our time-pieces. I can't be two hours late, you know."
"Well, let's say you are on time, then," said the Twins. "What kept
you?"
"A very funny accident on the railroad," said the Baron lighting a
cigar. "Queerest accident that ever happened to me on the railroad,
too. Our engine ran away."
The Twins laughed as if they thought the Baron was trying to fool
them.
"Really," said the Baron. "I left town as usual on the two o'clock
train, which, as you know, comes through in half an hour, without a
stop. Everything went along smoothly until we reached the Vitriol
Reservoir, when much to the surprise of everybody the train came to a
stand-still. I supposed there was a cow on the track, and so kept in
my seat for three or four minutes as did every one else. Finally the
conductor came through and called to the brakeman at the end of our
car to see if his brakes were all right.
"'It's the most unaccountable thing,' he said to me. 'Here's this
train come to a dead stop and I can't see why. There isn't a brake out
of order on any one of the cars, and there isn't any earthly reason
why we shouldn't go ahead.'
"'Maybe somebody's upset a bottle of glue on the track,' said I. I
always like to chaff the conductor, you know, though as far as that is
concerned, I remember once when I was travelling on a South American
Railway our train was stopped by highwaymen, who smeared the tracks
with a peculiar sort of gum. They'd spread it over three miles of
track, and after the train had gone lightly over two miles of it the
wheels stuck so fast ten engines couldn't have moved it. That was a
terrible affair."
"I don't think we ever heard of that, did we?" asked Angelica.
"I don't remember it," said Diavolo.
"Well, you would have remembered it, if you had ever heard of it,"
said the Baron. "It was too dreadful to be forgotten--not for us, you
know, but for the robbers. It was one of the Imperial trains in
Brazil, and if it hadn't been for me the Emperor would have been
carried off and held for ransom. The train was brought to a
stand-still by this gluey stuff, as I have told you, and the
desperadoes boarded the cars and proceeded to rifle us of our
possessions. The Emperor was in the car back of mine, and the robbers
made directly for him, but fathoming their intention I followed close
upon their heels.
"'You are our game,' said the chief robber, tapping the Emperor on the
shoulder, as he entered the Imperial car.
"'Hands off,' I cried throwing the ruffian to one side.
"He scowled dreadfully at me, the Emperor looked surprised, and
another one of the robbers requested to know who was I that I should
speak with so much authority. 'Who am I?' said I, with a wink at the
Emperor. 'Who am I? Who else but Baron Munchausen of the Bodenwerder
National Guard, ex-friend of Napoleon of France, intimate of the
Mikado of Japan, and famed the world over as the deadliest shot in two
hemispheres.'
"The desperadoes paled visibly as I spoke, and after making due
apologies for interfering with the train, fled shrieking from the car.
They had heard of me before.
"'I thank you, sir,' began the Emperor, as the would-be assassins
fled, but I cut him short. 'They must not be allowed to escape,' I
said, and with that I started in pursuit of the desperate fellows,
overtook them, and glued them with the gum they had prepared for our
detention to the face of a precipice that rose abruptly from the side
of the railway, one hundred and ten feet above the level. There I left
them. We melted the glue from the tracks by means of our steam heating
apparatus, and were soon booming merrily on our way to Rio Janeiro
when I was feted and dined continuously for weeks by the people,
though strange to say the Emperor's behaviour toward me was very
cool."
"And did the robbers ever get down?" asked the Twins.
"Yes, but not in a way they liked," Mr. Munchausen replied. "The sun
came out, and after a week or two melted the glue that held them to
the precipice, whereupon they fell to its base and were shattered into
pieces so small there wasn't an atom of them to be found when a month
later I passed that way again on my return trip."
"And didn't the Emperor treat you well, Uncle Munch?" asked the Imps.
"No--as I told you he was very cool towards me, and I couldn't
understand it, then, but I do now," said the Baron. "You see he was
very much in need of ready cash, the Emperor was, and as the taxpayers
were already growling about the expenses of the Government he didn't
dare raise the money by means of a tax. So he arranged with the
desperadoes to stop the train, capture him, and hold him for ransom.
Then when the ransom came along he was going to divide up with them.
My sudden appearance, coupled with my determination to rescue him,
spoiled his plan, you see, and so he naturally wasn't very grateful.
Poor fellow, I was very sorry for it afterward, because he really was
an excellent ruler, and his plan of raising the money he needed wasn't
a bit less honest than most other ways rulers employ to obtain revenue
for State purposes."
"Well, now, let's get back to the runaway engine," said the Twins.
"You can tell us more about South America after you get through with
that. How did the engine come to run away?"
"It was simple enough," said the Baron. "The engineer, after starting
the train came back into the smoking car to get a light for his pipe,
and while he was there the coupling-pin between the engine and the
train broke, and off skipped the engine twice as fast as it had been
going before. The relief from the weight of the train set its pace to
a mile a minute instead of a mile in two minutes, and there we were at
a dead stop in front of the Vitriol Station with nothing to move us
along. When the engineer saw what had happened he fainted dead away,
because you know if a collision had occurred between the runaway
engine and the train ahead he would have been held responsible."
"Couldn't the fireman stop the engine?" asked the Twins.
"No. That is, it wouldn't be his place to do it, and these railway
fellows are queer about that sort of thing," said the Baron. "The
engineers would go out upon a strike if the railroad were to permit a
stoker to manage the engine, and besides that the stoker wouldn't
undertake to do it at a stoker's wages, so there wasn't any help to be
looked for there. The conductor happened to be nearsighted, and so he
didn't find out that the engine was missing until he had wasted ten or
twenty minutes examining the brakes, by which time, of course, the
runaway was miles and miles up the track. Then the engineer came to,
and began to wring his hands and moan in a way that was heart-rending.
The conductor, too, began to cry, and all the brakemen left the train
and took to the woods. They weren't going to have any of the
responsibility for the accident placed on their shoulders. Whether
they will ever turn up again I don't know. But I realised as soon as
anybody else that something had to be done, so I rushed into the
telegraph office and telegraphed to all the station masters between
the Vitriol Reservoir and Cimmeria to clear the track of all trains,
freight, local, or express, or somebody would be hurt, and that I
myself would undertake to capture the runaway engine. This they all
promised to do, whereupon I bade good-bye to my fellow-travellers, and
set off up the track myself at full speed. In a minute I strode past
Sulphur Springs, covering at least eight ties at a stretch. In two
minutes I thundered past Lava Hurst, where I learned that the engine
had twenty miles start of me. I made a rapid calculation mentally--I
always was strong in mental arithmetic, which showed that unless I was
tripped up or got side-tracked somewhere I might overtake the runaway
before it reached Noxmere. Redoubling my efforts, my stride increased
to twenty ties at a jump, and I made the next five miles in two
minutes. It sounds impossible, but really it isn't so. It is hard to
run as fast as that at the start, but when you have got your start the
impetus gathered in the first mile's run sends you along faster in the
second, and so your speed increases by its own force until finally you
go like the wind. At Gasdale I had gained two miles on the engine, at
Sneakskill I was only fifteen miles behind, and upon my arrival at
Noxmere there was scarcely a mile between me and the fugitive.
Unfortunately a large crowd had gathered at Noxmere to see me pass
through, and some small boy had brought a dog along with him and the
dog stood directly in my path. If I ran over the dog it would kill him
and might trip me up. If I jumped with the impetus I had there was no
telling where I would land. It was a hard point to decide either way,
but I decided in favour of the jump, simply to save the dog's life,
for I love animals. I landed three miles up the road and ahead of the
engine, though I didn't know that until I had run ten miles farther
on, leaving the engine a hundred yards behind me at every stride. It
was at Miasmatica that I discovered my error and then I tried to stop.
It was almost in vain; I dragged my feet over the ties, but could only
slow down to a three-minute gait. Then I tried to turn around and slow
up running backward; this brought my speed down ten minutes to the
mile, which made it safe for me to run into a hay-stack at the side of
the railroad just this side of Cimmeria. Then, of course, I was all
right. I could sit down and wait for the engine, which came booming
along forty minutes later. As it approached I prepared to board it,
and in five minutes was in full control. That made it easy enough for
me to get back here without further trouble. I simply reversed the
lever, and back we came faster than I can describe, and just one hour
and a half from the time of the mishap the runaway engine was restored
to its deserted train and I reached your station here in good order. I
should have walked up, but for my weariness after that exciting run,
which as you see left me very much out of breath, and which made it
necessary for me to hire that worn-out old hack instead of walking up
as is my wont."
[Illustration: "This brought my speed down ten minutes to the mile,
which made it safe for me to run into a haystack." _Chapter XI._]
"Yes, we see you are out of breath," said the Twins, as the Baron
paused. "Would you like to lie down and take a rest?"
"Above all things," said the Baron. "I'll take a nap here until your
father returns," which he proceeded at once to do.
While he slept the two Imps gazed at him curiously, Angelica, a little
suspiciously.
"Bub," said she, in a whisper, "do you think that was a true story?"
"Well, I don't know," said Diavolo. "If anybody else than Uncle Munch
had told it, I wouldn't have believed it. But he hates untruth. I know
because he told me so."
"That's the way I feel about it," said Angelica. "Of course, he can
run as fast as that, because he is very strong, but what I can't see
is how an engine ever could run away from its train."
"That's what stumps me," said Diavolo.
XII
MR. MUNCHAUSEN MEETS HIS MATCH
(Reported by Henry W. Ananias for the _Gehenna Gazette_.)
When Mr. Munchausen, accompanied by Ananias and Sapphira, after a long
and tedious journey from Cimmeria to the cool and wooded heights of
the Blue Sulphur Mountains, entered the portals of the hotel where the
greater part of his summers are spent, the first person to greet him
was Beelzebub Sandboy,--the curly-headed Imp who acted as "Head Front"
of the Blue Sulphur Mountain House, his eyes a-twinkle and his swift
running feet as ever ready for a trip to any part of the hostelry and
back. Beelzy, as the Imp was familiarly known, as the party entered,
was in the act of carrying a half-dozen pitchers of iced-water
upstairs to supply thirsty guests with the one thing needful and best
to quench that thirst, and in his excitement at catching sight once
again of his ancient friend the Baron, managed to drop two of the
pitchers with a loud crash upon the office floor. This, however, was
not noticed by the powers that ruled. Beelzy was not perfect, and as
long as he smashed less than six pitchers a day on an average the
management was disposed not to complain.
"There goes my friend Beelzy," said the Baron, as the pitchers fell.
"I am delighted to see him. I was afraid he would not be here this
year since I understand he has taken up the study of theology."
"Theology?" cried Ananias. "In Hades?"
"How foolish," said Sapphira. "We don't need preachers here."
"He'd make an excellent one," said Mr. Munchausen. "He is a lad of
wide experience and his fish and bear stories are wonderful. If he can
make them gee, as he would put it, with his doctrines he would prove a
tremendous success. Thousands would flock to hear him for his bear
stories alone. As for the foolishness of his choice, I think it is a
very wise one. Everybody can't be a stoker, you know."
At any rate, whatever the reasons for Beelzebub's presence, whether he
had given up the study of theology or not, there he was plying his old
vocation with the same perfection of carelessness as of yore, and
apparently no farther along in the study of theology than he was the
year before when he bade Mr. Munchausen "good-bye forever" with the
statement that now that he was going to lead a pious life the chances
were he'd never meet his friend again.
"I don't see why they keep such a careless boy as that," said
Sapphira, as Beelzy at the first landing turned to grin at Mr.
Munchausen, emptying the contents of one of his pitchers into the lap
of a nervous old gentleman in the office below.
"He adds an element of excitement to a not over-exciting place,"
explained Mr. Munchausen. "On stormy days here the men make bets on
what fool thing Beelzy will do next. He blacked all the russet shoes
with stove polish one year, and last season in the rush of his daily
labours he filled up the water-cooler with soft coal instead of ice.
He's a great bell-boy, is my friend Beelzy."
A little while later when Mr. Munchausen and his party had been shown
to their suite, Beelzy appeared in their drawing-room and was warmly
greeted by Mr. Munchausen, who introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Ananias.
"Well," said Mr. Munchausen, "you're here again, are you?"
"No, indeed," said Beelzy. "I ain't here this year. I'm over at the
Coal-Yards shovellin' snow. I'm my twin brother that died three years
before I was born."
"How interesting," said Sapphira, looking at the boy through her
lorgnette.
Beelzy bowed in response to the compliment and observed to the Baron:
"You ain't here yourself this season, be ye?"
"No," said Mr. Munchausen, drily. "I've gone abroad. You've given up
theology I presume?"
"Sorter," said Beelzy. "It was lonesome business and I hadn't been at
it more'n twenty minutes when I realised that bein' a missionary ain't
all jam and buckwheats. It's kind o' dangerous too, and as I didn't
exactly relish the idea o' bein' et up by Samoans an' Feejees I made
up my mind to give it up an' stick to bell-boyin' for another season
any how; but I'll see you later, Mr. Munchausen. I've got to hurry
along with this iced-water. It's overdue now, and we've got the
kickinest lot o' folks here this year you ever see. One man here the
other night got as mad as hookey because it took forty minutes to soft
bile an egg. Said two minutes was all that was necessary to bile an
egg softer'n mush, not understanding anything about the science of
eggs in a country where hens feeds on pebbles."
"Pebbles?" cried Mr. Munchausen. "What, do they lay Roc's eggs?"
Beelzy grinned.
"No, sir--they lay hen's eggs all right, but they're as hard as Adam's
aunt."
"I never heard of chickens eating pebbles," observed Sapphira with a
frown. "Do they really relish them?"
"I don't know, Ma'am," said Beelzy. "I ain't never been on speakin'
terms with the hens, Ma'am, and they never volunteered no information.
They eat 'em just the same. They've got to eat something and up here
on these mountains there ain't anything but gravel for 'em to eat.
That's why they do it. Then when it comes to the eggs, on a diet like
that, cobblestones ain't in it with 'em for hardness, and when you
come to bite 'em it takes a week to get 'em soft, an' a steam drill to
get 'em open--an' this feller kicked at forty minutes! Most likely
he's swearin' around upstairs now because this iced-water ain't came;
and it ain't more than two hours since he ordered it neither."
"What an unreasonable gentleman," said Sapphira.
"Ain't he though!" said Beelzy. "And he ain't over liberal neither.
He's been here two weeks now and all the money I've got out of him was
a five-dollar bill I found on his bureau yesterday morning. There's
more money in theology than there is in him."
With this Beelzebub grabbed up the pitcher of water, and bounded out
of the room like a frightened fawn. He disappeared into the dark of
the corridor, and a few moments later was evidently tumbling head over
heels up stairs, if the sounds that greeted the ears of the party in
the drawing-room meant anything.
The next morning when there was more leisure for Beelzy the Baron
inquired as to the state of his health.
"Oh it's been pretty good," said he. "Pretty good. I'm all right now,
barrin' a little gout in my right foot, and ice-water on my knee, an'
a crick in my back, an' a tired feelin' all over me generally. Ain't
had much to complain about. Had the measles in December, and the mumps
in February; an' along about the middle o' May the whoopin' cough got
a holt of me; but as it saved my life I oughtn't to kick about that."
Here Beelzy looked gratefully at an invisible something--doubtless the
recollection in the thin air of his departed case of whooping cough,
for having rescued him from an untimely grave.
"That is rather curious, isn't it?" queried Sapphira, gazing intently
into the boy's eyes. "I don't exactly understand how the whooping
cough could save anybody's life, do you, Mr. Munchausen?"
"Beelzy, this lady would have you explain the situation, and I must
confess that I am myself somewhat curious to learn the details of this
wonderful rescue," said Mr. Munchausen.
"Well, I must say," said Beelzy, with a pleased smile at the very
great consequence of his exploit in the lady's eyes, "if I was a-goin'
to start out to save people's lives generally I wouldn't have thought
a case o' whoopin' cough would be of much use savin' a man from
drownin', and I'm sure if a feller fell out of a balloon it wouldn't
help him much if he had ninety dozen cases o' whoopin' cough concealed
on his person; but for just so long as I'm the feller that has to come
up here every June, an' shoo the bears out o' the hotel, I ain't never
goin' to be without a spell of whoopin' cough along about that time if
I can help it. I wouldn't have been here now if it hadn't been for
it."
"You referred just now," said Sapphira, "to shooing bears out of the
hotel. May I inquire what useful function in the menage of a hotel a
bear-shooer performs?"
"What useful what?" asked Beelzy.
"Function--duty--what does the duty of a bear-shooer consist in?"
explained Mr. Munchausen. "Is he a blacksmith who shoes bears instead
of horses?"
"He's a bear-chaser," explained Beelzy, "and I'm it," he added. "That,
Ma'am, is the function of a bear-shooer in the menagerie of a hotel."
Sapphira having expressed herself as satisfied, Beelzebub continued.
"You see this here house is shut up all winter, and when everybody's
gone and left it empty the bears come down out of the mountains and
use it instead of a cave. It's more cosier and less windier than their
dens. So when the last guest has gone, and all the doors are locked,
and the band gone into winter quarters, down come the bears and take
possession. They generally climb through some open window somewhere.
They divide up all the best rooms accordin' to their position in bear
society and settle down to a regular hotel life among themselves."
"But what do they feed upon?" asked Sapphira.
"Oh they'll eat anything when they're hungry," said Beelzy. "Sofa
cushions, parlor rugs, hotel registers--anything they can fasten their
teeth to. Last year they came in through the cupola, burrowin' down
through the snow to get at it, and there they stayed enjoyin' life out
o' reach o' the wind and storm, snug's bugs in rugs. Year before last
there must ha' been a hundred of 'em in the hotel when I got here, but
one by one I got rid of 'em. Some I smoked out with some cigars Mr.
Munchausen gave me the summer before; some I deceived out, gettin' 'em
to chase me through the winders, an' then doublin' back on my tracks
an' lockin' 'em out. It was mighty wearin' work.
"Last June there was twice as many. By actual tab I shooed two hundred
and eight bears and a panther off into the mountains. When the last
one as I thought disappeared into the woods I searched the house from
top to bottom to see if there was any more to be got rid of. Every
blessed one of the five hundred rooms I went through, and not a bear
was left that I could see. I can tell you, I was glad, because there
was a partickerly ugly run of 'em this year, an' they gave me a pile
o' trouble. They hadn't found much to eat in the hotel, an' they was
disappointed and cross. As a matter of fact, the only things they
found in the place they could eat was a piano stool and an old hair
trunk full o' paper-covered novels, which don't make a very hearty
meal for two hundred and eight bears and a panther."
"I should say not," said Sapphira, "particularly if the novels were as
light as most of them are nowadays."
"I can't say as to that," said Beelzy. "I ain't got time to read 'em
and so I ain't any judge. But all this time I was sufferin' like
hookey with awful spasms of whoopin' cough. I whooped so hard once it
smashed one o' the best echoes in the place all to flinders, an' of
course that made the work twice as harder. So, naturally, when I found
there warn't another bear left in the hotel, I just threw myself down
anywhere, and slept. My! how I slept. I don't suppose anything ever
slept sounder'n I did. And then it happened."
Beelzy gave his trousers a hitch and let his voice drop to a stage
whisper that lent a wondrous impressiveness to his narration.
"As I was a-layin' there unconscious, dreamin' of home and father, a
great big black hungry bruin weighin' six hundred and forty-three
pounds, that had been hidin' in the bread oven in the bakery, where I
hadn't thought of lookin' for him, came saunterin' along, hummin' a
little tune all by himself, and lickin' his chops with delight at the
idee of havin' me raw for his dinner. I lay on unconscious of my
danger, until he got right up close, an' then I waked up, an' openin'
my eyes saw this great black savage thing gloatin' over me an' tears
of joy runnin' out of his mouth as he thought of the choice meal he
was about to have. He was sniffin' my bang when I first caught sight
of him."
"Mercy!" cried Sapphira, "I should think you'd have died of fright."
[Illustration: "At the first whoop Mr. Bear jumped ten feet and fell
over backwards on the floor." _Chapter XII._]
"I did," said Beelzy, politely, "but I came to life again in a minute.
'Oh Lor!' says I, as I see how hungry he was. 'This here's the end o'
me;' at which the bear looked me straight in the eye, licked his chops
again, and was about to take a nibble off my right ear when 'Whoop!' I
had a spasm of whoopin'. Well, Ma'am, I guess you know what that
means. There ain't nothin' more uncanny, more terrifyin' in the whole
run o' human noises, barrin' a German Opery, than the whoop o' the
whoopin' cough. At the first whoop Mr. Bear jumped ten feet and fell
over backwards onto the floor; at the second he scrambled to his feet
and put for the door, but stopped and looked around hopin' he was
mistaken, when I whooped a third time. The third did the business.
That third whoop would have scared Indians. It was awful. It was like
a tornado blowin' through a fog-horn with a megaphone in front of it.
When he heard that, Mr. Bear turned on all four of his heels and
started on a scoot up into the woods that must have carried him ten
miles before I quit coughin'.
"An' that's why, Ma'am, I say that when you've got to shoo bears for a
livin', an attack o' whoopin' cough is a useful thing to have around."
Saying which, Beelzy departed to find Number 433's left boot which he
had left at Number 334's door by some odd mistake.
"What do you think of that, Mr. Munchausen?" asked Sapphira, as Beelzy
left the room.