Part 21 (1/2)
”Mary had a little sham Whose hide was soft as cotton, And everywhere that Mary went The shammy too went trottin'.”
sang the Unwiseman, dropping into poetry as was one of his habits when he was deeply moved.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHAMOIS EVIDENTLY LIKED THIS VERSE FOR ITS EYES TWINKLED]
The chamois evidently liked this verse for its eyes twinkled and it laid its head gently on the Unwiseman's knee and looked at him appealingly as if to say, ”More of that poetry please. You are a bard after my own heart.” So the Unwiseman went on, keeping time to his verse by slight taps on the chamois' nose.
”It followed her to town one day Unto the Country Fair, And earned five hundred dollars just In s.h.i.+ning silver-ware.”
Whistlebinkie indulged in a loud whistle of mirth at this, which so startled the little creature that it leapt backward fifteen feet in the air and landed on top of a small pump at the rear of the yard, and stood there poised on its four feet just like the chamois we see in pictures standing on a sharp peak miles up in the air, trembling just a little for fear that Whistlebinkie's squeak would be repeated. A moment of silence seemed to cure this, however, for in less than two minutes it was back again at the Unwiseman's side gazing soulfully at him as if demanding yet another verse. Of course the Unwiseman could not resist--he never could when people demanded poetry from him, it came so very easy--and so he continued:
”The children at the Country Fair Indulged in merry squawks To see the shammy polis.h.i.+ng The family knives and forks.
”The tablespoons, and coffee pots, The platters and tureens, The top of the mahogany, And crystal fire-screens.”
”More!” pleaded the chamois with his soft eyes, snuggling its head close into the Unwiseman's lap, and the old gentleman went on:
”'O isn't he a wondrous kid!'
The wondering children cried.
We didn't know a shammy could Do such things if he tried.
”And Mary answered with a smile That dimpled up her chin 'There's much that shammy's cannot do, But much that shammy-skin.'”
Whistlebinkie's behavior at this point became so utterly and inexcusably boisterous with mirth that the confiding little chamois was again frightened away and this time it gave three rapid leaps into the air which landed it ultimately upon the ridge-pole of the chalet, from which it wholly refused to descend, in spite of all the persuasion in the world, for the rest of the afternoon.
”Very intelligent little animal that,” said the Unwiseman, as he trudged his way home. ”A very high appreciation of true poetry, inclined to make friends.h.i.+p with the worthy, and properly mistrustful of people full of strange noises and squeaks.”
”He was awfully pretty, wasn't he,” said Mollie.
”Yes, but he was better than pretty,” observed the Unwiseman. ”He could be made useful. Things that are only pretty are all very well in their way, but give me the useful things--like my kitchen-stove for instance.
If that kitchen-stove was only pretty do you suppose I'd love it the way I do? Not at all. I'd just put it on the mantel-piece, or on the piano in my parlor and never think of it a second time, but because it is useful I pay attention to it every day, polish it with stove polish, feed it with coal and see that the ashes are removed from it when its day's work is done. n.o.body ever thinks of doing such things with a plain piece of bric-a-brac that can't be used for anything at all. You don't put any coal or stove polish on that big Chinese vase you have in your parlor, do you?”
”No,” said Mollie, ”of course not.”
”And I'll warrant that in all the time you've had that opal gla.s.s jug on the mantel-piece of your library you never shook the ashes down in it once,” said the Unwiseman.
”Mity-goo-dreeson-wy!” whistled Whistlebinkie. ”They-ain't never no ashes in it.”
”Correct though ungrammatically expressed,” observed the Unwiseman.
”There never are any ashes in it to be shaken down, which is a pretty good reason to believe that it is never used to fry potatoes on or to cook a chop with, or to roast a turkey in--which proves exactly what I say that it is only pretty and isn't half as useful as my kitchen-stove.”
”It would be pretty hard to find anything useful for the bric-a-brac to do though,” suggested Mollie, who loved pretty things whether they had any other use or not.
”It all depends on your bric-a-brac,” said the Unwiseman. ”I can find plenty of useful things for mine to do. There's my coal scuttle for instance--it works all the time.”
”Coal-scuttles ain't bric-a-brac,” said Whistlebinkie.
”My coal scuttle is,” said the Unwiseman. ”It's got a picture of a daisy painted on one side of it, and I gilded the handle myself. Then there's my watering pot. That's just as bric-a-bracky as any Chinese china pot that ever lived, but it's useful. I use it to water the flowers in summer, and to sift my lump sugar through in winter. Every pound of lump sugar you buy has some fine sugar with it and if you shake the lump sugar up in a watering pot and let the fine sugar sift through the nozzle you get two kinds of sugar for the price of one. So it goes all through my house from my piano to my old beaver hat--every bit of my bric-a-brac is useful.”