Part 13 (1/2)

VII.

THE UNWISEMAN VISITS THE BRITISH MUSEUM

”What's the matter, Mr. Me?” asked Mollie one morning after they had been in London for a week. ”You look very gloomy this morning. Aren't you feeling well?”

”O I'm feeling all right physically,” said the Unwiseman. ”But I'm just chock full of gloom just the same and I want to get away from here as soon as I can. Everything in the whole place is bogus.”

”Oh Mr. Me! you mustn't say that!” protested Mollie.

”Well if it ain't there's something mighty queer about it anyhow, and I just don't like it,” said the Unwiseman. ”I know they've fooled me right and left, and I'm just glad George Was.h.i.+ngton licked 'em at Bunco Hill and pushed 'em off our continent on the double quick.”

”What is the particular trouble?” asked Mollie.

”Well, in the first place,” began the old gentleman, ”that King we saw the other day wasn't a real king at all--just a sort of decoy king they keep outside the Palace to shoo people off and keep them from bothering the real one; and in the second place the Prince of Whales aint' a whale at all. He ain't even a s.h.i.+ner. He's just a man. I don't see what right they have to fool people the way they do. They wouldn't dare run a circus that way at home.”

Mollie laughed, and Whistlebinkie squeaked with joy.

”You didn't really expect him to be a whale, did you?” Mollie asked.

”Why of course I did,” said the Unwiseman. ”Why not? They claim over here that Britannia rules the waves, don't they?”

”They certainly do,” said Mollie gravely.

”Then it's natural to suppose they have a big fish somewhere to represent 'em,” said the Unwiseman. ”The King can't go slos.h.i.+ng around under the ocean saying howdido to porpoises and shad and fellers like that. It's too wet and he'd catch his death of cold, so I naturally thought the Prince of Whales looked after that end of the business, and now I find he's not even a sardine. It's perfectly disgusting.”

”I knew-he-wasn't-a-fish,” said Whistlebinkie.

”Well you always were smarter than anybody else,” growled the Unwiseman.

”You know a Roc's egg isn't a pebble without anybody telling you I guess. You were born with the multiplication table in your hat, but as for me I'm glad I've got something to learn. I guess carrying so much real live information around in your hat is what makes you squeak so.”

The old gentleman paused a moment and then he went on again.

”What I'm worrying most about is that mock king,” he said. ”Here I've gone and invited him over to America, and offered to present him with the freedom of my kitchen stove and introduce him to my burgular.

Suppose he comes? What on earth am I going to do? I can't introduce him as the real king, and if I pa.s.s him off for a bogus king everybody'll laugh at me, and accuse me of bringing my burgular into bad company.”

”How did you find it out?” asked Mollie sadly, for she had already written home to her friends giving them a full account of their reception by his majesty.

”Why I went up to the Palace this morning to see why he hadn't answered my letter and this time there was another man there, wearing the same suit of clothes, bear-skin hat, red jacket and all,” explained the Unwiseman. ”I was just flabbergasted and then it flashed over me all of a sudden that there might be a big conspiracy on hand to kidnap the real king and put his enemies on the throne. It was all so plain. Certainly no king would let anybody else wear his clothes, so this chap must have stolen them and was trying to pa.s.s himself off for Edward S. King himself.”

”Mercy!” cried Mollie. ”What did you do? Call for help?”

”No sirree--I mean no ma'am!” returned the Unwiseman. ”That wouldn't help matters any. I ran down the street to a telephone office and rang up the palace. I told 'em the king had been kidnapped and that a bogus king was paradin' up and down in front of the Palace with the royal robes on. I liked that first king so much I couldn't bear to think of his lyin' off somewhere in a dungeon-cell waiting to have his head chopped off. And what do you suppose happened? Instead of arresting the mock king they wanted to arrest me, and I think they would have if a nice old gentleman in a high hat and a frock coat like mine, only newer, hadn't driven up at that minute, bowing to everybody, and entered the Palace yard with the whole crowd giving him three cheers. Then what do you suppose? They tried to pa.s.s _him_ off on me as the _real_ king--why he was plainer than those m.u.f.fins and looked for all the world like a good natured life insurance agent over home.”

”And they didn't arrest you?” asked Mollie, anxiously.

”No indeed,” laughed the Unwiseman. ”I had my carpet-bag along and when the pleeceman wasn't looking I jumped into it and waited till they'd all gone. Of course they couldn't find me. I don't believe they've got any king over here at all.”

”Then you'll never be a Duke?” said Whistlebinkie.

”No sirree!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Unwiseman. ”Not while I know how to say no.