“What a remarkable little person,” I was just saying, when I heard a voice above my head calling out:
“Man! man!”
I looked up and saw a large crow perched on the finger-post. He had a newspaper in one claw, and was gravely regarding me over the tops of his spectacles.
“Well! what are you staring at?” he remarked as soon as he caught my eye.
“Well, really,” I began.
“Haven’t you ever seen a crow before?” he interrupted.
“Of course I have,” I answered rather angrily, for my surprise at hearing him talk was fast giving way to indignation at his insolent tone and manner.
“Very well, then, what do you want to stand there gaping at me in that absurd way for?” said the bird. “What did he say to you?” he continued, jerking his head in the direction in which Mr. Nobody had disappeared.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Very well, then, what was it?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” said I.
“Why, stupid, you said Nobody and nothing, didn’t you, and as two negatives make an affirmative that means he must have said something.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” I said.
“Ignorant ostrich!” remarked the crow contemptuously.
“Look here,” I cried, getting very indignant, “I will not be spoken to like that by a mere bird!”
“Oh, really! Who do you think you are, pray, you ridiculous biped? Where’s your hat?”
I was too indignant to answer, and though I should have liked to have asked the name of the place I was at, I determined not to hold any further conversation with the insolent bird, and walked away in the direction of “Somewhere,” pursued by the sound of mocking laughter from the crow.
“WHERE’S YOUR HAT?”
I had not gone far, however, before I perceived a curious kind of carriage coming towards me. It was a sort of rickshaw, and was drawn by a kangaroo, who was jerking it along behind him. A large ape sat inside, hugging a carpet bag, and holding on to the dashboard with his toes.
“Let’s pass him with withering contempt,” I heard one of them say.
“All right,” was the reply. “Drive on.”
“I say, Man,” called out the Ape, as they passed, “we’re not taking the slightest notice of you.”
“Oh, aren’t you? Well, I’m sure I don’t care,” I replied rather crossly.
The Kangaroo stopped and stared at me in amazement, and the Ape got out of the rickshaw and came towards me, looking very indignant.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, striking an attitude.
“No, I don’t,” I replied, “and what’s more, I don’t care.”
“But I’m a person of consequence,” he gasped.
“You are only an ape or a monkey,” I said firmly.
“Oh! I can clearly see that you don’t know me,” remarked the Ape pityingly. “I’m Oom Hi.”
“Indeed,” I said unconcernedly. “I am afraid I’ve never heard of you.”
“Never heard of Oom Hi,” cried the Ape. “Why, I am the inventor of Broncho.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Good gracious! what ignorance,” said the Ape; “here, go and fetch my bag,” he whispered to the Kangaroo, who ran back to the rickshaw and returned with the carpet bag.
“This,” continued Oom Hi, taking out a bottle, “is the article; it is called ‘Broncho,’ and is excellent for coughs, colds, and affections of the throat; you will notice that each bottle bears a label stating that the mixture is prepared according to my own formula, and bears my signature; none other is genuine without it. The Wallypug, when he returned from England and heard that I had invented it, declared that I must be a literary genius.”
“There,” continued Oom Hi, taking out the bottle, “is the article; it is called ‘Broncho.’ ”—Page 24.
Wallypugland.
“A what!” I exclaimed.
“A literary genius,” repeated the Ape, smirking complacently.
“Why, what on earth has cough mixture to do with literature?” I inquired.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” admitted Oom Hi, “but the Wallypug said that in England any one who invented anything of that sort was supposed to possess great literary talent.”
“The Wallypug!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. “Am I anywhere near his Kingdom of Why, then?”
“Of course you are; it’s only about a mile or two down the road. Are you going there?” inquired Oom Hi.
“Well, yes,” I answered. “I’ve had an invitation from his Majesty, and should rather like to go there, as I’m so near.”
“His Majesty; he—he—he, that’s good,” laughed the Kangaroo. “Do you call the Wallypug ‘his Majesty’?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied, “he is a king, isn’t he?”
“A kind of king,” corrected Oom Hi. “You don’t catch us calling him ‘your Majesty,’ I can tell you though, one animal is as good as another here, and if anything, a little better. If you are going to Why, we may as well go back with you, and give you a lift in the rickshaw.”
“You’re very kind,” I said, gratefully.
“Not at all, not at all; jump in,” said Oom Hi.
“Hold on a moment,” said the Kangaroo. “It’s his turn to pull, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” said the Ape, getting into the vehicle; “put him in the shafts!”
“What do you mean?” I expostulated.
“Your turn to pull the rickshaw, you know; we always take turns, and as I have been dragging it for some time it’s your turn now.”
“But I’m not going to pull that thing with you two animals in it. I never heard of such a thing,” I declared.
“Who are you calling an animal?” demanded the Kangaroo, sulkily. “You’re one yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well, I suppose I am,” I admitted. “But I’m not going to draw that thing, all the same.”
“Oh, get in, get in; don’t make a fuss. I suppose I shall have to take a turn myself,” said Oom Hi, grasping the handles, and the Kangaroo and myself having taken our seats we were soon traveling down the road. The Kangaroo turned out to be a very pleasant companion after all, and when he found out that I came from England told me all about his brother, who was a professional boxer, and had been to London and made his fortune as the Boxing Kangaroo. He was quite delighted when I told him that I had seen notices of his performance in the papers. We soon came in sight of a walled city, which Oom Hi, turning around,