THE MAJOR RETURNS.
"Well," said Jimmieboy, as the major dismounted, "did you catch up with
them?"
"No, I didn't," returned the major, evidently much excited. "I should
have caught them but for a dreadful encounter I had up the road, for
between you and me, Jimmieboy, I have had a terrible adventure since I
saw you last, and the soldiers I went to order back have been destroyed
to the very last man."
"Dear me!" cried Jimmieboy. "I am glad I didn't go with you. What
happened?"
"I was attacked about four miles up the road by a tremendous sixty-pound
Quandary, and I was nearly killed," said the major. "The soldiers had
only got four and a half miles on their way, and hearing the disturbance
and my cries for help they hastened to the rescue, and were simply
an-ni-hi-lated, which is old English for all mashed to pieces."
"But how did you escape?" said the boy.
"Oh, I had a way, and it worked, that's all. I'm the safest soldier in
the world, I am. You can capture me eight times a day, but I am always
sure to escape," said the major, proudly. "But, my dear general, how is
it that you do not tremble? Are you not aware that under the
circumstances you ought to be a badly frightened warrior?"
"I don't tremble, because I don't know whether you are telling the truth
or not," said Jimmieboy. "Besides, I never saw a Quandary, and so I
can't tell how terrible he is. Is he dreadful?"
"He's more than dreadful," returned the major. "No word of two syllables
expresses his dreadfulness. He is simply calamitous; and if there was a
longer word in the dictionary applying to his case I'd use it, if it
took all my front teeth out to say it."
"That's all very well," said Jimmieboy, "but you can't make me shiver
with fear by saying he's calamitous. What does he do? Bite?"
"Bite? Well, I guess not," answered the major, scornfully. "He doesn't
need to bite. Would you bite an apple if you could swallow it whole?"
"I think I would," said Jimmieboy. "How would I get the juice of it if I
didn't?"
"You'd get just as much juice whether you bit it or not," snapped the
major, who did not at all like Jimmieboy's coolness under the
circumstances. "The Quandary doesn't bite anything, because his mouth is
so large there isn't anything he can bite. He just takes you as you
stand, gives a great gulp, and there you are."
"Where?" queried Jimmieboy, who could not quite follow the major.
"Wherever you happen to be, of course," said the major, gruffly. "You
aren't a very sharp general, it seems to me. You don't seem to be able
to see through a hole with a millstone in it. I have to explain
everything to you just as if you were a baby or a school-teacher, but I
can just tell you that if you ever were attacked by a Quandary you
wouldn't like it much, and if he ever swallowed you you'd be a mighty
lonesome general for a little while. You'd be a regular land Jonah."
"Don't get mad at me, major," said Jimmieboy, clapping his companion on
the back. "I'll be frightened if you want me to. Br-rr-rrr-rrr-rrrrr!
There, is that the kind of a tremble you want me to have?"
"Thank you, yes," the major replied, his face clearing and his smile
returning. "I am very much obliged; and now to show you that you haven't
made any mistake in getting frightened, I'll tell you what a Quandary
is, and what he has done, and how I managed to escape; and as poetry is
the easiest method for me to express my thoughts with, I'll put it all
in rhyme.
"THE QUANDARY.
He is a fearful animal,
That quaint old Quandary--
A cousin of the tragical
And whimsically magical
Dilemma-bird is he.
He has an eye that's wonderful--
'Tis like a public school:
It has a thousand dutiful,
Though scarcely any beautiful,
Small pupils 'neath its rule.
And every pupil--marvelous
Indeed, sir, to relate--
When man becomes contiguous,
Makes certainty ambiguous--
Which is unfortunate.
For when this ambiguity
Has seized upon his prize,
Whate'er man tries, to do it he
Will find when he is through it, he
Had best done otherwise.
And hence it is this animal,
Of which I sing my song,
This creature reprehensible,
Is held by persons sensible
Responsible for wrong.
So if a friend or foe you see
Departing from his aim,
Be full, I pray, of charity--
He may have met the Quandary,
And so is not to blame."
"That is very pretty," said Jimmieboy, as the major finished; "but, do
you know, major, I don't understand one word of it."
Much to Jimmieboy's surprise the major was pleased at this remark.
"Thank you, Jimmieboy," he said. "That proves that I am a true poet. I
think there's some meaning in those lines, but it's so long since I
wrote them that I have forgotten exactly what I did mean, and it's that
very thing that makes a poem out of the verses. Poetry is nothing but
riddles in rhyme. You have to guess what is meant by the lines, and the
harder that is, the greater the poem."
"But I don't see much use of it," said Jimmieboy. "Riddles are fun
sometimes, but poetry isn't."
"That's very true," said the major. "But poetry has its uses. If it
wasn't for poetry, the poets couldn't make a living, or if they did,
they'd have to go into some other business, and most other businesses
are crowded as it is."
"Do people ever make a living writing poetry?" Jimmieboy asked.
"Once in a while. I knew a man once who did. He called himself the
Grocer-Poet, because he was a grocer in the day-time and a poet at
night. He sold every poem he wrote, too," said the major.
"To a newspaper?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Oh, no," said the major. "He bought 'em from himself. When he'd wake up
in the morning as a grocer he'd read what he had written the night
before as a poet, and then he'd buy the verses from himself and throw
them into the fire. But to return to the Quandary. He has awfully bad
manners. He stares you right in the face whenever he meets you, and no
matter what you want to do he tries to force you to do the other thing.
The only way to escape him is not to do anything, but go back where you
started from, and begin all over again."
"Where did you meet him?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Where? Why, where he's always met, of course, at a fork in the road.
That's where he gets in his fine work," said the major. "Suppose, for
instance, you were out for a stroll, and you thought you'd like to
go--well, say to Calcutta. You stroll along, and you stroll along, and
you stroll along. Then you come to a place where the road splits, one
half going to the right and one to the left, or, if you don't like right
and left, we'll say one going to Calcutta by way of Cape Horn, and the
other going to Calcutta by way of Greenland's icy mountains."
"It's a long walk either way," said Jimmieboy.
"Yes. It's a walk that isn't often taken," assented the major, with a
knowing shake of the head. "But at the fork of this road the Quandary
attacks you. He stops you and says, 'Which way are you going to
Calcutta?' and you say, 'Well, as it is a warm day, I think I'll go by
way of Greenland's icy mountains.' 'No,' says the Quandary, 'you won't
do any such thing, because it may snow. You'd better go the other way.'
'Very well,' say you, 'I'll go the other way, then.' 'Why do you do
that?' queries the Quandary. 'If it should grow very warm you'd be
roasted to death.' 'Then I don't know what to do,' say you. 'What is the
matter with going both ways?' says the Quandary, to which you reply,
'How can I do that?' 'Try it and see,' he answers. Then," continued the
major, his voice sinking to a whisper--"then you do try it and you do
see, unless you are a wise, sagacious, sapient, perspicacious, astute,
canny, penetrating, needle-witted, learned man of wisdom like myself who
knows a thing or two. In that case you don't try, for you can see
without trying that any man with two legs who tries to walk along two
roads leading in different directions at once is just going to split
into at least two halves before he has gone twenty miles, and that is
just what the Quandary wants you to do, for it's over such horrible
spectacles as a man divided against himself that he gloats, and when he
is through gloating he swallows what's left."
"And what does the wise, sagacious, sappy, perspiring man of wisdom like
yourself who knows a thing or two do?" asked Jimmieboy.
"I didn't say sappy or perspiring," retorted the major. "I said sapient
and perspicacious."
"Well, anyhow, what does he do?" asked Jimmieboy.
"He gives up going to Calcutta," observed the major.
"Oh, I see. To gain a victory over the Quandary you turn and run away?"
asked Jimmieboy.
"Yes, that's it. That's what saved me. I cried for help, turned about,
and ran back here, and I can tell you it takes a brave man to turn his
back on an enemy," said the major.
"And why didn't the soldiers do it too?" queried Jimmieboy.
"There wasn't anybody to order a retreat, so when the Quandary attacked
them they marched right on, single file, and every one of 'em split in
two, fell in a heap, and died."
"But I should think you would have ordered them to halt," insisted
Jimmieboy.
"I had no power to do so," the major replied. "If I had only had the
power, I might have saved their lives by ordering them to march two by
two instead of single file, and then when they met the Quandary they
could have gone right ahead, the left-hand men taking the left-hand
road, the right-hand men the right, but of course I only had orders to
tell them to come back here, and a soldier can only obey his orders. It
was awful the way those noble lives were sacrifi--"
Here Jimmieboy started to his feet with a cry of alarm. There were
unmistakable sounds of approaching footsteps.
"Somebody or something is coming," he cried.
"Oh, no, I guess not," said the major, getting red in the face, for he
recognized, as Jimmieboy did not, the firm, steady tread of the
returning soldiers whom he had told Jimmieboy the Quandary had
annihilated. "It's only the drum of your ear you hear," he added. "You
know you have a drum in your ear, and every once in a while it begins
its rub-a-dub-dub just like any other drum. Oh, no, you don't hear
anybody coming. Let's take a walk into the forest here and see if we
can't find a few pipe plants. I think I'd like to have a smoke."
"Why, you naughty major!" cried Jimmieboy, shaking his arm, which his
companion had taken, free from the major's grasp. "You've been telling
me a great big fib, because there are the soldiers coming back again."
"What!" ejaculated the major, in well-affected surprise. "Well, I
declare! So they are. Dear me! Why, do you know, general, that is the
most marvelous cure I ever saw in my life. To think that all those men
whom I saw not an hour ago lying dead on the field of battle, all ready
for the Quandary's luncheon, should have been resusitated in so short a
time, as--"
"Halt!" roared Jimmieboy, interrupting the major in a most
unceremonious fashion, for the soldiers by this time had reached a point
in the road directly opposite where he was sitting.
The soldiers halted.
"Break ranks!" cried Jimmieboy, after the corporal had told him the
proper order to give next.
The soldiers broke ranks, and in sheer weariness threw themselves down
on the soft turf at the side of the road--all except the corporal, who
at Jimmieboy's request came and sat down at the general's side to make
his report.
"This is fine weather we are having, corporal," said the major, winking
at the subordinate officer, and trying to make him understand that the
less he said about the major the better it would be for all concerned.
"Yes," returned the corporal. "Better for sleeping than for military
duty, eh, major?"
Here the major grew pale, but had the presence of mind to remark that he
thought it might rain in time for tea.
"There's something behind all this," thought Jimmieboy; "and I'm going
to know what it all means."
Then he said aloud, "You have had a very speedy recovery, corporal."
Here the major cleared his throat more loudly than usual, blushed rosy
red, and winked twice as violently at the corporal as before.
"Did you ever hear my poem on the 'Cold Tea River in China'?" he asked.
"No," said the corporal, "I never did, and I never want to."
"Then I will recite it for you," said the major.
"After the corporal has made his report, major," said Jimmieboy.
"It goes this way," continued the major, pretending not to hear.
"Some years ago--'way back in '69--a
Friend and I went for a trip through China,
That pleasant land where rules King Tommy Chang,
Where flows the silver river Yangtse-Wang--
Through fertile fields, through sweetest-scented bowers
Of creeping vinous vines and floral flowers."
"My dear major," interrupted Jimmieboy, "I do not want to hurt your
feelings, but much as I like to hear your poetry I must listen to the
report of the corporal first."
"Oh, very well," returned the major, observing that the corporal had
taken to his heels as soon as he had begun to recite. "Very well. Let
the corporal proceed."
Jimmieboy then saw for the first time that the corporal had fled.
"Why, where is he?" he asked.
"I do not know," returned the major, coldly. "I fancy he has gone to the
kitchen to cook his report. He always goes off when I recite."
"Oh, well, never mind," said Jimmieboy, noticing that the major was
evidently very much hurt. "Go on with the poem about 'Cold Tea River.'"
"No, I shall not," replied the major. "I shall not do it for two
reasons, general, unless you as my superior officer command me to do it,
and I hope you will not. In the first place, you have publicly
humiliated me in the presence of a tin corporal, an inferior in rank,
and consequently have hurt my feelings more deeply than you imagine. I
am not tall, sir, but my feelings are deep enough to be injured most
deeply, and in view of that fact I prefer to say nothing more about that
poem. The other reason is that there is really no such poem, because
there is really no such a stream as Cold Tea River in China, though
there might have been had Nature been as poetic and fanciful as I, for
it is as easy to conceive of a river having its source in the land of
the tea-trees, and having its waters so full of the essence of tea
gained from contact with the roots of those trees, that to all intents
and purposes it is a river of tea. Had you permitted me to go on
uninterrupted I should have made up a poem on that subject, and might
possibly by this time have had it done, but as it is, it never will be
composed. If you will permit me I will take a horseback ride and see if
I cannot forget the trials of this memorable day. If I return I shall be
back, but otherwise you may never see me again. I feel so badly over
your treatment of me that I may be rash enough to commit suicide by
jumping into a smelting-pot and being moulded over again into a piece of
shot, and if I do, general, if I do, and if I ever get into battle and
am fired out of a gun, I shall seek out that corporal, and use my best
efforts to amputate his head off so quickly that he won't know what has
happened till he tries to think, and finds he hasn't anything to do it
with."
Breathing which horrible threat, the major mounted his horse and
galloped madly down the road, and Jimmieboy, not knowing whether to be
sorry or amused, started on a search for the corporal in order that he
might hear his report, and gain, if possible, some solution of the
major's strange conduct.