Part 24 (1/2)

”Well I'm mighty glad it didn't catch your eye,” said the Unwiseman. ”I could afford to buy you a new straw hat, but I'm afraid a new eye would have busted me.”

And there the trouble ended. The artist and the Unwiseman shook hands and parted friends.

”What was that he said about the Lion's Mouth?” asked the Unwiseman after the artist had gone.

”He said he'd lodge a complaint there,” said Mollie. ”That's the way they used to do here. Those big statues of lions out in front of the Doggies' Palace with their mouths wide open are big boxes where people can mail their complaints to the Government.”

”Oh, I see,” said the Unwiseman. ”And when the Doggies get the complaints they attend to 'em, eh?”

”Yes,” said Mollie.

”And who are the Doggies?” asked the Unwiseman. ”They don't have dogs instead of pleece over here, do they? I get so mixed up with these Johns, and Bobbies, and Doggies I hardly know where I'm at.”

”I don't exactly understand why,” said Mollie, ”but the people in Venice are ruled by Doggies.”

”They're a queer lot from Buckingham Palace, London, down to this old tow-path,” said the Unwiseman, ”and if I ever get home alive there's no more abroad for your Uncle Me.”

On the following day, Mollie's parents having seen all of Venice that their limited time permitted, prepared to start for Genoa, whence the steamer back to New York was to sail. Everything was ready, but the Unwiseman was nowhere to be found. The hotel was searched from top to bottom and not a sign of him. Giuseppe Zocco denied all knowledge of him, and the carpet-bag gave no evidence that he had been in it the night before as was his custom. Train-time was approaching and Mollie was distracted. Even Whistlebinkie whistled under his breath for fear that something had happened to the old gentleman.

”I hope he hasn't fallen overboard!” moaned Mollie, gazing anxiously into the watery depths of the ca.n.a.l.

”Here he comes!” cried Whistlebinkie, jubilantly, and sure enough down the ca.n.a.l seated on a small raft and paddling his way cautiously along with his hands came the Unwiseman, singing the popular Italian ballad ”Margherita” at the top of his lungs.

”Gander ahoy!” he cried, as he neared the hotel steps. ”Sheer off there, Captain, and let me into Port.”

The gondolier made room for him and the Unwiseman alighted.

”Where _have_ you been?” asked Mollie, throwing her arms about his neck.

”Up the ca.n.a.l a little way,” he answered unconcernedly. ”I wanted to mail a letter to the Doggie in the Lion's Mouth.”

”What about?” asked Mollie.

”Watertown, otherwise Venice,” said the Unwiseman. ”I had some suggestions for its improvement and I didn't want to go way without making them. There's a copy of my letter if you want to see it,” he added, handing Mollie a piece of paper upon which he had written as follows:

29 Grand Ca.n.a.l St., Venice, It.

ANCIENT & HONORABLE BOW-WOWS:

I have enjoyed my visit to your beautiful but wet old town very much and would respectfully advise you that there are several things you can do to keep it unspiled. These are as follows to wit viz:

I. Bale it out once in a while and see that the barrel hoops in your Grand Ca.n.a.l are sifted out of it. They're a mighty poor stubstishoot for shad.

II. Get a few trained whales in commission so that when a feller wants to go driving he won't have to go paddling.

III. Stock your streets with trout, or flounders, or perch or even sardines in order that us Americans who feel like fis.h.i.+ng won't have to be satisfied with a poor quality of straw hat.

IV. During the fis.h.i.+ng season compel artists returning from their work to wear beaver hats or something else that a fish-hook baited with macaroni won't catch into thus making a lot of trouble.