It was late at night when Mollie and her friends arrived at Venice and
the Unwiseman, sleeping peacefully as he was in the cavernous depths of
his carpet-bag, did not get his first glimpse of the lovely city of the
waters until he waked up the next morning. Unfortunately--or possibly it
was a fortunate circumstance--the old gentleman had heard of Venice only
in a very vague way before, and had no more idea of its peculiarities
than he had of those of Waycross Junction, Georgia, or any other place
he had never seen. Consequently his first sight of Venice filled him
with a tremendous deal of excitement. Emerging from his carpet-bag in
the cloak-room of the hotel he walked out upon the front steps of the
building which descended into the Grand Canal, the broad waterway that
runs its serpentine length through this historic city of the Adriatic.
"'Gee Whittaker!'" he cried, as the great avenue of water met his gaze.
"There's been a flood! Hi there--inside--the water main has busted, and
the whole town's afloat. Wake up everybody and save yourselves!"
He turned and rushed madly up the hotel stairs to the floor upon which
his friends' rooms were located, calling lustily all the way:
"Get up everybody--the reservoy's busted; the dam's loose. To the boats!
Mollie--Whistlebinkie--Mister and Mrs. Mollie--get up or you'll be
washed away--the whole place is flooded. You haven't a minute to spare."
"What's the matter, Mr. Me?" asked Mollie, opening her door as she
recognized the Unwiseman's voice out in the hallway. "What are you
scaring everybody to death for?"
"Get out your life preservers--quick before it is too late," gasped the
Unwiseman. "There's a tidal wave galloping up and down the street, and
we'll be drowned. To the roof! All hands to starboard and man the
boats."
"What _are_ you talking about?" said Mollie.
"Look out your front window if you don't believe me," panted the
Unwiseman. "The whole place is chuck full of water--couldn't bail it out
in a week----"
"Oh," laughed Mollie, as she realized what it was that had so excited
her friend. "Is that all?"
"All!" ejaculated the Unwiseman, his eyebrows lifting higher with
astonishment. "Isn't it enough? What do you want, the whole Atlantic
Ocean sitting on your front stoop?"
"Why--" began Mollie, "this is Venice----"
"Looks like Watertown," interrupted the Unwiseman.
"Thass-swattit-izz," whistled Whistlebinkie. "Venice is a water town.
It's built on it."
"Built on it?" queried the Unwiseman looking scornfully at Whistlebinkie
as much as to say you can't fool me quite so easily as that. "Built on
water?" he repeated.
"Exactly," said Mollie. "Didn't you know that, Mr. Me? Venice is built
right out on the sea."
"Well of all queer things!" ejaculated the Unwiseman, so surprised that
he plumped down on the floor and sat there gazing wonderingly up at
Mollie. "A whole city built on the sea! What's the matter, wasn't there
land enough?"
"Oh yes, I guess there was plenty of land," said Mollie, "but maybe
somebody else owned it. Anyhow the Venetians came out here where there
were a lot of little islands to begin with and drove piles into the
water and built their city on them."
"Well that beats me," said the Unwiseman, shaking his head in
bewilderment. "I've heard of fellows building up big copperations on
water, but never a city. How do they keep the water out of their
cellars?"
"They don't," said Mollie.
"Maybe they build their cellars on the roof," suggested Whistlebinkie.
"Well," said the Unwiseman, rising from the floor and walking to the
front window and gazing out at the Grand Canal, "I hope this hotel is
anchored good and fast. I don't mind going to sea on a big boat that's
built for it, but I draw the line at sailin' all around creation in a
hotel."
The droll little old gentleman poised himself on one toe and stretched
out his arms. "There don't seem to be much motion, does there," he
remarked.
"There isn't any at all," said Mollie. "It's perfectly still."
"I guess it's because it's a clam day," observed the Unwiseman uneasily.
"I hope it'll stay clam while we're here. I'd hate to be caught out in
movey weather like they had on that sassy little British Channel. This
hotel would flop about fearfully and _I_ believe it would sink if
somebody carelessly left a window open, to say nothing of its falling
over backward and letting the water in the back door."
"Papa says it's perfectly safe," said Mollie. "The place has been here
more'n a thousand years and it hasn't sunk yet."
"All right," said the Unwiseman. "If your father says that I'm satisfied
because he most generally knows what he's talking about, but all the
same I think we should ought to have brought a couple o' row boats and a
lot of life preservers along. I don't believe in taking any chances.
What do the cab-horses do here, swim?"
"No," said Mollie. "There aren't any horses in Venice. They have
gondolas."
"Gondolas?" repeated the Unwiseman. "What are gondolas, trained ducks?
Don't think much o' ducks as a substitute for horses."
"Perfly-bsoyd!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"I should think they'd drive whales," said the Unwiseman, "or porpoises.
By Jiminy, that would be fun, wouldn't it? Let's see if we can't hire a
four whale coach, Mollie, and go driving about the city, or better yet,
if they've got them well broken, get a school of porpoises. We might put
on our bathing suits and go horseback riding on 'em. I don't take much
to the trained duck idea, ducks are so flighty and if they shied at
anything they might go flying up in the air and dump us backwards out of
our cab into the water."
"We're going to take a gondola ride this morning," said Mollie. "Just
you wait and see, Mr. Me."
[Illustration: THEY ALL BOARDED A GONDOLA]
So the Unwiseman waited and an hour later he and Mollie and
Whistlebinkie boarded a gondola in charge of a very handsome and smiling
gondolier who said his name was Giuseppe Zocco.
"Soako is a good name for a cab-driver in this town," said the
Unwiseman, after he had inspected the gondola and ascertained that it
was seaworthy. "I guess I'll talk to him."
"You-do-know-Eye-talian," laughed Whistlebinkie.
"It's one of the languages I _do_ know," returned the Unwiseman. "I buy
all my bananas and my peanuts from an Eye-talian at home and for two or
three years I have been able to talk to him very easily."
He turned to the gondolier.
"Gooda da morn, Soako," he observed very politely. "You havea da
prett-da-boat."
"Si, Signor," returned the smiling gondolier, who was not wholly
unfamiliar with English.
"See what?" asked the Unwiseman puzzled, but looking about carefully to
see what there was to be seen.
"He says we're at sea," laughed Whistlebinkie.
"Oh--well--that's it, eh?" said the Unwiseman. "I thought he only spoke
Eye-talian." And then he addressed the gondolier again. "Da weather's
mighta da fine, huh? Not a da rain or da heava da wind, eh? Hopa da babe
is vera da well da morn."
"Si, Signor," said Giuseppe.
"Da Venn greata da place. Too mucha da watt for me. Lika da dry land
moocha da bett, Giuseppe. Ever sella da banann?" continued the
Unwiseman.
"Non, Signor," replied Giuseppe. "No sella da banann."
"Bully da bizz," said the Unwiseman. "Maka da munn hand over da fist.
You grinda da org?"
"Huh?" grinned Giuseppe.
"He doesn't understand," said Mollie giggling.
"I asked him if he ever ground a hand-organ," said the Unwiseman.
"Perfectly simple question. I aska da questch, Giuseppe, if you ever
grinda da org. You know what I mean. Da musica-box, wid da monk for
climba da house for catcha da nick."
"What's 'catcha da nick'?" whispered Whistlebinkie.
"To catch the nickels, stoopid," said the Unwiseman; "don't interrupt.
No hava da monk, Giuseppe?" he asked.
"Non, Signor," said the gondolier. "No hava da monk."
"Too bad," observed the Unwiseman. "Hand-org not moocha da good without
da monk. Da monk maka da laugh and catcha da mun by da cupful. If you
ever come to America, Giuseppe, no forgetta da monk with a redda da
cap."
With which admonition the Unwiseman turned his attention to other
things.
"Is that really Eye-talian?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Of course it is," said the Unwiseman. "It's the easiest language in the
world to pick up and only requires a little practice to make you speak
it as if it were your own tongue. I was never conscious that I was
learning it in my morning talks with old Gorgorini, the banana man at
home. This would be a great place for automobiles, wouldn't it, Mollie?"
he laughed in conclusion.
"I don't guesso," said Whistlebinkie.
The gondolier now guided the graceful craft to a flight of marble steps
up which Mollie and her friends mounted to the Piazza San Marco.
"This is great," said the Unwiseman as he gazed about him and took in
its splendors. "It's a wonder to me that they don't have a lot of places
like this on the way over from New York to Liverpool. Crossing the ocean
would be some fun if you could step off every hour or two and stretch
your legs on something solid, and buy a few tons of tumblers, and feed
pigeons. Fact is I think that's the best cure in the world for
sea-sickness. If you could run up to a little piazza like this three
times a day where there's a nice restaurant waiting for you and no
motion to spoil your appetite I wouldn't mind being a sailor for the
rest of my life."
The travellers passed through the glorious church of San Marco,
inspected the Doge's Palace and then returned to the gondola, upon which
they sailed back to their hotel.
"Moocha da thanks, Giuseppe," said the Unwiseman, as he alighted.
"Here's a Yankee da quart for you. Save it up and when you come to
America as all the Eye-talians seem to be doing these days, it will help
start you in business."
And handing the gondolier a quarter the Unwiseman disappeared into the
hotel. The next day he entered Mollie's room and asked permission to sit
out on her balcony.
"I think I'll try a little fishing this afternoon," he said. "It isn't a
bad idea having a hotel right on the water front this way after all. You
can sit out on your balcony and drop your line out into the water and
just haul them in by the dozen."
But alas for the old gentleman's expectations, he caught never a fish.
Whether it was the fault of the bait or not I don't know, but the only
things he succeeded in catching were an old barrel-hoop that went
floating along the canal from the Fruit Market up the way, and, sad to
relate, the straw hat of an American artist on his way home in his
gondola from a day's painting out near the Lido. The latter incident
caused a great deal of trouble and it took all the persuasion that
Mollie's father was capable of to keep the artist from having the
Unwiseman arrested. It seems that the artist was very much put out
anyhow because, mix his colors as he would, he could not get that
peculiarly beautiful blue of the Venetian skies, and the lovely
iridescent hues of the Venetian air were too delicate for such a brush
as his, and to have his straw hat unceremoniously snatched off his head
by an old gentleman two flights up with an ordinary fish hook baited
with macaroni in addition to his other troubles was too much for his
temper, not a good one at best.
"I am perfectly willing to say that I am sorry," protested the
Unwiseman when he was hauled before the angry artist. "I naturally would
be sorry. When a man goes fishing for shad and lands nothing but a last
year's straw hat, why wouldn't he be sorry?"
"That's a mighty poor apology!" retorted the artist, putting the straw
hat on his head.
"Well I'm a poor man," said the Unwiseman. "My expenses have been very
heavy of late. What with buying an air-gun to shoot Alps with, and
giving a quarter to the Ganderman to help him buy a monkey, I'm reduced
from nine-fifty to a trifle under seven dollars."
"You had no business fishing from that balcony!" said the artist
angrily.
"I haven't any business anywhere, I've retired," said the Unwiseman.
"And I can tell you one thing certain," he added, "if I was going back
into business I wouldn't take up fishing for straw hats and barrel-hoops
in Venice. There's nothing but to trouble in it."
"I shall lodge a complaint against you in the Lion's Mouth," said the
artist, with a slight twinkle in his eye, his good humor returning in
the presence of the Unwiseman.
"And I shall fall back on my rights as an American citizen to fish
whenever I please from my own balcony with my own bait without
interruption from foreign straw hats," said the Unwiseman with dignity.
"What?" cried the artist. "You an American?"
"Certainly," said the Unwiseman. "You didn't take me for an Eye-talian,
did you?"
"So am I," returned the artist holding out his hand. "If you'd only told
me that in the beginning I never should have complained."
"Don't mention it," said the Unwiseman graciously. "I was afraid you
were an Englishman, and then there'd been a war sure, because I'll never
give in to an Englishman. If your hat is seriously damaged I'll give you
my tarpaulin, seeing that you are an American like myself."
"Not at all," said the artist. "The hat isn't hurt at all and I'm very
glad to have met you. If your hook had only caught my eye on my way up
the canal I should have turned aside so as not to interfere."
"Well I'm mighty glad it didn't catch your eye," said the Unwiseman. "I
could afford to buy you a new straw hat, but I'm afraid a new eye would
have busted me."
And there the trouble ended. The artist and the Unwiseman shook hands
and parted friends.
"What was that he said about the Lion's Mouth?" asked the Unwiseman
after the artist had gone.
"He said he'd lodge a complaint there," said Mollie. "That's the way
they used to do here. Those big statues of lions out in front of the
Doggies' Palace with their mouths wide open are big boxes where people
can mail their complaints to the Government."
"Oh, I see," said the Unwiseman. "And when the Doggies get the
complaints they attend to 'em, eh?"
"Yes," said Mollie.
"And who are the Doggies?" asked the Unwiseman. "They don't have dogs
instead of pleece over here, do they? I get so mixed up with these
Johns, and Bobbies, and Doggies I hardly know where I'm at."
"I don't exactly understand why," said Mollie, "but the people in Venice
are ruled by Doggies."
"They're a queer lot from Buckingham Palace, London, down to this old
tow-path," said the Unwiseman, "and if I ever get home alive there's no
more abroad for your Uncle Me."
On the following day, Mollie's parents having seen all of Venice that
their limited time permitted, prepared to start for Genoa, whence the
steamer back to New York was to sail. Everything was ready, but the
Unwiseman was nowhere to be found. The hotel was searched from top to
bottom and not a sign of him. Giuseppe Zocco denied all knowledge of
him, and the carpet-bag gave no evidence that he had been in it the
night before as was his custom. Train-time was approaching and Mollie
was distracted. Even Whistlebinkie whistled under his breath for fear
that something had happened to the old gentleman.
"I hope he hasn't fallen overboard!" moaned Mollie, gazing anxiously
into the watery depths of the canal.
"Here he comes!" cried Whistlebinkie, jubilantly, and sure enough down
the canal seated on a small raft and paddling his way cautiously along
with his hands came the Unwiseman, singing the popular Italian ballad
"Margherita" at the top of his lungs.
"Gander ahoy!" he cried, as he neared the hotel steps. "Sheer off there,
Captain, and let me into Port."
The gondolier made room for him and the Unwiseman alighted.
"Where _have_ you been?" asked Mollie, throwing her arms about his neck.
"Up the canal a little way," he answered unconcernedly. "I wanted to
mail a letter to the Doggie in the Lion's Mouth."
"What about?" asked Mollie.
"Watertown, otherwise Venice," said the Unwiseman. "I had some
suggestions for its improvement and I didn't want to go way without
making them. There's a copy of my letter if you want to see it," he
added, handing Mollie a piece of paper upon which he had written as
follows: