Part 15 (1/2)
”Oh my, O me!” he groaned from its depths. ”O what a wicked channel to behave this way. Mollie--Moll-lie--O Mollie I say.”
”Well?” said Mollie.
”Far from it--very unwell,” groaned the Unwiseman. ”Will you be good enough to ask the cook for a little salad oil?”
”Mercy,” cried Mollie. ”You don't want to mix a salad now do you?”
”Goodness, no!” moaned the Unwiseman. ”I want you to pour it on those waves and sort of clam them down and then, if you don't mind, take the carpet-bag----”
”Yes,” said Mollie.
”And chuck it overboard,” groaned the Unwiseman. ”I--I don't feel as if I cared ever to hear the dinner-bell again.”
Poor Unwiseman! He was suffering the usual fate of those who cross the British Channel, which behaves itself at times as if it really did have an idea that it was a great big ocean and had an ocean's work to do. But fortunately this uneasy body of water is not very wide, and it was not long before the travellers landed safe and sound on the solid sh.o.r.es of France, none the worse for their uncomfortable trip.
”I guess you were wise not to throw me overboard after all,” said the Unwiseman, as he came out of the carpet-bag at Calais. ”I feel as fine as ever now and my lost French has returned.”
”I'd like to hear some,” said Mollie.
”Very well,” replied the Unwiseman carelessly. ”Go ahead and ask me a question and I'll answer it in French.”
”Hm! Let me see,” said Mollie wondering how to begin. ”Have you had breakfast?”
”Wee Munsieur, j'ay le pain,” replied the Unwiseman gravely.
”What does that mean?” asked Mollie, puzzled.
”He says he has a pain,” said Whistlebinkie with a smile.
”Pooh! Bosh--nothing of the sort,” retorted the Unwiseman. ”Pain is French for bread. When I say 'j'ay le pain' I mean that I've got the bread.”
”Are you the jay?” asked Whistlebinkie with mischief in his tone.
”Jay in French is I have--not a bird, stupid,” retorted the Unwiseman indignantly.
”Funny way to talk,” sniffed Whistlebinkie. ”I should think pain would be a better word for pie, or something else that gives you one.”
”That's because you don't know,” said the Unwiseman. ”In addition to the pain I've had oofs.”
”Oooffs?” cried Whistlebinkie. ”What on earth are oooffs?”
”I didn't say oooffs,” retorted the Unwiseman, mocking Whistlebinkie's accent. ”I said oofs. Oofs is French for eggs. Chickens lay oofs in France. I had two hard boiled oofs, and my pain had burr and sooker on it.”
”Burr and sooker?” asked Mollie, wonderingly.
”I know what burr means--it's French for chestnuts,” guessed Whistlebinkie. ”He had chestnuts on his bread.”
”Nothing of the sort,” said the Unwiseman. ”Burr is French for b.u.t.ter and has nothing to do with chestnuts. Over here in France a lady goes into a b.u.t.ter store and also says avvy-voo-doo burr, and the man behind the counter says wee, wee, wee, jay-doo-burr. Jay le bonn-burr. That means, yes indeed I've got some of the best b.u.t.ter in the market, ma'am.”
”And then what does the lady say?” asked Whistlebinkie.
The Unwiseman's face flushed, and he looked very much embarra.s.sed. It always embarra.s.sed the poor old fellow to have to confess that there was something he didn't know. Unwis.e.m.e.n as a rule are very sensitive.