Part 16 (1/2)
”What's sky-sc.r.a.per in French?” demanded Whistlebinkie suddenly.
”They don't have sky-sc.r.a.pers in French,” retorted the old gentleman.
”So your question, like most of the others you ask, is very very foolish.”
”You think you can get along all right then, Mr. Me?” asked Mollie, gazing proudly at the old man and marvelling as to the amount of study he must have done in two days.
”I can if I can only get people talking the way I want 'em to,” replied the Unwiseman. ”I've really learned a lot of very polite conversation.
For instance something like this:
”Do you wish to go anywhere?
No I do not wish to go anywhere.
Why don't you wish to go somewhere?
Because I've been everywhere.
You must have seen much.
No I have seen nothing.
Is not that rather strange?
No it is rather natural.
Why?
Because to go everywhere one must travel too rapidly to see anything.”
”That you see,” the Unwiseman went on, ”goes very well at a five o'clock tea. The only trouble would be to get it started, but if I once got it going right, why I could rattle it off in French as easy as falling off a log.”
”Smity interesting conversation,” said Whistlebinkie really delighted.
”I'm glad you find it so,” replied the Unwiseman.
”It's far more interesting in French than it is in English.”
”Givus-smore,” whistled Whistlebinkie.
”Give us what?” demanded the Unwiseman.
”Some-more,” said Whistlebinkie.
”Well here is a very nice bit that I can do if somebody gives me the chance,” said the Unwiseman. ”It begins:
”Lend me your silver backed hand-gla.s.s.
Certainly. Who is that singing in the drawing room?
It is my daughter.
It is long since I heard anyone sing so well.
She has been taking lessons only two weeks.
Does she practice on the phonograph or on her Aunt's upright piano?
On neither. She accompanies herself upon the banjo.
I think she sings almost as well as Miss S.
Miss S. has studied for three weeks but Marietta has a better ear.