THE WIDOW PICKLE'S STRANGE VISITOR
So badly did the Widow Pickle feel over the peculiar color of her Twins'
hair that for a long time she forgot to obey her husband's last wish and
look in the cupboard. At last, however, she bethought herself of this
request and hastened to the place where Aurelius Pickle had kept his
Chemical Substances.
She found several strange-looking boxes, with all sorts of powders and
pastes in them, but with no names on the backs to tell what were their
contents. She feared to make any experiments, lest she might stain her
own hair either blue or green or some other unfashionable color; so all
she could do was to look and wonder what was in the boxes. After several
days, she concluded to mix some different powders together. She took one
small box with a red cover and another that had a black cover, and,
pouring small portions of the powder from each of these on a plate, she
began to stir the two together.
Nothing happened for some moments. "Chemistry is rather hard, after
all," said the Widow Pickle to herself. "I thought that all there was to
it was stirring things together. I formerly noticed that when my poor
dear husband did that, something nearly always happened."
At last, disappointed that nothing had happened, she went to the
match-box. "Perhaps," said she, "if I touch a match to it something will
happen." She did so, and, to her great surprise, something did happen,
and that at once.
A cloud of heavy vapor filled the room, and as it cleared away the Widow
Pickle saw standing there, bowing and smiling very pleasantly, a little
dark man, whom at first she took to be a Japanese. He had black hair,
rolled very tight on the top of his head; small feet, incased in boots
with long up-turned toes; and a loose flowing mantle of red satin. His
hands were small, and his little black eyes twinkled merrily.
"Madam, I believe you have sent for me," he remarked.
"Indeed, I did not," said the Widow Pickle. "Moreover, I don't know who
you are. Whence do you come, sir, and why do you intrude without
invitation?"
"Who should I be," said the little man, still smiling pleasantly, "but
the Private Secretary and Court Musician of the royal monarch of the
Island, the King of Gee-Whiz?"
"The King of Gee-Whiz?" said the Widow Pickle. "I never heard of such a
person."
"Then, madam," replied the little man sternly, "grant me leave to tell
you that you must be an extraordinarily ignorant person. Every one of
consequence knows of his Royal Highness, who rules our Island."
"And, pray, what do you have in your Island, little man?" asked the
Widow Pickle scornfully.
"Many things," replied the strange little man, "more than I should like
to tell you all at once."
"Gold, perhaps?" asked the Widow.
"I believe it is called gold--a very common metal, indeed."
"Pray, then, what do you use for rings?" asked the Widow, hiding her
hands under her apron.
"We usually make them out of our smaller diamonds," replied the little
man carelessly. "There are, however, more precious stones. For instance,
there is Lapis Malazite, a very fashionable blue gem; and Lapis
Corazine, an emerald-green jewel. Blue and green, madam, are our
favorite colors."
"How strange!" exclaimed the Widow Pickle. And then she told of the
manner in which the hair of her Twins had been permanently colored by
some of her husband's Chemical Substances.
"That is very singular," said the little man. "All I can say is that if
their hair is the real malazite blue and the correct corazine green,
they could have anything they like in the Land of Gee-Whiz; for these
are the Royal Hereditary Colors. But, really, I must be going. I rarely
ever stay away more than an hour at a time."
As he spoke, he stepped toward the window, but in doing so he gave his
mantle a slight twitch to one side. As he did this, he displayed to the
curious gaze of the Widow Pickle a strangely-carved Banjo, whose
supporting ribbon was swung over his shoulders. The Banjo was of ivory
and gold, and the pegs for tightening the strings were of shining gold.
"Stay!" cried the Widow. "I have never seen so beautiful an instrument
as that. I am sure you play it well; and as for me, I dote upon the
banjo."
"Madam," smiled the little man, "I see your taste is excellent."
[Illustration: The Private Secretary]
[Illustration]