_THE INVISIBLE JOKE._
[Illustration]
GIRLIE was greatly alarmed when she found herself in the dark, the more
so that the noise, which had been going on all around her, suddenly
ceased in a most mysterious manner. She called aloud once or twice, but
received no reply, so she began to grope about in the dark, trying to
find her way out. After knocking herself several times against the
chairs and other furniture in her endeavours, she, at last, saw a faint
light coming from underneath a door a short distance down the room.
Feeling her way carefully to it and pushing it open, she found that it
led into a large conservatory. An old man who, she thought, must be the
gardener, was potting some tall plants before a low bench at the further
end of it, and, to Girlie’s great surprise, she could see that the _sun
was shining brightly_.
“Now, that’s very curious,” she thought; “I certainly thought that it
was night time. I’m sure that the gas was alight while we were having
dinner. I’ll ask this old gentleman.” “Could you please tell me what
time it is?” she said aloud, walking over to the Gardener.
“We haven’t got any here, Miss,” he replied mournfully.
“Any what?” asked Girlie.
“Any _time_, Miss. Haven’t you heard of people not having any time
before?” said the Gardener.
“Yes,” said Girlie, “people that are in a hurry sometimes say they
haven’t any time, but you don’t seem to be in a hurry about anything.”
“Oh, _that_ isn’t the reason why we haven’t any time, Miss; it’s because
we’ve lost ours. You’ve heard of people losing time, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Girlie, “I have.”
“Well, if you’ll sit down here, Miss,” said the Gardener, turning a
large flowerpot upside down for her to sit on, “I’ll tell you how we
lost ours. It was like this here,” he continued, after Girlie was
seated. “We’d kept our time here for a long while, when one day the
young man as they calls the King’s Minstrel comes along, and he says,
says he, ‘You don’t keep your time properly,’ he says. ‘What do you
mean?’ we says. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘you don’t _beat_ him, do you?’ ‘No,’
we says. ‘What do we want to beat him for?’ we says. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘you
have to be very _strict_ with your time,’ he says, ‘and you ought to
beat him to make him go quicker,’ he says. Well, Miss, some of us, we
didn’t hold with these new-fangled notions at all, but some of the
others wanted to try it, so, after a bit, we took to beating our time
regular, we did, and, for a little while, Miss, he did go quicker, so
quick, in fact, that we couldn’t keep up to him at all, but were always
_behind_ him. You’ve heard of people being behind time, haven’t you,
Miss?”
“Oh yes!” said Girlie, “go on, please.”
“Well, Miss, after a bit our time he began to go slower again, and
by-and-by he slowly passed away altogether.” The Gardener paused and
looked at Girlie as though he expected her to say something.
“Where did he go to?” she asked.
“We never knew, Miss; we hunted high and low for him, but he never came
back again, so now we haven’t any time at all worth speaking of. The
King’s Minstrel, he said as how he would teach us to _make time_, but
bless you, Miss, the time we gets nowadays ain’t no ways to be compared
to the old time what we used to have, no more than string is like
tobaccer, Miss. Why, our time is awful mixed; look at us now, for
example, we’re in the _middle of next week to-day_, and _to-morrow_ is
as likely as not to be _the day before yesterday_. That’s why I’m
cutting these plants down and putting them into smaller pots, you know,
Miss. Then take the _length_ of the days,” he went on, “some is that
_short_ as you don’t know how to get your clothes on before it’s time to
go to bed again, and others is that _long_ as you’re obliged to have
eight or nine dinners a day, or you would starve. Then the days of the
week, too, there’s no depending on them; if you’ll believe me, Miss,
I’ve known no less than thirteen Fridays in one week, which is most
unlucky. And last year Midsummer day was only _two days_ before
Christmas, after which we had _three_ New Year’s days running. As for
_birthdays_, Miss, it’s quite impossible to tell how old you are. My son
Bill, for instance, has had ever so many more birthdays than me, owing
to his having been born in March, and a little while ago it kept on
being March over and over again, till I should think that poor boy is a
hundred, if he’s a day. Then, again, how are you to know what wages to
expect when you can’t tell yourself from one day to another whether
you’ll have been in a place three years and nine months or only two
months and a day?”
“It certainly must be _very_ puzzling,” said Girlie, who had been
listening most attentively.
“Puzzling ain’t the word, Miss,” said the Gardener. “Why, look at my
poor daughter, now, she was to have been married on the 19th of June,
and dash me if there’s been any 19th of June for these last twenty years
or more, and now her husband that was to be, young Spuffles, the
Miller’s son, has gone and failed through having put some Mustard in
with his flour by accident.”
“Oh, I heard the Miller’s son had some mustard,” remarked Girlie,
remembering the Schoolmistress’s question.
“Where did you hear of it, Miss? if I may be so bold,” asked the
Gardener.
“Oh, it was one of the questions at the Public Meeting,” said Girlie.
“The Schoolmistress asked ‘Has the son of the Miller the mustard of the
daughter of the Gardener?’”
“It’s like her imperence,” said the Gardener; “but there, she always
_was_ a busy body, she was. Drat the hat!” he continued, as a high hat
dropped down with a loud crash on the top of the conservatory and then
rolled off on to the lawn. “They’re having a _Hat Hunt_ somewheres,” he
went on, “and this here one has escaped them, I expect.”
“Whatever is a Hat Hunt?” asked Girlie curiously.
“Oh, it’s a kind of game, Miss, that they play hereabouts. It’s rare fun
for them as can run quick.”
“How do they play it?” asked Girlie.
“Why, Miss, it’s like this here; they wait till there’s a high wind
a-blowin’, and then they throws a lot of high hats up into the air and
try to catch ‘em as they’re flying about. It’s wonderful, Miss, how them
hats do dodge you, to be sure. I suppose now, Miss, you’ve never tried
to catch a hat when it’s a-blowin’ about, have you?”
“Oh yes, I have,” said Girlie. “My own blew off the other day, and I had
to run a very long way before I could catch it. It would be very easy to
catch this one, though,” she said, looking out on to the lawn where the
hat was lying quite still just outside the door.
“Not so easy as you think, Miss,” said the Gardener; “you just try.”
Girlie opened the door and stepped out, and was just going to pick up
the hat, when it started rolling off again. “Bother!” she said, running
after it.
“You’d better take this rake with you, Miss, if you want to catch it,”
called out the Gardener, who was watching her from the door.
[Illustration:
“SHE COULD HEAR THE OLD GARDENER LAUGHING LOUDLY AT HER.”
]
Girlie ran back for the rake and then hurried after the hat, which had
stopped under a rose bush. “I’ve got it this time,” she thought when she
came up to it; but, just when she stretched out her hand to take hold of
it, a sudden gust of wind blew it up into the air again, and it went
sailing merrily off in a most provoking manner. Girlie made two or three
ineffectual dabs at it with the rake, but could not reach it—she could
hear the old Gardener laughing loudly at her while he watched her from
the conservatory door, and it made her determined to catch the hat, if
she possibly could. By-and-by it settled down on the top of a low yew
hedge at the end of the lawn, and Girlie hurried after it, grasping her
rake firmly in her hand. When she reached the hedge she struck out at it
rather crossly with the rake, only to see it go flying off into the
meadow beyond, while a voice on the other side of the hedge called out
in an indignant manner,—
“I say there, pray be careful what you’re about; do you know that you
very nearly had my head off?”
“I’m sure I’m very sorry,” said Girlie, peeping through the hedge and
trying to see who was speaking to her. She could see nobody, however, so
she ran to a little gate which she could see in the hedge, and then
walked slowly back on the other side to where the voice had proceeded
from.
“Why, he’s gone,” she said aloud, when she got there and found no one in
sight.
“No, I’m not, I’m here,” said the voice plaintively; “can’t you see me?”
Girlie looked about her but could see no one. “Who are you, please?” she
asked.
“I’m supposed to be a _joke_,” said the voice, “though I have my doubts
about it; nobody has ever been able to see me yet.”
“That must be very awkward for you,” said Girlie pityingly.
“Yes,” said the Joke, “it is. I’m afraid I shall turn into a _Paradox_
soon, if it goes on much longer.”
“Gracious! what a long word,” exclaimed Girlie. “Whatever is a Paradox?”
“When a thing _is_ what it _isn’t_ and yet _isn’t_ what it _is_, it’s a
paradox,” said the Joke. “And since I am beginning to think it’s no
_joke_ to be a _joke_, I suppose I must be a kind of paradox,” he added
wearily.
Girlie couldn’t think of anything comforting to say, though she really
felt very sorry for the poor Joke, “for it must be so _very_
uncomfortable to be invisible,” she thought, “and not even to know
yourself what you really are.”
“Here comes the Royal Microscopist,” said the Joke a minute or two
later. “You might ask him to try and see me with his microscope, will
you please?”
Girlie looked across the meadow and saw the Royal Microscopist and the
Doctor-in-law coming along arm-in-arm. The Doctor-in-law was
triumphantly carrying the hat, which he had evidently succeeded in
capturing.
“They are called chimney-pot hats,” he was explaining, “because they
blow about in windy weather just as chimney-pots do. That will be two
and ninepence, please;” and he stopped and held out his hand while the
Royal Microscopist fumbled about in his pocket for his purse. He had
just handed the Doctor-in-law half a sovereign and was waiting for the
change, when he saw Girlie. Hastily putting on his spectacles, he
hurried over to her while the Doctor-in-law pocketed the money.
“Bless me!” he cried, staring at her curiously; “the Human Noun, I do
declare! How very singular!”
“I don’t see why you should think it singular at all,” said Girlie
boldly.
“Don’t you, my dear? Well, you _are_ singular, very singular—indeed,
_most_ singular—because, you see, there’s only _one_ of you. Now, if
there had been _two_ of you, you know, you might have been _plural_, if
you wished. Dear me! what have you done with your _Case_?” he asked,
peering at her over the top of his spectacles.
“My case! What do you mean?” asked Girlie.
“Every respectable Noun is expected to carry a Case,” said the
Doctor-in-law; “you ought to know that by this time, if you’ve ever been
to school. What Mood do you think she’s in?” he asked, turning to the
Royal Microscopist.
The Royal Microscopist stared at her a minute or two over his glasses,
and then said in a decided voice, “Very disagreeable Mood. But then,
there’s some excuse for her, you know; she’s only a Third Person, and
the Third Person is _always_ disagreeable; that’s why ‘_two’s_ company
and _three’s_ none.’”
“Why should I be the Third Person, pray?” asked Girlie, who did not at
all approve the way in which they were talking about her.
“I’m the First Person, my friend here is the Second Person, and so you
must be the Third,” replied the Royal Microscopist.
“There’s only one thing wrong about that,” said the Doctor-in-law; “_I_
am the First Person.”
“Now, that’s _too_ bad of you, Doctor-in-law,” said the Royal
Microscopist. “You know we agreed that we were to take it in turns to be
the First Person.”
“We didn’t do anything of the sort,” said the Doctor-in-law angrily.
“I’m always the First Person.”
“Oh! please don’t quarrel,” said Girlie. “Besides, I think I ought to be
the First Person, considering that I was here first.”
“Ha-ha-ha! she’s got the best of you there,” laughed the Joke.
The Royal Microscopist and the Doctor-in-law both started and looked
about nervously.
“What’s that?” whispered the Royal Microscopist in an alarmed voice.
“Only a Joke,” replied Girlie. “He wants you to try and see him; he’s
afraid he’s turning into a para—para——”
“Parachute,” suggested the Doctor-in-law.
“No, I don’t think that was it,” said Girlie. “What did you say you were
turning into?” she asked of the Joke.
There was no answer.
“He seems to have gone away,” said the Doctor-in-law.
“Ha-ha-ha! then I can see it,” laughed the Royal Microscopist; “that
_is_ the joke. He waits till you want him, and then he goes
away,—ha-ha-ha! Very funny, very funny indeed.”
“I don’t think it’s at all a good joke,” said Girlie.
“Of course not, my dear,” said the Royal Microscopist; “it’s a very bad
joke, a very bad joke indeed, to run away just when we wanted him. But
it’s very funny that one should _not be able to see him till after he
had gone_; that’s really funny, very funny indeed—ha-ha-ha! hee-hee!”
“Don’t go on like that or you’ll have a fit,” remarked the Doctor-in-law
crossly.
“Well, what if I do?” replied the Royal Microscopist. “I suppose I can
have a fit, if I like. I’m not obliged to ask you, am I? I’ll have two,
if I wish. I’ll have the measles, if I like, and I’ll have the
scarlatina and the croup, if I want to—so there!” and the Royal
Microscopist stamped his foot pettishly.
“Don’t be absurd,” said the Doctor-in-law; “and come along and buy your
Excuse, or you will be too late.”
“Bless me, yes! so I will,” cried the Royal Microscopist.
[Illustration:
“THE OLD GENTLEMAN HURRIED OFF.”
]
“I’m going to buy an excuse for not having found out what a Goo is,” he
hurriedly explained to Girlie. “And this is Thursday—early-closing day,
you know; so, if I don’t hurry up, I shall be too late. Good-bye. See
you later;” and, taking the Doctor-in-law’s arm again, the old gentleman
hurried off, stopping half-way across the meadow to call out, “Can you
run?”
“Yes!” Girlie shouted back, wondering what he wanted to know for.
“Very well, then; we’ll arrange a _Human Race_ for you by-and-by,”
returned the Royal Microscopist, hurrying down the hill and out of
sight.
------------------------------------------------------------------------