TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered ad =bold text=.
[Illustration: So soon as we got into the street, we met the Turtle and
the Pelican, walking arm-in-arm, and each smoking a cigarette.—Page
151.
_Wallypugland._]
ADVENTURES IN
WALLYPUG-LAND
BY G. E. FARROW
AUTHOR OF “THE WALLYPUG OF WHY,” “THE WALLYPUG IN
LONDON,” ETC.
_WITH FIFTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALAN WRIGHT_
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
52-58 DUANE STREET, NEW YORK.
DEDICATED
TO
LIONEL
ADVENTURES IN WALLYPUG-LAND.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,
I have again to thank you for the many kind and delightful letters
which I have received from all parts of the world, and I cannot tell
you how happy I am to find that I have succeeded so well in pleasing
you with my stories.
What am I to say to the little boy who wrote, and begged “that, if the
Wallypug came to stay with me again, would I please invite him too?” or
to the other dear little fellow who came to me with tears in his eyes,
to tell me that some superior grown-up person had informed him that
“there never was a Wallypug, and it was all just a pack of nonsense”;
that “Girlie never went to Why at all, and that in fact there was no
such place in existence”?
I can only regretfully admit that, sooner or later as we grow up to
be men and women, there are bound to be many fond illusions which
are one by one ruthlessly dispelled, and that many of the dreams and
thoughts which, in our younger days, we cherish most dearly, the hard,
matter-of-fact world will always persist in describing as “a pack of
nonsense.” However, for many of us fortunately, this tiresome time has
not yet arrived, and for the present we will refuse to give up our poor
dear Wallypug—for whom I declare I have as great an affection and
regard, as the most enthusiastic of my young readers.
You will see that in the following story I have described my own
experiences during a recent visit to the remarkable land over which
His Majesty reigns as a “kind of king”, and I may tell you that,
amongst all of the extraordinary creatures that I met there, there
was not one who expressed the slightest doubt as to the reality of
what was happening; while for my own part, I should as soon think of
doubting the existence of the fairies themselves, as of the simple,
kind-hearted, little Wallypug.
There now! I hope that I have given quite a clear and lucid
explanation, and one which will prevent you from being made unhappy
by any doubts which may arise in your mind as to the possibility, or
probability, of this story. Please don’t forget to write to me again
during the coming year.
Believing me to be as ever,
Your affectionate Friend,
G. E. FARROW.
CONTENTS.
ADVENTURES IN WALLYPUGLAND.
CHAP. PAGE
I. How I Went to Why 13
II. A Strange Welcome 29
III. A Terrible Night 40
IV. Late for Breakfast 50
V. The Trial 62
VI. His Majesty is Deposed 74
VII. Foiled 83
VIII. The Little Blue People 94
IX. The Wallypug Recovers his Crown 103
X. The Home of Ho-Lor 116
XI. The Why and Wer-Har-Wei Railway 131
XII. Back Again at Why 145
XIII. A New State of Affairs 155
XIV. “Good for the Complexion” 165
XV. “Wallypug’s Blush Limited” 175
XVI. “Au Revoir” 187
THE BLUE DWARFS 197
[Illustration: Adventures in Wallypug-Land]
[Illustration: MR. NOBODY.]
CHAPTER I.
HOW I WENT TO WHY.
FOR some time past I have been the guest of his Majesty the Wallypug at
his palace in the mysterious kingdom of Why—a country so remarkable
that even now I am only just beginning to get used to my strange
surroundings and stranger neighbors. Imagine, if you can, a place
where all of the animals not only talk, but take an active part in
the government of the land, a place where one is as likely as not
to receive an invitation to an evening party from an ostrich, or is
expected to escort an elderly rhinoceros in to dinner; where it is
quite an everyday occurrence to be called upon by a hen with a brood of
young chickens just as you are sitting down to tea, and be expected to
take a lively interest in her account of how the youngest chick passed
through its latest attack of the “pip.”
In such a country, the unexpected is always happening, and I am
continually being startled in the streets at being addressed by some
dangerous-looking quadruped, or an impertinent bird, for I must say
that as a class the birds are the most insolent of all the inhabitants
of this strange land. There is in particular one old crow, a most
objectionable personage, and a cockatoo who is really the most violent
and ill-natured bird that I have ever been acquainted with.
She takes a very active interest in Parliamentary affairs, and is a
strong supporter of woman’s wrongs.
“Every woman has her wrongs,” she declares, “and if she hasn’t she
ought to have.”
You will naturally wish to know how I reached this strange country,
and will, no doubt, be surprised when I tell you how the journey was
accomplished.
One morning a few weeks since, I received a letter from his Majesty
the Wallypug asking me to visit him at his palace at Why, in order
to assist him in establishing some of our social customs and methods
of government, which he had so greatly admired during his visit to
England, and which he was desirous of imitating in his own land. A
little packet was enclosed in the letter, bearing the words, “The
shortest way to Why. This side up with _anxiety_.” “Well,” I thought,
“I suppose they mean ‘This side up with _care_,’” and was proceeding
very carefully to open the packet when a gust of wind rushed in at the
window, and blowing open the paper wrapper, scattered the contents—a
little white powder—in all directions. Some particles flew up into
my eyes, and caused them to smart so violently that I was obliged to
close them for some time till the pain had gone, and when I opened them
again, what do you think? I was no longer in my study at home, but out
on a kind of heath in the brilliant sunshine, and apparently miles from
a house of any kind. A finger-post stood a little way in front of me,
and I could see that three roads met just here. Anxiously I hurried up
to the post to see where I was. One arm pointed, “To Nowhere.” “And
I certainly don’t want to go there,” I thought; the other one was
inscribed, “To Somewhere,” which was decidedly a little better, but the
third one said, “To Everywhere Else.”
[Illustration: “THAT’S NOT MUCH USE.”]
“And, good gracious me,” I thought, “that’s not much use, for I don’t
know in the least now which of the last two roads to take.” I was
puzzling my brain as to what was the best thing to be done, when
I happened to look down the road leading to “Nowhere,” and saw a
curious-looking little person running towards me. He had an enormous
head, and apparently his arms and legs were attached to it, for I could
see no trace of a body. He was flourishing something in his hand as he
ran along, and as soon as he came closer I discovered that it was his
card which he handed to me with a polite bow and an extensive smile, as
soon as he got near enough to do so.
“_MR. NOBODY,_
_No. 1 NONESUCH-STREET,_
_NOWHERE,_”
is what I read.
The little man was still smiling and bowing, so I held out my hand and
said:
“How do you do, sir? I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.
Perhaps you can be good enough to tell me—”
The little man nodded violently.
“To tell me where I am,” I continued.
Mr. Nobody looked very wise, and after a few moments’ thought smiled
and nodded more violently than ever, and simply pointed his finger at
me.
“Yes, yes,” I cried, rather impatiently; “of course I know that I’m
here, but what I want to know is, what place is this?”
The little fellow knitted his brows, and looked very thoughtful, and
finally staring at me sorrowfully, he slowly shook his head.
“You don’t know?” I inquired.
He shook his head again.
“Dear me, this is very sad; the poor man is evidently dumb,” I said,
half aloud.
Mr. Nobody must have heard me, for he nodded violently, then resuming
his former smile, he bowed again, and turning on his heels ran back in
the direction of Nowhere, stopping every now and then to turn around
and nod and smile and wave his hand.
“What a remarkable little person,” I was just saying, when I heard a
voice above my head calling out:
“Man! man!”
I looked up and saw a large crow perched on the finger-post. He had a
newspaper in one claw, and was gravely regarding me over the tops of
his spectacles.
“Well! what are you staring at?” he remarked as soon as he caught my
eye.
“Well, really,” I began.
“Haven’t you ever seen a crow before?” he interrupted.
“Of course I have,” I answered rather angrily, for my surprise at
hearing him talk was fast giving way to indignation at his insolent
tone and manner.
“Very well, then, what do you want to stand there gaping at me in
that absurd way for?” said the bird. “What did he say to you?” he
continued, jerking his head in the direction in which Mr. Nobody had
disappeared.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Very well, then, what was it?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” said I.
“Why, stupid, you said Nobody and nothing, didn’t you, and as two
negatives make an affirmative that means he must have said something.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” I said.
“Ignorant ostrich!” remarked the crow contemptuously.
“Look here,” I cried, getting very indignant, “I will not be spoken to
like that by a mere bird!”
“Oh, really! Who do you think you are, pray, you ridiculous biped?
Where’s your hat?”
I was too indignant to answer, and though I should have liked to have
asked the name of the place I was at, I determined not to hold any
further conversation with the insolent bird, and walked away in the
direction of “Somewhere,” pursued by the sound of mocking laughter from
the crow.
[Illustration: “WHERE’S YOUR HAT?”]
I had not gone far, however, before I perceived a curious kind of
carriage coming towards me. It was a sort of rickshaw, and was drawn
by a kangaroo, who was jerking it along behind him. A large ape sat
inside, hugging a carpet bag, and holding on to the dashboard with his
toes.
“Let’s pass him with withering contempt,” I heard one of them say.
“All right,” was the reply. “Drive on.”
“I say, Man,” called out the Ape, as they passed, “we’re not taking the
slightest notice of you.”
“Oh, aren’t you? Well, I’m sure I don’t care,” I replied rather crossly.
The Kangaroo stopped and stared at me in amazement, and the Ape got out
of the rickshaw and came towards me, looking very indignant.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, striking an attitude.
“No, I don’t,” I replied, “and what’s more, I don’t care.”
“But I’m a person of consequence,” he gasped.
“You are only an ape or a monkey,” I said firmly.
“Oh! I can clearly see that you don’t know me,” remarked the Ape
pityingly. “I’m Oom Hi.”
“Indeed,” I said unconcernedly. “I am afraid I’ve never heard of you.”
“Never heard of Oom Hi,” cried the Ape. “Why, I am the inventor of
Broncho.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “Good gracious! what ignorance,” said the Ape;
“here, go and fetch my bag,” he whispered to the Kangaroo, who ran back
to the rickshaw and returned with the carpet bag.
“This,” continued Oom Hi, taking out a bottle, “is the article; it is
called ‘Broncho,’ and is excellent for coughs, colds, and affections
of the throat; you will notice that each bottle bears a label stating
that the mixture is prepared according to my own formula, and bears
my signature; none other is genuine without it. The Wallypug, when he
returned from England and heard that I had invented it, declared that I
must be a literary genius.”
[Illustration: “There,” continued Oom Hi, taking out the bottle, “is
the article; it is called ‘Broncho.’”—Page 24.
_Wallypugland._]
“A what!” I exclaimed.
“A literary genius,” repeated the Ape, smirking complacently.
“Why, what on earth has cough mixture to do with literature?” I
inquired.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” admitted Oom Hi, “but the Wallypug said that
in England any one who invented anything of that sort was supposed to
possess great literary talent.”
“The Wallypug!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. “Am I anywhere near
his Kingdom of Why, then?”
“Of course you are; it’s only about a mile or two down the road. Are
you going there?” inquired Oom Hi.
“Well, yes,” I answered. “I’ve had an invitation from his Majesty, and
should rather like to go there, as I’m so near.”
“His Majesty; he—he—he, that’s good,” laughed the Kangaroo. “Do you
call the Wallypug ‘his Majesty’?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied, “he is a king, isn’t he?”
“A _kind_ of king,” corrected Oom Hi. “You don’t catch us calling him
‘your Majesty,’ I can tell you though, one animal is as good as another
here, and if anything, a little better. If you are going to Why, we may
as well go back with you, and give you a lift in the rickshaw.”
“You’re very kind,” I said, gratefully.
“Not at all, not at all; jump in,” said Oom Hi.
“Hold on a moment,” said the Kangaroo. “It’s _his_ turn to pull, you
know.”
“Of course, of course,” said the Ape, getting into the vehicle; “put
him in the shafts!”
“What do you mean?” I expostulated.
“Your turn to pull the rickshaw, you know; we always take turns, and
as I have been dragging it for some time it’s your turn now.”
“But I’m not going to pull that thing with you two animals in it. I
never heard of such a thing,” I declared.
“Who are you calling an animal?” demanded the Kangaroo, sulkily.
“You’re one yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well, I suppose I am,” I admitted. “But I’m not going to draw that
thing, all the same.”
“Oh, get in, get in; don’t make a fuss. I suppose I shall have to take
a turn myself,” said Oom Hi, grasping the handles, and the Kangaroo and
myself having taken our seats we were soon traveling down the road. The
Kangaroo turned out to be a very pleasant companion after all, and when
he found out that I came from England told me all about his brother,
who was a professional boxer, and had been to London and made his
fortune as the Boxing Kangaroo. He was quite delighted when I told him
that I had seen notices of his performance in the papers. We soon came
in sight of a walled city, which Oom Hi, turning around, informed me
was Why. And on reaching the gate he gave the rickshaw in charge of an
old turtle, who came waddling up, and each of the animals taking one of
my arms, I was led in triumph through the city gates to the Wallypug’s
palace, several creatures, including a motherly-looking goose and
a little gosling, taking a lively interest in my progress, while a
giraffe in a very high collar craned his neck through a port-hole to
try and get a glimpse of us as we passed under the portcullis.