told you what is going to be known by the time you go to school; it's awful to think of all the things you will have to learn then that aren't things yet, but are going to be within a year or two. I'm real sorry for the little boys who will live a hundred years from now, when I think of all the history they will have to learn when they go to school--history that isn't made yet. Just take the Presidents of the United States, for instance. In George Was.h.i.+ngton's time it didn't take a boy five seconds to learn the list of Presidents; but think of that list to-day! Why, there are twenty-five names on it now, and more to come. It gets harder every year. Now I--I know the names of all the Presidents there's ever going to be, and it would take me just eighteen million nine hundred and sixty-seven years, eleven months and twenty-six days, four hours and twenty-eight minutes to tell you all of them, and even then I wouldn't be half through.”
”Why, it's terrible,” said Jimmieboy.
”Yes, indeed it is,” returned the Parallelopipedon. ”You ought to be glad you are a little boy now instead of having to wait until then. The boys of the year 19,605,726,422 are going to have the hardest time in the world learning things, and I don't believe they'll get through going to school much before they're ninety years old.”
”I guess the colonel is glad he doesn't know all that,” said Jimmieboy, ”if it's so hard to carry it around with you.”
”Indeed he ought to be, if he isn't,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Parallelopipedon.
”There's no two ways about it; if he had the weight of one half of what I know on his shoulders, it would bend him in two and squash him into a piece of tin-foil.”
”Say,” said Jimmieboy, after a moment's pause. ”I heard my papa say he thought I might be President of the United States some day. If you know all the names of the Presidents that are to come, tell me, will I be?”
”I don't remember any name like Jimmieboy on the list,” said the Parallelopipedon; ”but that doesn't prove anything. You might get elected on your last name. But don't let's talk about that--that's politics, and I don't like politics. What I want to know is, do you really want to capture me?”
”Yes, I do,” said Jimmieboy.
”Then you'd better give up trying to get the peaches and cherries,” said the Parallelopipedon, firmly. ”I won't have 'em. You can shoot 'em at me at the rate of a can a minute for ninety-seven years, and I'll never surrender. I hate 'em.”
”But what am I to do, then?” queried the little general. ”What must I do to capture you?”
”Get something in the place of the cherries and peaches that I like, that's all. Very simple matter, that.”