THE FORTUNE TELLER
After Billy had quenched his thirst at a watering trough roughly hewn
out of the trunk of an enormous chestnut tree and filled to brimming
with cool, sparkling water piped from a bubbling spring not far off, he
felt a longing for a nap, for so strong had the habit of an afternoon
snooze become that even with all the hubbub of a county fair about him,
with all the gay banterings of the jostling people, with the toots
of the horns and the squawks of the squawkers, Billy was undeniably
sleepy, and a yawn brought him to the realization of how very much he
needed a rest.
“I remember seeing some hay in a barn over near the grandstand, and I
will make that serve as my couch,” he was planning when his further
progress was checked for a moment by a crowd surrounding a haranguing
fakir. Billy was impatient at this delay, and fretted and fumed.
“Some people lose every vestige of good manners the moment they’re one
of a crowd,” he grumbled, but a second later and he, too, was guilty of
this very thing, and was just as eager to push his way to the front as
any of the people whom he had been berating. No thought of sleep now
troubled him; no thought of politeness, either, judging by the reckless
way he was forging ahead.
What was it that worked this sudden change? Let us accompany Billy as
he wriggles and squirms and wriggles again, steadily pushing his way
forward, for there in the center of the group is a very queer looking
individual.
He is taller than most men, but this may be because his head is swathed
in a high turban, the gayly colored cloth being wound around and around
his head in soft, voluminous folds, underneath which peers out a
typical Oriental face with snapping dark eyes, and teeth gleaming like
ivory, while a crafty smile plays about his thin lips.
He carries an enormous pen holder, fully two inches in diameter and
eighteen inches long. He has just explained how he is able to do
wondrous things with the Magic Pen, as he calls it, and is now screwing
it together, having shown the bystanders that it is merely a hollow
tube, with nothing concealed in it, yet possessed of wonderful power.
As he distributes sheets of paper and pencils among his listeners, he
cries:
“Write your initials plainly. Then the Magic Pen will tell your
fortune. It will reveal your past, and it will foretell your future.
The Magic Pen sees all. The Magic Pen knows all. Sign your initials!
Sign, sign, sign!”
As he passes the paper, he catches sight of Billy, and laughingly
bestows on him paper and pencil, much to the merriment of the crowd.
[Illustration]
“They are making fun of me, that much I know. Well, we’ll retaliate,”
and with that Billy begins to trace his initials, holding the pencil
in his mouth, and using one foot to hold the paper on the ground. To
be sure, they are crude and look like a beginner’s, for goats are not
skilled in penmanship, and Billy, though much more highly educated than
most of his kind, would never have picked up so much of the art had it
not been for the kindness and inexhaustible patience of Smart Jim, the
educated horse traveling with the Circus. He had devoted long hours to
teaching Billy, with the result that he is now able to write the two
letters rather creditably.
It is impossible to describe the surprise pictured on the faces of the
onlookers as Billy picks up the lead pencil and, carefully adjusting
it between his teeth, bends over and writes those two significant
letters. They go mad with delight, and clamor:
“The goat’s fortune! Tell the goat’s fortune!”
“The Magic Pen is able to do even that,” and the boasting fellow rolls
up the paper with a great show of care.
Unscrewing the pen holder, he places the sheet inside the tube,
securely fastens it, twirls it in the air, and while repeating this
weird incantation:
“Magic Pen, reveal to me
All this creature is to be;
All he is to do, to see,
Oh, Magic Pen, reveal to me.”
he gives it a final toss high into the air, deftly catching it as it
falls, and opening it, unfurls the paper.
He first passes it to two or three for close inspection, and then reads
aloud:
“B. W. is endowed with altogether extraordinary talents. He has a large
amount of curiosity, and often butts into other people’s business.”
“That I do,” chuckles Billy, “though I butt into them quite as much and
as often as into their affairs!”
“He was born on the continent.”
“Right again,” shouts Billy, though the crowd think he is merely
bleating, but we who understand goat language know much better.
“And his future seems in some mysterious way to be connected with
China.”
“Suppose I’m going to travel again,” muses Billy at this information.
“B. W. will rise to a great height in the world, but this may be
followed by a fall. Sudden fame is also foretold, and, having been born
under a lucky star, he may venture much and gain even more. Thus saith
the Magic Pen.”
“Now I’ll salt that down in my memory’s storehouse, and see if the
Magic Pen really knows anything. I’ve always thought people silly
who believed in signs and such things, but, come to think of it, I
_did_ walk under a ladder just before Harry gave me that beating as a
punishment because I butted the Duke of Windham around the barnyard
a bit for being too obstreperous and presuming too far on our good
nature. Perhaps, after all, there is some virtue in signs and fortunes.”
“By the way, speaking of the Duke reminds me that he is on these
grounds, and I must find him and have a little chat. He will be glad to
see some of the home folks, I know.”
If ever you have attended a county fair, you know that it is very
easy to locate the cattle exhibits, for they are invariably in stalls
or sheds at one end of the grounds, and what with the cackling of the
chickens, squealing of the pigs, and all of the many peculiar and
distinctive calls of the farm animals, there is not much chance of
losing your way. Billy, of course, walked straight to the stalls, for
animals seem to know instinctively how to find one another.
[Illustration]
First he came to the pigs, and such piggy looking pigs you never
saw. At least, Billy thought them ugly things, for he himself was so
immaculate that he scorned other creatures who had no personal pride,
and pigs--Ugh! How they do love the mud and the mire!
So Billy now merely tilted his head to one side and hurried on
unseeing, until there, right under his feet, was the most cunning,
fat little thing, with a little pink, trembly nose. Plainly it was in
sore distress, and in great need of instant care and sympathy. Without
one moment’s hesitation, Billy conquered his aversion to the pig
family, and up he marched, and gently rubbed his nose along piggy’s
back--his only way of caressing. Billy next inquired the cause of all
the trouble, and piggy only grunted his reply, but that was enough for
Billy to comprehend, and very tenderly did he lift the fat little
roll by the nape of the neck--the only way there seemed to be to hold
him--and carried him back to his mother, who also grunted to express
her relief at the restoration of her lost baby.
“I’ll not remain to receive my thanks,” thought Billy, as he dropped
the little pig over into the pen. “That’s not my way of doing good,”
and he was off in further search of the Duke of Windham.
That worthy was proudly pacing his narrow stall when he spied friend
Billy approaching.
“Ah, here comes His Highness, Sir Billy. I’ll not let him see how I
chafe to be out of this box; no, not for a minute would I confess to
him how irksome are the hours I have spent here,” and so, when Billy
arrived, he was munching hay and looking the acme of contentment.
“Good afternoon, Duke,” began Billy. “I’d not been on these fair
grounds ten minutes until I began to look for you. Old friends ought
not to forget each other, and I knew you would be glad to see some of
your home folks. What a vantage point you chose, away up here on this
hill where you can see all over the Fair!” he continued, as he turned
to take in the panorama before him. “Indeed, you have a better view of
the race course than many have in the grandstand itself,” and with such
subtle flattery Billy sought to ingratiate himself with the calf, who
at once beamed his delight and most graciously responded:
“Yes, I’ve had a fine day of it. And you see this blue ribbon round
my neck? That means that I’m the winner of the first prize,” and the
vain Duke began turning and twisting in a useless effort to secure
one glimpse of the tag that had caused so many to stop and admire him
during the day.
“It’s no surprise to me to see you wearing that, Duke. The Treat boys
know far too much to waste their time feeding and currying a beast that
is not blue-blooded. And you have been their special pride this season,
that I know.”
“Well, it is no secret that Tom is my favorite, and he did give me
numberless curryings and rubbings down this summer. My coat is as
smooth and glossy as any thoroughbred could wish, and my markings
are especially fine, I fancy. That star on my forehead, now, is near
perfect, don’t you think?” waiting eagerly for further approbation.
“To let you into a secret,” replied sly Billy, “I’ve made the entire
rounds, but there’s nothing here that can hold a candle to your beauty.
That’s my candid opinion. You know I’m not one to flatter, and you can
depend on my word.”
“Such appreciation of one’s good points deserves some substantial
recognition,” thought the Duke, and so he said:
“By the way, Billy, are you going to stay over night? If so, I’ll be
proud to have you as my guest, for my quarters here are plenty large
enough to accommodate you.”
“That is just like your generous self,” replied the goat. “And while I
had thought to return to Cloverleaf Farm at nightfall, the prospect of
being entertained by you leads me to change my plans. I’ll be more than
delighted to accept, and will be back soon after twilight.”
“Yes, that might be best, for the keepers feed us about six o’clock,
and if you were found here, they might not like it. However, I shall
save my supper until you arrive, and then we will dine together.”
“Agreed! I’ll be off now, and thank you again for your most hospitable
offer.”