MAJOR BLUEFACE TRIES TO ASSIST.
The expedition under Jimmieboy's command had hardly been under way a
quarter of an hour when the youthful general realized that the colonel
had not told him where the cherries and peaches and other necessary
supplies were to be found.
"Dear me," he said, stopping short in the road. "I don't know anything
about this country, and I am sure I sha'n't be able to find all those
good things--except in my mamma's pantry, and it would never do for me
to take 'em from there. I might have to fight cook to get 'em, and that
would be dreadful."
"Yes, it would," said Major Blueface, riding up as Jimmieboy spoke these
words. "It would be terribly awful, for if you should fight with her
now, she wouldn't make you a single pancake or pie or custard or
anything after you got back."
"I'm glad you've come," said Jimmieboy, with a sigh of relief. "Perhaps
you can tell me what I've got to do to get that ammu--that ammu--oh,
that ammuknow, don't you?"
"Ammunition?" suggested the major.
"Yes, that's it," said Jimmieboy. "Could you tell me where to get it?"
"I could; but, really," returned the major, "I'm very much afraid I'd
better not, unless you'll promise not to pay any attention to what I
say."
"I don't see what good that would do," said Jimmieboy, a little
surprised at the major's words. "What's the use of your saying anything,
if I am not to pay any attention to you?"
"I'll tell you if you'll sit down a moment," was the major's reply, upon
which he and Jimmieboy sat down on a log at the road-side.
The major then recited his story as follows:
"THE MAJOR'S MISFORTUNE.
When I was born, some years ago,
The world was standing upside down;
Pekin was off in Mexico,
And Paris stood near Germantown.
The moon likewise was out of gear.
And shone most brilliantly by day;
The while the sun did not appear
Until the moon had gone away.
Which was, you see, a very strange,
Unhappy way of doing things,
And people did not like the change,
Save clods who took the rank of kings.
For kings as well were going wrong,
And 'stead of crowns wore beaver hats,
While those once mean and poor grew strong;
The dogs e'en ran from mice and rats.
The Frenchman spoke the Spanish tongue,
The Russian's words were Turkestan;
And England's nerves were all unstrung
By cockneys speaking Aryan.
Schools went to boys, and billie-goats
Drove children harnessed up to carts.
The rivers flowed up hill, and oats
Were fed to babies 'stead of tarts.
With things in this shape was I born.
The stars were topsy-turvy all,
And hence it is my fate forlorn
When things are short to call them tall;
When thing are black to call them white;
And if they're good to call them bad;
To say 'tis day when it is night;
To call an elephant a shad.
And when I say that this is this,
That it is that you'll surely know;
For truth's a thing I always miss,
And what I say is never so."
"Poor fellow!" cried Jimmieboy. "How very unpleasant! Is that really a
true story?"
"No," returned the major, sadly. "It is not true."
And then Jimmieboy knew that it was true, and he felt very sorry for the
major.
"Never mind, major," he said, tapping his companion affectionately on
the shoulder. "I'll believe what you say if nobody else does."
"Oh, don't, don't! I beg of you, don't!" cried the major, anxiously. "I
wouldn't have you do that for all the world. If you did, it would get us
into all sorts of trouble. If I had thought you'd do that, I'd never
have told you the story."
"Very well," said Jimmieboy, "then I won't. Only I should think you'd
want to have somebody believe in you."
"Oh, you can believe in me all you want," returned the major. "I'm one
of the finest fellows in the world, and worthy of anybody's
friendship--and if anybody ought to know, Jimmieboy, I'm the one, for I
know myself intimately. I've known myself ever since I was a little bit
of a boy, and I can tell you if there's any man in the world who has a
noble character and a good conscience and a heart in the right place,
I'm him. It's only what I say you mustn't believe in. Remember that, and
we shall be all right."
"All right," said Jimmieboy. "We'll do it that way. Now tell me what you
don't know about finding preserved cherries and pickled peaches. We've
got to lay in a very large supply of them, and I haven't the first idea
how to get 'em."
"H'm! What I don't know about 'em would take a long time to tell,"
returned the major, with a shake of his head, "because there's so much
of it. In the first place,
"I do not know
If cherries grow
On trees, or roofs, or rocks;
Or if they come
In cans--ho-hum!--
Or packed up in a box.
Mayhap you'll find
The proper kind
Down where they sell red paint;
And then, you see,
Oh, dear! Ah, me!
And then again you mayn't."
"That appears to settle the cherries," said Jimmieboy, somewhat
impatiently, for it did seem to him that the major was wasting a great
deal of valuable time.
"Oh, dear me, no!" ejaculated the major. "I could go on like that
forever about cherries. For instance:
"You might perchance
Get some in France,
And some in Germany;
A crate or two
In far Barboo,
And some in Labradee."
"Where's Labradee?" asked Jimmieboy.
"It's Labrador," said the major, with a smile; "but Labradee rhymes
better with Germany, and as long as you know I'm not telling the truth,
and are not likely to go there, it doesn't make any difference if I
change it a little."
"That's so," said Jimmieboy, with a snicker. "But how about those
peaches? Do you know anything that isn't so about them?"
"Oh, yes, lots," said the major.
"I know that when the peach is green,
And growing on the tree,
It's harder than a common bean,
And yellow as can be.
I know that if you eat a peach
That's just a bit too young,
A lesson strong the act will teach,
And leave your nerves unstrung.
And, furthermore, I know this fact:
The crop, however hale
In every year before 'tis packed,
Doth never fail to fail."
"That's very interesting," said Jimmieboy, when the major had recited
these lines, "but it doesn't help me a bit. What I want to know is how
the pickled peaches are to be found, and where."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the major. "Well, it's easy enough to tell
you that. First as to how you are to find them--this applies to
huckleberries and daisies and fire-engines and everything else, just as
well as it does to peaches, so you'd better listen. It's a very valuable
thing to know.
"The way to find a pickled peach,
A cow, or piece of pumpkin pie,
A simple lesson is to teach,
As can be seen with half an eye.
Look up the road and down the road,
Look North and South and East and West.
Let not a single episode
Come in betwixt you and your quest.
Search morning, night, and afternoon,
From Monday until Saturday;
By light of sun and that of moon,
Nor mind the troubles in your way.
And keep this up until you get
The thing that you are looking for,
And then, of course, you need not fret
About the matter any more."
"You are a great help," said Jimmieboy.
"Don't mention it, my dear boy," replied the major, so pleased that he
smiled and cracked some of the red enamel on his lips. "I like to be
useful. It's almost as good as being youthful. In fact, to people who
lisp and pronounce their esses as though they were teeaitches, it's
quite the same. It was very easy to tell you how to find a pickled
peach, but it's much harder to tell you where. In fact, I don't know
that I can tell you where, but if I were not compelled to ignore the
truth I should inform you at once that I haven't the slightest idea.
But, of course, I can tell you where you might find them if they were
there--which, of course, they aren't. For instance:
"Pickled peaches might be found
In the gold mines underground;
Pickled peaches might be seen
Rolling down the Bowling Green;
Pickled peaches might spring up
In a bed of custard cup;
Pickled peaches might sprout forth
From an ice-cake in the North;
I have seen them in the South
In a pickaninny's mouth;
I have seen them in the West
Hid inside a cowboy's vest;
I have seen them in the East
At a small boy's birthday feast;
Maybe, too, a few you'd see
In the land of the Chinee;
And this statement broad I'll dare:
You might find them anywhere."
"Thank you," said Jimmieboy. "I feel easier now that I know all this. I
don't know what I should have done if I hadn't met you, major."
"It's very unkind of you to say so," said the major, very much pleased
by Jimmieboy's appreciation. "Of course you know what I mean."
"Yes," answered Jimmieboy, "I do. Now I'll tell you what I think. I
think pickled peaches come in cans and bottles."
"Bottles and cans,
Bottles and cans,
When a man marries it ruins his plans,"
quoted the major. "I got married once," he added, "but I became a
bachelor again right off. My wife wrote better poetry than I could, and
I couldn't stand that, you know. That's how I came to be a soldier."
"That hasn't anything to do with the pickled peaches," said Jimmieboy,
impatiently. "Now, unless I am very much mistaken, we can go to the
grocery store and buy a few bottles."
"Ho!" jeered the major. "What's the use of buying bottles when you're
after pickled peaches?
'Of all the futile, futile things--
Remarked the Apogee--
That is as truly futilest
As futilest can be.'
You never heard my poem on the Apogee, did you, Jimmieboy?"
"No. I never even heard of an Apogee. What is an Apogee, anyhow?" asked
the boy.
"To give definitions isn't a part of my bargain," answered the major. "I
haven't the slightest idea what an Apogee is. He may be a bird with a
whole file of unpaid bills, for all I know, but I wrote a poem about him
once that made another poet so jealous that he purposely caught a bad
cold and sneezed his head off; and I don't blame him either, because it
was a magnificent thing in its way. I'll tell it to you. Listen:
"THE APOGEE.
The Apogee wept saline tears
Into the saline sea,
To overhear two mutineers
Discuss their pedigree.
Said he:
Of all the futile, futile things
That ever I did see.
That is as truly futilest
As futilest can be.
He hied him thence to his hotel,
And there it made him ill
To hear a pretty damosel
A bass song try to trill.
Said he:
Of all the futile, futile things--
To say it I am free--
That is about the futilest
That ever I did see.
He went from sea to mountain height,
And there he heard a lad
Of sixty-eight compare the sight
To other views he'd had;
And he
Remarked: Of all the futile things
That ever came to me,
This is as futily futile
As futile well can be.
Then in disgust he went back home,
His door-bell rang all day,
But no one to the door did come:
The butler'd gone away.
Said he:
This is the strangest, queerest world
That ever I did see.
It's two per cent. of earth, and nine-
Ty-eight futility."
"Isn't that elegant?" added the major, when he had finished.
"It sounds well," said Jimmieboy. "But what does it mean? What's
futile?"
"Futile? What does futile mean?" said the major, slowly. "Why,
it's--it's a word, you know, and sort of stands for 'what's the use.'"
"Oh," replied Jimmieboy. "I see. To be futile means that you are wasting
time, eh?"
"That's it," said the major. "I'm glad you said it and not I, because
that makes it true. If I'd said it, it wouldn't have been so."
"Well, all I've got to say," said Jimmieboy, "is that if anybody ever
came to me and asked me where he could find a futile person, I'd send
him over to you. Here we've wasted nearly the whole afternoon and we
haven't got a single thing. We haven't even talked of anything but
peaches and cherries, and we've got to get jam and sugar and almonds
yet."
Here the major smiled.
"It isn't any laughing matter," said Jimmieboy. "It's a very serious
piece of business, in fact. Here's this Parawelopipedon going around
ruining everything he can lay his claws on, and instead of helping me
out of the fix I'm in, and starting the expedition off, you sit here and
tell me about Apogees and other things I haven't time to hear about."
"I was only smiling to show how sorry I was," said the major,
apologetically.
"I always smile when I am sad,
And when I'm filled with glee
A solitary tear-drop trick-
Les down the cheek of me."
"Oh, that's it," said Jimmieboy. "Well, let's stop fooling now and get
those supplies."
"All right," assented the major. "Where are the soldiers who accompanied
you? We'll give 'em their orders, and you'll have the supplies in no
time."
"How's that?" queried Jimmieboy.
"Why, don't you see," said the major, "that's the nice thing about being
a general. If you have to do something you don't know how to do, you
command your men to go and do it. That lifts the responsibility from
your shoulders to theirs. They don't dare disobey, and there you are."
"Good enough!" cried Jimmieboy, delighted to find so easy a way out of
his troubles. "I'll give them their orders at once. I'll tell them to
get the supplies. Will they surely do it?"
"They'll have to, or be put in the guard-house," returned the major.
"And they don't like that, you know, because the guard-house hasn't any
walls, and it's awfully draughty. But, as I said before, where are the
soldiers?"
"Why!" said Jimmieboy, starting up and looking anxiously about him.
"They've gone, haven't they?"
"They seem to have," said the major, putting his hand over his eyes and
gazing up and down the road, upon which no sign of Jimmieboy's command
was visible. "You ordered them to halt when you sat down here, didn't
you?"
"No," said Jimmieboy, "I didn't."
"Then that accounts for it," returned the major, with a scornful glance
at Jimmieboy. "They've gone on. They couldn't halt without orders, and
they must be eight miles from here by this time."
"What'll happen?" asked the boy, anxiously.
"What'll happen?" echoed the major. "Why, they'll march on forever
unless you get word to them to halt. You are a gay general, you are."
"But what's to be done?" asked Jimmieboy, growing tearful.
"There are only two things you can do. The earth is round, and in a few
years they'll pass this way again, and then you can tell them to stop.
That's one thing you can do. The second is to despatch me on horseback
to overtake and tell them to keep right on. They'll know what you mean,
and they'll halt and wait until you come up."
"That's the best plan," cried Jimmieboy, with a sigh of relief. "You
hurry ahead and make them wait for me, and I'll come along as fast as I
can."
So the major mounted his horse and galloped away, leaving Jimmieboy
alone in the road, trudging manfully ahead as fast as his small legs
could carry him.
[Illustration: THE PARALLELOPIPEDON AND THE MIRROR. PAGE 54.]