Part 17 (1/2)

”Why he's dead,” said Mollie.

”What?” cried the Unwiseman. ”Umpire Napoleon dead? Why--when did that happen? I didn't see anything about it in the newspapers.”

”He died a long time ago,” answered Mollie. ”Before I was born, I guess.”

”Well I never!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Unwiseman, his face clouding over. ”That book I read on the History of France didn't say anything about his being dead--that is, not as far as I got in it. Last time I heard of him he was starting out for Russia to give the Czar a licking. I supposed he thought it was a good time to do it after the j.a.ps had started the ball a-rolling. Are you sure about that?”

”Pretty sure,” said Mollie. ”I don't know very much about French history, but I'm almost certain he's dead.”

”I'm going down stairs to ask at the office,” said the Unwiseman.

”They'll probably know all about it.”

So the little old gentleman pattered down the hall to the elevator and went to the office to inquire as to the fate of the Emperor Napoleon. In five minutes he was back again.

”Say, Mollie,” he whispered through the key-hole. ”I wish you'd ask your father about the Umpire. I can't seem to find out anything about him.”

”Don't they know at the office?” asked Mollie.

”Oh I guess they know all right,” said the Unwiseman, ”but there's a hitch somewhere in my getting the information. Far as I can find out these people over here don't understand their own language. I asked 'em in French, like this: 'Mounseer le Umpire, est il mort?' And they told me he was _no_ more. Now whether _no_ more means that he is not mort, or _is_ mort, depends on what language the man who told me was speaking. If he was speaking French he's not dead. If he was speaking English he _is_ dead, and there you are. It's awfully mixed up.”

”I-guess-seez-ded-orright,” whistled Whistlebinkie. ”He was dead last time I heard of him, and I guess when they're dead once there dead for good.”

”Well you never can tell,” said the Unwiseman. ”He was a very great man, the Umpire Napoleon was, and they might have only thought he was dead while he was playing foxy to see what the newspapers would say about him.”

So Mollie asked her father and to the intense regret of everybody it turned out that the great Emperor had been dead for a long time.

”It's a very great disappointment to me,” sighed the Unwiseman, when Mollie conveyed the sad news to him. ”The minute I knew we were coming to France I began to read up about the country, and Napoleon Bonaparte was one of the things I came all the way over to see. Are the Boys de Bologna dead too?”

”I never heard of them,” said Mollie.

”I feel particularly upset about the Umpire,” continued the Unwiseman, ”because I sat up almost all last night getting up some polite conversation to be held with him this morning. I found just the thing for it in my book.”

”Howdit-go?” whistled Whistlebinkie.

”Like this,” said the Unwiseman. ”I was going to begin with:

”'Shall you buy a horse?'

”And the Umpire was to say:

”'I should like to buy a horse from you.'

”And then we were to continue with:

”'I have no horse but I will sell you my dog.'

'You are wrong; dogs are such faithful creatures.'

'But my wife prefers cats----'”

”Pooh!” cried Whistlebinkie. ”You haven't got any wife.”

”Well, what of it?” retorted the Unwiseman. ”The Umpire wouldn't know that, and besides she _would_ prefer cats if I had one. You should not interrupt conversation when other people are talking, Whistlebinkie, especially when it's polite conversation.”

”Orright-I-pol-gize,” whistled Whistlebinkie. ”Go on with the rest of it.”