IV

_THE LIBRARY_

The Imp opened a small door upon the right of the room, and through it

Jimmieboy saw another apartment, the walls of which were lined with

books, and as he entered he saw that to each book was attached a small

wire, and that at the end of the library was a square piece of

snow-white canvas stretched across a small wooden frame.

"Magic lantern?" he queried, as his eye rested upon the canvas.

"Kind of that way," said the Imp, "though not exactly. You see, these

books in this room are worked by electricity, like everything else here.

You never have to take the books off the shelf. All you have to do is

to fasten the wire connected with the book you want to read with the

battery, turn on the current, and the book reads itself to you aloud.

Then if there are pictures in it, as you come to them they are thrown by

means of an electric light upon that canvas."

"Well, if this isn't the most--" began Jimmieboy, but he was soon

stopped, for some book or other off in the corner had begun to read

itself aloud.

"And it happened," said the book, "that upon that very night the

Princess Tollywillikens passed through the wood alone, and on

approaching the enchanted tree threw herself down upon the soft grass

beside it and wept."

Here the book ceased speaking.

"That's the story of Pixyweevil and Princess Tollywillikens," said the

Imp. "You remember it, don't you?--how the wicked fairy ran away with

Pixyweevil, when he and the Princess were playing in the King's gardens,

and how she had mourned for him many years, never knowing what had

become of him? How the fairy had taken Pixyweevil and turned him into an

oak sapling, which grew as the years passed by to be the most beautiful

tree in the forest?"

"Oh, yes," said Jimmieboy. "I know. And there was a good fairy who

couldn't tell Princess Tollywillikens where the tree was, or anything at

all about Pixyweevil, but did remark to the brook that if the Princess

should ever water the roots of that tree with her tears, the spell would

be broken, and Pixyweevil restored to her--handsomer than ever, and as

brave as a lion."

"That's it," said the Imp. "You've got it; and how the brook said to the

Princess, 'Follow me, and we'll find Pixyweevil,' and how she followed

and followed until she was tired to death, and--"

"Full of despair threw herself down at the foot of that very oak and

cried like a baby," continued Jimmieboy, ecstatically, for this was one

of his favorite stories.

"Yes, that's all there; and then you remember how it winds up? How the

tree shuddered as her tears fell to the ground, and how she thought it

was the breeze blowing through the branches that made it shudder?" said

the Imp.

"And how the brook laughed at her thinking such a thing!" put in

Jimmieboy.

"And how she cried some more, until finally every root of the tree was

wet with her tears, and how the tree then gave a fearful shake, and--"

"Turned into Pixyweevil!" roared Jimmieboy. "Yes, I remember that; but I

never really understood whether Pixyweevil ever became King? My book

says, 'And so they were married, and were happy ever afterwards;' but

doesn't say that he finally became a great potteringtate, and ruled over

the people forever."

"I guess you mean potentate, don't you?" said the Imp, with a

laugh--potteringtate seemed such a funny word.

"I guess so," said Jimmieboy. "Did he ever become one of those?"

"No, he didn't," said the Imp. "He couldn't, and live happy ever

afterwards, for Kings don't get much happiness in this world, you know."

"Why, I thought they did," returned Jimmieboy, surprised to hear what

the Imp had said. "My idea of a King was that he was a man who could eat

between meals, and go to the circus whenever he wanted to, and always

had plenty of money to spend, and a beautiful Queen."

"Oh no," returned the Imp. "It isn't so at all. Kings really have a very

hard time. They have to be dressed up all the time in their best

clothes, and never get a chance, as you do, for instance, to play in the

snow, or in summer in the sand at the seashore. They can eat between

meals if they want to, but they can't have the nice things you have. It

would never do for a King to like ginger-snaps and cookies, because the

people would murmur and say, 'Here--he is not of royal birth, for even

we, the common people, eat ginger-snaps and cookies between meals; were

he the true King he would call for green peas in wintertime, and boned

turkey, and other rich stuffs that cost much money, and are hard to get;

he is an impostor; come, let us overthrow him.' That's the hard part of

it, you see. He has to eat things that make him ill just to keep the

people thinking he is royal and not like them."

"Then what did Pixyweevil become?" asked Jimmieboy.

"A poet," said the Imp. "He became the poet of everyday things, and of

course that made him a great poet. He'd write about plain and ordinary

good-natured puppy-dogs, and snow-shovels, and other things like that,

instead of trying to get the whole moon into a four-line poem, or to

describe some mysterious thing that he didn't know much about in a

ten-page poem that made it more mysterious than ever, and showed how

little he really did know about it."

"I wish I could have heard some of Pixyweevil's poems," said Jimmieboy.

"I liked him, and sometimes I like poems."

"Well, sit down there before the fire, and I'll see if we can't find a

button to press that will enable you to hear them. They're most of 'em

nonsense poems, but as they are perfect nonsense they're good nonsense.

"It is some time since I've used the library," the Imp continued, gazing

about him as if in search of some particular object. "For that reason I

have forgotten where everything is. However, we can hunt for what we

want until we find it. Perhaps this is it," he added, grasping a wire

and fastening it to the battery. "I'll turn on the current and let her

go."

The crank was turned, and the two little fellows listened very intently,

but there came no sound whatever.

"That's very strange," said the Imp. "I don't hear a thing."

"Neither do I," observed Jimmieboy, in a tone of disappointment.

"Perhaps the library is out of order, or the battery may be."

"I'll have to take the wire and follow it along until I come to the book

it is attached to," said the Imp, stopping the current and loosening

the wire. "If the library is out of order it's going to be a very

serious matter getting it all right again, because we have all the books

in the world here, and that's a good many, you know--more'n a hundred by

several millions. Ah! Here is the book this wire worked. Now let's see

what was the matter."

In a moment the whole room rang with the Imp's laughter.

[Illustration: "NO WONDER IT WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING," HE CRIED.]

"No wonder it wouldn't say anything," he cried. "What do you suppose the

book was?"

"I don't know," said Jimmieboy. "What?"

"An old copy-book with nothing in it. That's pretty good!"

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and the Imp had to go see what

was wanted.

"Excuse me for a moment, Jimmieboy," he said, as he started to leave the

room. "I've got to send a message for somebody. I'll turn on one of

the picture-books, so that while I am gone you will have something to

look at."

The Imp then fastened a wire to the battery, turned on the current, and

directing Jimmieboy's attention to the sheet of white canvas at the end

of the library, left the room.

V

_THE CIRCUS_

The pictures that now followed one another across the canvas were better

than any circus Jimmieboy ever went to, for the reason that they showed

a water circus in which were the finest imaginable sea-monsters doing

all sorts of marvellous things; and then, too, the book the Imp had

turned on evidently had some reading matter in it, for as the pictures

passed before the little fellow's eyes he could hear verses describing

what was going on, repeating themselves from a shelf directly back of

him.

First of all in the circus was the grand parade. A great big gilded

band-wagon drawn by gayly caparisoned Sea-Horses went first, and then

Jimmieboy could judge how much better electric circus books were than

those he had in his nursery, for this book was able to do what his had

never done--it furnished music to go with the band--and such music as it

was! It had all the pleasant features of the hand-organ; was as soft and

sweet in parts as the music-box in the white-and-gold parlor, and once

in a while would play deliciously out of tune like a real circus band.

After the band-wagon there followed the most amusing things that

Jimmieboy ever saw, the Trick Oysters, twelve in number, and all on

foot. Next came the mounted Scallops, riding ten abreast on superbly

groomed Turtles, holding the bridle of each of which walked Lobsters

dressed as Clowns. Then came the menagerie, with great Sea-Lions

swimming in tanks on wheels; marine Giraffes standing up to their necks

in water forty feet deep; four-legged Whales, like the Oysters, on foot,

and hundreds of other queer fish, all doing things Jimmieboy had never

supposed they could do.

When the parade was over a great circus ring showed itself upon the

canvas, and as strains of lovely music came from the left of the tent

the book on the shelf began to recite:

"The Codfish walks around,

The Bass begins to sing;

The Whitebait 'round the Terrapin's cage

Would better get out of the ring.

The Gudgeon is the fish

That goes to all the shows,

He swims up to the Teredos

And tweaks him by the nose."

"That Gudgeon must have been a sort of Van Amberg," thought Jimmieboy.

"He did brave things like that."

Then the book went on again:

"The Oyster now will please come forth

And show the people here

Just how he stands upon his head

And then doth disappear."

This interested Jimmieboy very much, and he watched the canvas intently

as one of the Trick Oysters walked out into the ring, and after kissing

his hand to Jimmieboy and bowing to the rest of the audience--if there

were any to bow to, and Jimmieboy supposed there must be, for the Oyster

certainly bowed--he stood upon his head, and then without a word

vanished from sight.

"Hooray!" shouted Jimmieboy, whereupon the book resumed:

"Now watch the ring intently, for

The Sea-Giraffe now comes,

And without any effort turns

A plum-cake into crumbs."

"Huh!" cried Jimmieboy, as he watched the Sea-Giraffe turn the plum-cake

into crumbs. "That isn't anything to do. I could do that myself, and

make the plum-cake and the crumbs disappear too."

The book, of course, could not reply to this criticism, and so went

right on.

"The Lobster and the Shark will now

Amuse the little folks

By making here, before their eyes,

Some rhymes and funny jokes."

When the book had said this there appeared on the canvas a really

handsome Shark clad in a dress suit and a tall hat on his head, followed

closely by a Lobster wearing a jester's coat and cap and bells, and

bearing in his hand a little stick with Punch's head on the end of it.

"How do you do?" the Lobster seemed to say, as he reached out his claw

and grabbed the Shark by his right fin.

"Sir," returned the Shark,

"If you would really like to know,

I'm very glad to say

That I am feeling pretty fine,

And think 'twill snow to-day."

[Illustration: "I'M VERY GLAD TO SEE YOU, SHARKEY," SAID THE LOBSTER.]

"I'm very glad to see you, Sharkey," said the Lobster. "It is

exceedingly pleasant to one who is always joking to meet a Fish like

you."

"I pray excuse me, Lobster dear,

If I should ask you why?

Pray come and whisper in my ear,

What your words signify."

"Certainly, my dear Shark," replied the Lobster. "It is always

exceedingly pleasant for a droll person to tell his jokes to a creature

with a mouth as large as yours, because your smile is necessarily a

tremendous one. I never like to tell my jokes to people with small

mouths, because their smiles are limited, while yours is as broad as the

boundless ocean."

"Thank you," returned the Shark. "That reminds me of a little song, and

as I see you have a bass-drum in your pocket, I will sing it, if you

will accompany me."

Here Jimmieboy had the wonderful experience of seeing a Lobster take a

bass-drum out of his pocket. I shall not attempt to describe how the

lobster did it, because I know you are anxious to hear the Shark's

song--as also was Jimmieboy--which went as follows:--that is, the words

did; the tune I cannot here reproduce, but any reader desirous of

hearing it can do so if he will purchase a bass-drum set in G-flat, and

beat it forty times to the second as hard as he knows how.

"I find it most convenient to

Possess a mouth like this,

Why, twenty babes at one fell swoop

I easily can kiss;

And sixty pounds of apple pie,

Plus ten of orange pulp,

And forty thousand macaroons

I swallow at a gulp.

"It's big enough for me without

Appearing like a dunce

To stand upon a platform and

Say forty things at once.

So large it is I have to wear

Of teeth a dozen sets,

And I can sing all in a bunch

Some twenty-nine duets.

"Once I was captured by some men,

Who put me in a lake,

Where sadly I did weep all day--

All night I kept awake:

And when the morning came at last,

So weary, sir, was I,

I yawned and swallowed up that pond,

Which left me high and dry.

"Then when my captors came to me,

I opened both my jaws,

And snapped each one of them right up

Without a moment's pause;

I swallowed every single man

In all that country round,

And as I had the lake inside,

They every one were drowned."

Here the Shark stopped, and Jimmieboy applauded.

"And what became of you?" asked the Lobster. "Did you die then?"

"Well," returned the Shark, with a puzzled expression on his face. "The

song stops there, and I don't know whether I died or not. I presume I

did, unless I swallowed myself and got into the lake again in that way.

But, see here, Lobby, you haven't got off any jokes for the children

yet."

"No, but I'm ready," returned Lobby. "What's the difference between me

and Christmas?"

"Perhaps I'm very stupid,

Sometimes I'm rather slow--

But why you're unlike Christmas

I'm sure I do not know,"

replied the Shark.

"Oh no, you aren't stupid," said the Lobster. "It would be far stupider

of you to guess the answer when it is my turn to make the little ones

laugh. The reason I am different from Christmas is just this--now don't

lose this, children--with Christmas comes Santa Claus, and with me

comes Lobster claws. Now let me give you another. What is it that's

brown like a cent, is bigger than a cent, is worth less than a cent, yet

costs a cent?"

"Perhaps I do not know enough

To spell C-A-T, cat--

And yet I really must confess

I cannot answer that,"

returned the Shark.

"I am very glad of that," said the Lobster. "I should have felt very

badly if you could, because, you know, I want these children here to

observe that while there are some things you can do that I can't do,

there are also some things I can do that you can't do. Now the thing

that is brown like a cent, is bigger than a cent, is worth less than a

cent, yet costs a cent, is a cent's worth of molasses taffy--which the

Terrapin will now pass around for sale, along with my photographs, for

the benefit of my family."

Then the Lobster bowed, the Shark and he locked fin and arm again, and

amid the strains of music from the band marched out of the ring, and

Jimmieboy looking up from the canvas for a moment saw that the Imp had

returned.