Part 7 (1/2)

”But how did you escape?” said the boy.

”Oh, I had a way, and it worked, that's all. I'm the safest soldier in the world, I am. You can capture me eight times a day, but I am always sure to escape,” said the major, proudly. ”But, my dear general, how is it that you do not tremble? Are you not aware that under the circ.u.mstances you ought to be a badly frightened warrior?”

”I don't tremble, because I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not,” said Jimmieboy. ”Besides, I never saw a Quandary, and so I can't tell how terrible he is. Is he dreadful?”

”He's more than dreadful,” returned the major. ”No word of two syllables expresses his dreadfulness. He is simply calamitous; and if there was a longer word in the dictionary applying to his case I'd use it, if it took all my front teeth out to say it.”

”That's all very well,” said Jimmieboy, ”but you can't make me s.h.i.+ver with fear by saying he's calamitous. What does he do? Bite?”

”Bite? Well, I guess not,” answered the major, scornfully. ”He doesn't need to bite. Would you bite an apple if you could swallow it whole?”

”I think I would,” said Jimmieboy. ”How would I get the juice of it if I didn't?”

”You'd get just as much juice whether you bit it or not,” snapped the major, who did not at all like Jimmieboy's coolness under the circ.u.mstances. ”The Quandary doesn't bite anything, because his mouth is so large there isn't anything he can bite. He just takes you as you stand, gives a great gulp, and there you are.”

”Where?” queried Jimmieboy, who could not quite follow the major.

”Wherever you happen to be, of course,” said the major, gruffly. ”You aren't a very sharp general, it seems to me. You don't seem to be able to see through a hole with a millstone in it. I have to explain everything to you just as if you were a baby or a school-teacher, but I can just tell you that if you ever were attacked by a Quandary you wouldn't like it much, and if he ever swallowed you you'd be a mighty lonesome general for a little while. You'd be a regular land Jonah.”

”Don't get mad at me, major,” said Jimmieboy, clapping his companion on the back. ”I'll be frightened if you want me to. Br-rr-rrr-rrr-rrrrr!

There, is that the kind of a tremble you want me to have?”

”Thank you, yes,” the major replied, his face clearing and his smile returning. ”I am very much obliged; and now to show you that you haven't made any mistake in getting frightened, I'll tell you what a Quandary is, and what he has done, and how I managed to escape; and as poetry is the easiest method for me to express my thoughts with, I'll put it all in rhyme.

”THE QUANDARY.

He is a fearful animal, That quaint old Quandary-- A cousin of the tragical And whimsically magical Dilemma-bird is he.

He has an eye that's wonderful-- 'Tis like a public school: It has a thousand dutiful, Though scarcely any beautiful, Small pupils 'neath its rule.

And every pupil--marvelous Indeed, sir, to relate-- When man becomes contiguous, Makes certainty ambiguous-- Which is unfortunate.

For when this ambiguity Has seized upon his prize, Whate'er man tries, to do it he Will find when he is through it, he Had best done otherwise.

And hence it is this animal, Of which I sing my song, This creature reprehensible, Is held by persons sensible Responsible for wrong.

So if a friend or foe you see Departing from his aim, Be full, I pray, of charity-- He may have met the Quandary, And so is not to blame.”

”That is very pretty,” said Jimmieboy, as the major finished; ”but, do you know, major, I don't understand one word of it.”

Much to Jimmieboy's surprise the major was pleased at this remark.

”Thank you, Jimmieboy,” he said. ”That proves that I am a true poet. I think there's some meaning in those lines, but it's so long since I wrote them that I have forgotten exactly what I did mean, and it's that very thing that makes a poem out of the verses. Poetry is nothing but riddles in rhyme. You have to guess what is meant by the lines, and the harder that is, the greater the poem.”

”But I don't see much use of it,” said Jimmieboy. ”Riddles are fun sometimes, but poetry isn't.”

”That's very true,” said the major. ”But poetry has its uses. If it wasn't for poetry, the poets couldn't make a living, or if they did, they'd have to go into some other business, and most other businesses are crowded as it is.”

”Do people ever make a living writing poetry?” Jimmieboy asked.

”Once in a while. I knew a man once who did. He called himself the Grocer-Poet, because he was a grocer in the day-time and a poet at night. He sold every poem he wrote, too,” said the major.