It was all of three days later before the little party of travellers met
again on deck. I never inquired very closely into the matter but from
what I know of the first thousand miles of the ocean between New York
and Liverpool I fancy Mollie and Whistlebinkie took very little interest
in anybody but themselves until they had got over that somewhat uneven
stretch of water. The ocean is more than humpy from Nantucket Light on
and travelling over it is more or less like having to slide over eight
or nine hundred miles of scenic railroads, or bumping the bumps, not for
three seconds, but for as many successive days, a proceeding which
interferes seriously with one's appetite and gives one an inclination to
lie down in a comfortable berth rather than to walk vigorously up and
down on deck--though if you _can_ do the latter it is the very best
thing in the world _to_ do. As for the Unwiseman all I know about him
during that period is that he finally gave up his problem of how to tie
a sinker to a half-pint of chicken broth, and diving head first into the
ventilator through which he had made his first appearance on deck,
disappeared from sight. On the morning of the fourth day however he
flashed excitedly along the deck past where Mollie and Whistlebinkie
having gained courage to venture up into Mollie's steamer chair were
sitting, loudly calling for the Captain.
"Hi-hullo!" called Mollie, as the old gentleman rushed by. "Mr.
Me!"--Mr. Me it will be remembered by his friends was the name the
Unwiseman had had printed on his visiting cards. "Mister Me--come here!"
The Unwiseman paused for a moment.
"I'm looking for the Captain," he called back. "I find I forgot to tell
the burgular who's rented my house that he mustn't steal my kitchen
stove until I get back, and I want the Captain to turn around and go
back for a few minutes so that I can send him word."
"He wouldn't do that, Mr. Me," said Mollie.
"Then let him set me on shore somewhere where I can walk back," said the
Unwiseman. "It would be perfectly terrible if that burgular stole my
kitchen stove. I'd have to eat all my bananas and eclairs raw, and
besides I use that stove to keep the house cool in summer."
"There isn't any shore out here to put you on," said Mollie.
"Where's your bottle of native land?" jeered Whistlebinkie. "You might
walk home on that."
"Hush, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie. "Don't make him angry."
"Well," said the Unwiseman ruefully. "I'm sure I don't know what to do
about it. It is the only kitchen stove I've got, and it's taken me ten
years to break it in. It would be very unfortunate just as I've got the
stove to do its work exactly as I want it done to go and lose it."
"Why don't you send a wireless message?" suggested Mollie. "They've got
an office on board, and you can telegraph to him."
"First rate," said the old man. "I'd forgotten that." And the Unwiseman
sat down and wrote the following dispatch: