The following day the Unwiseman was in high-feather. At last he was able
to contemplate in all its gorgeousness a real London fog of which he had
heard so much, for over the whole city hung one of those deep, dark,
impenetrable mists which cause so much trouble at times to those who
dwell in the British capital.
"Hurry up, Mollie, and come out," he cried enthusiastically rapping on
the little girl's door. "There's one of the finest fogs outside you ever
saw. I'm going to get a bottle full of it and take it home with me."
"Hoh!" jeered Whistlebinkie. "What a puffickly 'bsoyd thing to do--as if
we never didn't have no fogs at home!"
"We don't have any London fogs in America, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie.
"No but we have very much finer ones," boasted the patriotic
Whistlebinkie. "They're whiter and cleaner to begin with, and twice as
deep."
"Well never mind, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie. "Don't go looking around
for trouble with the Unwiseman. It's very nice to be able to enjoy
everything as much as he does and you shouldn't never find fault with
people because they enjoy themselves."
"Hi-there, Mollie," came the Unwiseman's voice at the door. "Just open
the door a little and I'll give you a hatful of it."
"You can come in," said Mollie. "Whistlebinkie and I are all dressed."
And the little girl opened the door and the Unwiseman entered. He
carried his beaver hat in both hands, as though it were a pail without a
handle, and over the top of it he had spread a copy of the morning's
paper.
"It's just the finest fog ever," he cried as he came in. "Real thick. I
thought you'd like to have some, so I went out on the sidewalk and got a
hat full of it for you."
Mollie and Whistlebinkie gathered about the old gentleman as he removed
the newspaper from the top of his hat, and gazed into it.
"I do-see-anthing," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"You don't?" cried the Unwiseman. "Why it's chock full of fog. You can
see it can't you Mollie?" he added anxiously, for to tell the truth the
hat did seem to be pretty empty.
Mollie tried hard and was able to convince herself that she could see
just a tiny bit of it and acted accordingly.
"Isn't it beautiful!" she ejaculated, as if filled with admiration for
the contents of the Unwiseman's hat. "I don't think I ever saw any just
like it before--did you, Mr. Me?"
"No," said the Unwiseman much pleased, "I don't think I ever did--it's
so delicate and--er--steamy, eh? And there's miles of it outdoors and
the Robert down on the corner says we're welcome to all we want of it. I
didn't like to take it without asking, you know."
"Of course not," said Mollie, glancing into the hat again.
"So I just went up to the pleeceman and told him I was going to start a
museum at home and that I wanted to have some real London fog on
exhibition and would he mind if I took some. 'Go ahead, sir,' he said
very politely. 'Go ahead and take all you want. We've got plenty of it
and to spare. You can take it all if you want it.' Mighty kind of him I
think," said the Unwiseman. "So I dipped out a hat full for you first.
Where'll I put it?"
"O----," said Mollie, "I--I don't know. I guess maybe you'd better pour
it out into that vase up there on the mantel-piece--it isn't too thick
to go in there, is it?"
"It don't seem to be," said the Unwiseman peering cautiously into the
hat. "Somehow or other it don't seem quite as thick inside here as it
did out there on the street. Tell you the truth I don't believe it'll
keep unless we get it in a bottle and cork it up good and tight--do
you?"
"I'm afraid not," agreed Mollie. "It's something like snow--kind of
vaporates."
"I'm going to put mine in a bottle," said the Unwiseman, "and seal the
cork with sealing wax--then I'll be sure of it. Then I thought I'd get
an envelope full and send it home to my Burgular just to show him I
haven't forgotten him--poor fellow, he must be awful lonesome up there
in my house without any friends in the neighborhood and no other
burgulars about to keep him company."
And the strange little man ran off to get his bottle filled with fog
and to fill up an envelope with it as well as a souvenir of London for
the lonesome Burglar at home. Later on Mollie encountered him leaving
the hotel door with a small shovel and bucket in his hand such as
children use on the beach in the summer-time.
"The pleeceman says it's thicker down by the river," he explained to
Mollie, "and I'm going down there to shovel up a few pailsful--though
I've got a fine big bottleful of it already corked up and labelled for
my museum. And by the way, Mollie, you want to be careful about
Whistlebinkie in this fog. When he whistles on a bright clear day it is
hard enough to understand what he is saying, but if he gets _his_ hat
full of fog and tries to whistle with that it will be something awful. I
don't think I could stand him if he began to talk any foggier than he
does ordinarily."
Mollie promised to look out for this and kept Whistlebinkie indoors all
the morning, much to the rubber-doll's disgust, for Whistlebinkie was
quite as anxious to see how the fog would affect his squeak as the
Unwiseman was to avoid having him do so. In the afternoon the fog lifted
and the Unwiseman returned.
"I think I'll go out and see if I can find the King's tailor," he said.
"I'm getting worried about that Duke's suit. I asked the Robert what he
thought it would cost and he said he didn't believe you could get one
complete for less than five pounds and the way I figure it out that's a
good deal more than eight-fifty."
"It's twenty-five dollars," Mollie calculated.
"Mercy!" cried the Unwiseman. "It costs a lot to dress by the pound
doesn't it--I guess I'd better write to Mr. King and tell him I've
decided not to accept."
"Better see what it costs first," said Whistlebinkie.
"All right," agreed the Unwiseman. "I will--want to go with me Mollie?"
"Certainly," said Mollie.
And they started out. After walking up to Trafalgar Square and thence on
to Piccadilly, the Unwiseman carefully scanning all the signs before the
shops as they went, they came to a bake-shop that displayed in its
window the royal coat of arms and announced that "Muffins by Special
Appointment to H. R. H. the King," could be had there.
"We're getting close," said the Unwiseman. "Let's go in and have a royal
cream-cake."
Mollie as usual was willing and entering the shop the Unwiseman planted
himself before the counter and addressed the sales-girl.
"I'm a friend of Mr. King, Madame," he observed with a polite bow, "just
over from America and we had a sort of an idea that we should like to
eat a really regal piece of cake. What have you in stock made by Special
Appointment for the King?"
"We 'ave Hinglish Muffins," replied the girl.
"Let me see a few," said the Unwiseman.
The girl produced a trayful.
"Humph!" ejaculated the Unwiseman looking at them critically. "They
ain't very different from common people's muffins are they? What I want
is some of the stuff that goes to the Palace. I may look green, young
lady, but I guess I've got sense enough to see that those things are
_not_ royal."
[Illustration: "THESE ARE THE KIND HIS MAJESTY PREFERS," SAID THE GIRL]
"These are the kind his majesty prefers," said the girl.
"Come along, Mollie," said the Unwiseman turning away. "I don't want
to get into trouble and I'm sure this young lady is trying to fool us. I
am very much obliged to you, Madame," he added turning to the girl at
the counter. "We'd have been very glad to purchase some of your wares if
you hadn't tried to deceive us. Those muffins are very pretty indeed but
when you try to make us believe that they are muffins by special
appointment to his h. r. h., Mr. Edward S. King, plain and simple
Americans though we be, we know better. Even my rubber friend,
Whistlebinkie here recognizes a bean when he sees it. I shall report
this matter to the King and beg to wish you a very good afternoon."
And drawing himself up to his full height, the Unwiseman with a great
show of dignity marched out of the shop followed meekly by Mollie and
Whistlebinkie.
"I-didn-tsee-an-thing th-matter-withem," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They
looked to me like firs-class-smuffins."
"No doubt," said the Unwiseman. "That's because you don't know much. But
they couldn't fool me. If I'd wanted plain muffins I could have asked
for them, but when I ask for a muffin by special appointment to his
h. r. h. the King I want them to give me what I ask for. Perhaps you
didn't observe that not one of those muffins she brought out was set
with diamonds and rubies."
"Now that you mention it," said Mollie, "I remember they weren't."
"Prezactly," said the Unwiseman. "They weren't even gold mounted, or
silver plated, or anything to make 'em different from the plain every
day muffins that you can buy in a baker's shop at home. I don't believe
they were by special appointment to anybody--not even a nearl, much less
the King. I guess they think we Americans don't know anything over
here--but they're barking up the wrong tree if they think they can fool
me."
"We-mightuv-tastedum!" whistled Whistlebinkie much disappointed, because
he always did love the things at the baker's. "You can't tell just by
lookin' at a muffin whether it's good or not."
"Well go back and taste them," retorted the Unwiseman. "It's your
taste--only if I had as little taste as you have I wouldn't waste it on
that stuff. Ah--this is the place I've been looking for."
The old man's eyes had fallen upon another sign which read "Robe Maker
By Special Appointment to T. R. H. The King and The Queen."
"Here's the place, Mollie, where they make the King's clothes," he said.
"Now for it."
Hand in hand the three travellers entered the tailor's shop.
"How do you do, Mr. Snip," said the Unwiseman addressing the gentlemanly
manager of the shop whose name was on the sign without and who
approached him as affably as though he were not himself the greatest
tailor in the British Isles--for he couldn't have been the King's tailor
if he had not been head and shoulders above all the rest. "I had a very
pleasant little chat with his h. r. h. about you yesterday. I could see
by the fit of his red jacket that you were the best tailor in the world,
and while he didn't say very much on the subject the King gave me to
understand that you're pretty nearly all that you should be."
"Verry gracious of his Majesty I am sure," replied the tailor, washing
his hands in invisible soap, and bowing most courteously.
"Now the chances are," continued the Unwiseman, "that as soon as the
King receives a letter I wrote to him from Liverpool about how to stamp
out this horrible habit his subjects have of littering up the street
with aitches, clogging traffic and overworking the Roberts picking 'em
up, he'll ask me to settle down over here and be a Duke. Naturally I
don't want to disappoint him because I consider the King to be a mighty
nice man, but unless I can get a first-class Duke's costume----"
"We make a specialty of Ducal robes, your Grace," said the Tailor,
manifesting a great deal of interest in his queer little customer.
"Hold on a minute," cried the Unwiseman. "Don't you call me that yet--I
shant be a grace until I've decided to accept. What does an A-1 Duke's
clothes cost?"
"You mean the full State----" began the Tailor.
"I come from New York State," said the Unwiseman. "Yes--I guess that's
it. New York's the fullest State in the Union. How much for a New York
State Duke?"
"The State Robes will cost--um--let me see--I should think about fifteen
hundred pounds, your Lordship," calculated the Tailor. "Of course it all
depends on the quality of the materials. Velvets are rawther expensive
these days."
Whistlebinkie gave a long low squeak of astonishment. Mollie gasped and
the Unwiseman turned very pale as he tremblingly repeated the figure.
"Fif-teen-hundred-pounds? Why," he added turning to Mollie, "I'd have to
live about seven thousand years to get the wear out of it at a dollar a
year."
"Yes, your Lordship--or more. It all depends upon how much gold your
Lordship requires--" observed the Tailor.
"Seems to me I'd need about four barrels of it," said the Unwiseman, "to
pay a bill like that."
"We have made robes costing as high as 10,000 pounds," continued the
Tailor. "But they of course were of unusual magnificence--and for
special jubilee celebrations you know."
"You haven't any ready made Duke's clothes on hand for less?" inquired
the Unwiseman. "You know I'm not so awfully particular about the fit.
My figure's a pretty good one, but after all I don't want to thrust it
on people."
"We do not deal in ready made garments," said the Tailor coldly.
"Well I guess I'll have to give it up then," said the Unwiseman, "unless
you know where I could hire a suit, or maybe buy one second-hand from
some one of your customers who's going to get a new one."
"We do not do that kind of trade, sir," replied the Tailor, haughtily.
"Well say, Mr. Snip--ain't there anything else a chap can be made beside
a Duke that ain't quite so dressy?" persisted the old gentleman. "I
don't want to disappoint Mr. King you know."
"Oh as for that," observed the Tailor, "there are ordinary peerages,
baronetcies and the like. His Majesty might make you a Knight," he added
sarcastically.
"That sounds good," said the Unwiseman. "About what would a Knight gown
cost me--made out of paper muslin or something that's a wee bit cheaper
than solid gold and velvet?"
This perfectly innocent and sincerely asked question was never answered,
for Mr. Snip the Tailor made up his mind that the Unwiseman was guying
him and acted accordingly.
"Jorrocks!" he cried haughtily to the office boy, a fresh looking lad
who had broken out all over in brass buttons. "Jorrocks, show this 'ere
party the door."
Whereupon Mr. Snip retired and Jorrocks with a wink at Whistlebinkie
showed the travellers out.
"Well did you ever!" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "You couldn't have
expected any haughtier haughtiness than that from the King himself."
"He was pretty proud," said Mollie, with a smile, for to tell the truth
she had had all she could do all through the interview to keep from
giggling.
"He was proud all right, but I didn't notice anything very pretty about
him," said the Unwiseman. "I'm going to write to the King about both
those places, because I don't believe he knows what kind of people they
are with their bogus muffins and hoity-toity manners."
They walked solemnly along the street in the direction of the hotel.
"I won't even wait for the mail," said the Unwiseman. "I'll walk over
to the Palace now and tell him. That tailor might turn some real
important American out of his shop in the same way and then there'd be a
war over it."
"O I wouldn't," said Mollie, who was always inclined toward
peace-making. "Wait and write him a letter."
"Send-im-a-wireless-smessage," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Good idea!" said the Unwiseman. "That'll save postage and it'll get to
the King right away instead of having to be read first by one of his
Secretaries."
So it happened that that night the Unwiseman climbed up to the roof of
the hotel and sent the following wireless telegram to the King: