Part 11 (1/2)

”You'll pay now, or I'll--” the cabby began.

And just then, fortunately for all, Mollie's father, who had been looking all over London for his missing daughter, appeared, and in his joy over finding his little one, paid the cabby and saved the Unwiseman from what promised to be a most unpleasant row.

VI.

THEY GET SOME FOG AND GO SHOPPING

The following day the Unwiseman was in high-feather. At last he was able to contemplate in all its gorgeousness a real London fog of which he had heard so much, for over the whole city hung one of those deep, dark, impenetrable mists which cause so much trouble at times to those who dwell in the British capital.

”Hurry up, Mollie, and come out,” he cried enthusiastically rapping on the little girl's door. ”There's one of the finest fogs outside you ever saw. I'm going to get a bottle full of it and take it home with me.”

”Hoh!” jeered Whistlebinkie. ”What a puffickly 'bsoyd thing to do--as if we never didn't have no fogs at home!”

”We don't have any London fogs in America, Whistlebinkie,” said Mollie.

”No but we have very much finer ones,” boasted the patriotic Whistlebinkie. ”They're whiter and cleaner to begin with, and twice as deep.”

”Well never mind, Whistlebinkie,” said Mollie. ”Don't go looking around for trouble with the Unwiseman. It's very nice to be able to enjoy everything as much as he does and you shouldn't never find fault with people because they enjoy themselves.”

”Hi-there, Mollie,” came the Unwiseman's voice at the door. ”Just open the door a little and I'll give you a hatful of it.”

”You can come in,” said Mollie. ”Whistlebinkie and I are all dressed.”

And the little girl opened the door and the Unwiseman entered. He carried his beaver hat in both hands, as though it were a pail without a handle, and over the top of it he had spread a copy of the morning's paper.

”It's just the finest fog ever,” he cried as he came in. ”Real thick. I thought you'd like to have some, so I went out on the sidewalk and got a hat full of it for you.”

Mollie and Whistlebinkie gathered about the old gentleman as he removed the newspaper from the top of his hat, and gazed into it.

”I do-see-anthing,” whistled Whistlebinkie.

”You don't?” cried the Unwiseman. ”Why it's chock full of fog. You can see it can't you Mollie?” he added anxiously, for to tell the truth the hat did seem to be pretty empty.

Mollie tried hard and was able to convince herself that she could see just a tiny bit of it and acted accordingly.

”Isn't it beautiful!” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, as if filled with admiration for the contents of the Unwiseman's hat. ”I don't think I ever saw any just like it before--did you, Mr. Me?”

”No,” said the Unwiseman much pleased, ”I don't think I ever did--it's so delicate and--er--steamy, eh? And there's miles of it outdoors and the Robert down on the corner says we're welcome to all we want of it. I didn't like to take it without asking, you know.”

”Of course not,” said Mollie, glancing into the hat again.

”So I just went up to the pleeceman and told him I was going to start a museum at home and that I wanted to have some real London fog on exhibition and would he mind if I took some. 'Go ahead, sir,' he said very politely. 'Go ahead and take all you want. We've got plenty of it and to spare. You can take it all if you want it.' Mighty kind of him I think,” said the Unwiseman. ”So I dipped out a hat full for you first.

Where'll I put it?”

”O----,” said Mollie, ”I--I don't know. I guess maybe you'd better pour it out into that vase up there on the mantel-piece--it isn't too thick to go in there, is it?”

”It don't seem to be,” said the Unwiseman peering cautiously into the hat. ”Somehow or other it don't seem quite as thick inside here as it did out there on the street. Tell you the truth I don't believe it'll keep unless we get it in a bottle and cork it up good and tight--do you?”