When the Unwiseman came out of the carpet-bag again the travellers had
reached Switzerland. Every effort that Mollie and Whistlebinkie made to
induce him to come forth and go about Paris with them had wholly failed.
"It's more comfortable in here," he had answered them, "and I've got my
hands full forgetting all that useless French I learned last week. It's
very curious how much harder it is to forget French than it is to learn
it. I've been four days forgetting that wazzoh means bird and that oofs
is eggs."
"And you haven't forgotten it yet, have you," said Whistlebinkie.
"O yes," said the Unwiseman. "I've forgotten it entirely. It
occasionally occurs to me that it is so when people mention the fact,
but in the main I am now able to overlook it. I'll be glad when we are
on our way again, Mollie, because between you and me I think they're a
lot of frauds here too, just like over in England. They've got a statue
here of a lady named Miss Jones of Ark and I _know_ there wasn't any
such person on it. Shem and Ham and Japhet and their wives, and Noah,
and Mrs. Noah were there but no Miss Jones."
"Maybe Mrs. Noah or Mrs. Shem or one of the others was Miss Jones before
she married Mr. Noah or Shem, Ham or Japhet," suggested Whistlebinkie.
"Then they should ought to have said so," said the Unwiseman, "and put
up the statue to Mrs. Noah or Mrs. Shem or Mrs. Ham or Mrs. Japhet--but
they weren't the same person because this Miss Jones got burnt cooking a
steak and Mrs. Noah and Mrs. Ham and Mrs. Shem and Mrs. Japhet didn't.
Miss Jones was a great general according to these people and there
wasn't any military at all in the time of Noah for a lady to be general
of, so the thing just can't help being a put up job just to deceive us
Americans into coming over here to see their curiosities and paying
guides three dollars for leading us to them."
"Then you won't come with us out to Versailles?" asked Mollie very much
disappointed.
"Versailles?" asked the Unwiseman. "What kind of sails are Versailles?
Some kind of a French cat-boat? If so, none of that for me. I'm not fond
of sailing."
"It's a town with a beautiful palace in it," explained Mollie.
"That settles it," said the Unwiseman. "I'll stay here. I've seen all
the palaces without any kings in 'em that I need in my business, so you
can just count me out. I may go out shopping this afternoon and buy an
air-gun to shoot alps with when we get to--ha--hum----"
"Switzerland," prompted Mollie hurriedly, largely with the desire to
keep Whistlebinkie from speaking of Swiz-izzer-land.
"Precisely," said the Unwiseman. "If you'd given me time I'd have
said it myself. I've been practising on that name ever since yesterday
and I've got so I can say it right five times out of 'leven.
And I'm learning to yodel too. I have discovered that down
in--ha--hum--Swztoozalum, when people don't feel like speaking French,
they yodel, and I think I can get along better in yodeling than I can in
French. I'm going to try it anyhow. So run along and have a good time
and don't worry about me. I'm having a fine time. Yodeling is really
lots of fun. Trala-la-lio!"
So Mollie and Whistlebinkie went to Versailles, which by the way is not
pronounced Ver-sails, but Ver-sai-ee, and left the Unwiseman to his own
devices. A week later the party arrived at Chamounix, a beautiful little
Swiss village lying in the valley at the base of Mont Blanc, the most
famous of all the Alps.
"Looks-slike-a-gray-big-snow-ball," whistled Whistlebinkie, gazing
admiringly at the wonderful mountain glistening like a huge mass of
silver in the sunlight.
"It is beautiful," said Mollie. "We must get the Unwiseman out to see
it."
"I'll call him," said Whistlebinkie eagerly; and the little rubber-doll
bounded off to the carpet-bag as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Hi there, Mister Me," he called breathlessly through the key-hole.
"Come out. There's a nalp out in front of the hotel."
"Tra-la-lulio-tra-la-lali-ee," yodeled the cracked little voice from
within. "Tra-la-la-la-lalio."
"Hullo there," cried Whistlebinkie again. "Stop that tra-la-lody-ing and
hurry out, there's a-nalp in front of the hotel."
"A nalp?" said the Unwiseman popping his head up from the middle of the
bag for all the world like a Jack-in-the-box. "What's a nalp?"
"A-alp," explained Whistlebinkie, as clearly as he could--he was so out
of breath he could hardly squeak, much less speak.
"Really?" cried the Unwiseman, all excitement. "Dear me--glad you called
me. Is he loose?"
"Well," hesitated Whistlebinkie, hardly knowing how to answer,
"it-ain't-exactly-tied up, I guess."
"Ain't any danger of its coming into the house and biting people, is
there?" asked the Unwiseman, rummaging through the carpet-bag for his
air-gun, which he had purchased in Paris while the others were visiting
Versailles.
"No," laughed Whistlebinkie. "Tstoo-big."
"Mercy--it must be a fearful big one," said the Unwiseman. "I hope it's
muzzled."
Armed with his air-gun, and carrying a long rope with a noose in one end
over his arm, the Unwiseman started out.
"Watcher-gone-'tdo-with-the-lassoo?" panted Whistlebinkie, struggling
manfully to keep up with his companion.
"That's to tie him up with in case I catch him alive," said the
Unwiseman, as they emerged from the door of the hotel and stood upon the
little hotel piazza from which all the new arrivals were gazing at the
wonderful peak before them, rising over sixteen thousand feet into the
heavens, and capped forever with a crown of snow and ice.
[Illustration: "OUT THE WAY THERE!" CRIED THE UNWISEMAN]
"Out the way there!" cried the Unwiseman, rushing valiantly through the
group. "Out the way, and don't talk or even yodel. I must have a steady
aim, and conversation disturbs my nerves."
The hotel guests all stepped hastily to one side and made room for the
hero, who on reaching the edge of the piazza stopped short and gazed
about him with a puzzled look on his face.
"Well," he cried impatiently, "where is he?"
"Where is what?" asked Mollie, stepping up to the Unwiseman's side and
putting her hand affectionately on his shoulder.
"That Alp?" said the Unwiseman. "Whistlebinkie said there was an alp
running around the yard and I've come down either to catch him alive or
shoot him. He hasn't hid under this piazza, has he?"
"No, Mr. Me," she said. "They couldn't get an Alp under this piazza.
That's it over there," she added, pointing out Mont Blanc.
"What's it? I don't see anything but a big snow drift," said the
Unwiseman. "Queer sort of people here--must be awful lazy not to have
their snow shoveled off as late as July."
"That's the Alp," explained Mollie.
"Tra-la-lolly-O!" yodeled the Unwiseman. "Which is yodelese for
nonsense. That an Alp? Why I thought an Alp was a sort of animal with a
shaggy fur coat like a bear or a chauffeur, and about the size of a
rhinoceros."
"No," said Mollie. "An Alp is a mountain. All that big range of
mountains with snow and ice on top of them are the Alps. Didn't you know
that?"
The Unwiseman didn't answer, but with a yodel of disgust turned on his
heel and went back to his carpet-bag.
"You aren't mad at me, are you, Mr. Me?" asked Mollie, following meekly
after.
"No indeed," said the Unwiseman, sadly. "Of course not. It isn't your
fault if an Alp is a toboggan slide or a skating rink instead of a wild
animal. It's all my own fault. I was very careless to come over here and
waste my time to see a lot of snow that ain't any colder or wetter than
the stuff we have delivered at our front doors at home in winter. I
should ought to have found out what it was before I came."
"It's very beautiful though as it is," suggested Mollie.
"I suppose so," said the Unwiseman. "But I don't have to travel four
thousand miles to see beautiful things while I have my kitchen-stove
right there in my own kitchen. Besides I've spent a dollar and twenty
cents on an air-gun, and sixty cents for a lassoo to hunt Alps with,
when I might better have bought a snow shovel. _That's_ really what I'm
mad at. If I'd bought a snow shovel and a pair of ear-tabs I could have
made some money here offering to shovel the snow off that hill there
so's somebody could get some pleasure out of it. It would be a lovely
place to go and sit on a warm summer evening if it wasn't for that snow
and very likely they'd have paid me two or three dollars for fixing it
up for them."
"I guess it would take you several hours to do it," said Whistlebinkie.
"What if it took a week?" retorted the Unwiseman. "As long as they were
willing to pay for it. But what's the use of talking about it? I haven't
got a shovel, and I can't shovel the snow off an Alp with an air-gun, so
that's the end of it."
And for the time being that _was_ the end of it. The Unwiseman very
properly confined himself to the quiet of the carpet-bag until his wrath
had entirely disappeared, and after luncheon he turned up cheerily in
the office of the hotel.
"Let's hire a couple of sleds and go coasting," he suggested to Mollie.
"That Mount Blank looks like a pretty good hill. Whistlebinkie and I can
pull you up to the top and it will be a fine slide coming back."
But inquiry at the office brought out the extraordinary fact that there
were no sleds in the place and never had been.
"My goodness!" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "I never knew such people. I
don't wonder these Switzers ain't a great nation like us Americans. I
don't believe any American hotel-keeper would have as much snow as that
in his back-yard all summer long and not have a regular sled company to
accommodate guests who wanted to go coasting on it. If they had an Alp
like that over at Atlantic City they'd build a fence around it, and
charge ten cents to get inside, where you could hire a colored gentleman
to haul you up to the top of the hill and guide you down again on the
return slide."
"I guess they would," said Whistlebinkie.
"Then they'd turn part of it into an ice quarry," the Unwiseman went on,
"and sell great huge chunks of ice to people all the year round and put
the regular ice men out of business. I've half a mind to write home to
my burgular and tell him here's a chance to earn an honest living as an
iceman. He could get up a company to come here and buy up that hill and
just regularly go in for ice-mining. There never was such a chance. If
people can make money out of coal mines and gold mines and copper
mines, I don't see why they can't do the same thing with ice mines. Why
don't you speak to your Papa about it, Mollie? He'd make his everlasting
fortune."
"I will," said Mollie, very much interested in the idea.
"And all that snow up there going to waste too," continued the Unwiseman
growing enthusiastic over the prospect. "Just think of the millions of
people who can't get cool in summer over home. Your father could sell
snow to people in midsummer for six-fifty a ton, and they could shovel
it into their furnaces and cool off their homes ten or twenty degrees
all summer long. My goodness--talk about your billionaires--here's a
chance for squillions."
The Unwiseman paced the floor excitedly. The vision of wealth that
loomed up before his mind's eye was so vast that he could hardly contain
himself in the face of it.
"Wouldn't it all melt before he could get it over to America?" asked
Mollie.
"Why should it?" demanded the Unwiseman. "If it don't melt here in
summer time why should it melt anywhere else? I don't believe snow was
ever disagreeable just for the pleasure of being so."
"Wouldn't it cost a lot to take it over?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Not if the Company owned its own ships," said the Unwiseman. "If the
Company owned its own ships it could carry it over for nothing."
The Unwiseman was so carried away with the possibilities of his plan
that for several days he could talk of nothing else, and several times
Mollie and Whistlebinkie found him working in the writing room of the
hotel on what he called his Perspectus.
"I'm going to work out that idea of mine, Mollie," he explained, "so
that you can show it to your father and maybe he'll take it up, and if
he does--well, I'll have a man to exercise my umbrella, a pair of wings
built on my house where I can put a music room and a library, and have
my kitchen-stove nickel plated as it deserves to be for having served me
so faithfully for so many years."
An hour or two later, his face beaming with pleasure, the Unwiseman
brought Mollie his completed "Perspectus" with the request that she
show it to her father. It read as follows: