"Well, come 'long wi' Victoria--she git you kumboa. What, ain't gwine to
come? Oh laws! dat ain't bein' good bo'."
For Master Ralph has seated himself flatly on a footstool, and with his
back against the wall, refuses in the dumbest of dumb-show to be
entrapped into "gwine" anywhere.
Miss Helena suggests that they bring to him whatever they find that is
at all likely to be "daykumboa."
So at the feet of his Royal Highness is laid such a queer collection of
articles as never before appeared in that trim sitting-room: a _Child's
History of England_, a bottle of mucilage, a pair of scissors, a coal
shovel, a comb and brush, a bunch of flowers, a photograph album, a
bottle of ink, and goodness knows what besides. Miss Helena ransacks her
brains and her bureau, Miss Judith brings every portable in the room,
and Victoria literally squanders the contents of her larder, but all to
no purpose, and what is worse, his Highness, becoming alarmed at such
unusual behavior, begins to moan "Ont daykumboa" in a way that draws
tears to the eyes of his aunts.
"Judith," exclaims Miss Helena, "the case is getting desperate. We
_must_ send for Elijah, no matter if he does get angry.--Victoria, just
go to the study, and tell the Professor that he _must_ come here for a
few minutes. Do you hear--_must_!"
Victoria, looking as scared as only a solemn-natured darky _can_ look,
departs, and returns speedily with the Professor.
"Is anything the matter with Alcibiades?" he asks. Alcibiades, be it
known, is what the Professor always calls Ralph--"for short," he says.
"He is in a most peculiar condition, Elijah--persists in calling for
_daykumboa_, and we can not understand what he means."
"What is it that you want, my boy?" inquires the Professor, bending his
dignified back and knees, so as to bring his gray head on a level with
Ralph's "curly pow."
Ralph turns to him with an expression of relief, as much as to say,
"Well, here's a reasonable being at last," and explains, "Ont
daykumboa."
"And what is daykumboa?" says the Professor.
"Daykumboa," repeats Ralph, with a lingering hope that perhaps he is
going to get some satisfaction; but this creature is just as dull as the
rest, and his Highness, with great want of dignity, begins to whimper.
"The child seems to be in pain," says the Professor, standing up, and
regarding his nephew with concern. "Perhaps he has hurt himself."
"I never thought of that," cries Miss Judith.--"Have you hurt yourself,
Ralphie?"
"Ont daykumboa," is the only response.
"Looks like he gwine to hab a fit. I gib de chile a good warm bath, if
I's you," suggests Victoria.
Miss Helena eagerly catches at the straw.
"That's a good idea, Victoria. Just fill the little foot-tub with hot
water, and bring it right in here."
Victoria hurries off to get the bath, and the Professor, seized with a
new idea for the explanation of the mystery, goes to his study to search
his dictionary for "daykumboa" in some dead or living language.
The foot-tub is brought, and the aunts proceed to undress his Highness,
whereat he waxes wroth. They persist; there is a frightful howl, a
struggle, and the tub of hot water is very vigorously overturned among
the photographs, scissors, and eatables that strew the floor. The
Professor, in alarm, comes tearing in, a book in each hand. At that
moment a patter as of small feet is heard in the hall, and a little
figure with flying golden locks darts into the room.
Ralph rushes into her arms in a kind of ecstasy, crying, "Oh, daykumboa!
daykumboa!"
"What is it that Ralph is saying, Daisy?" eagerly asks Miss Helena, in
the lull that follows. "He has been wanting daykumboa all the
afternoon."
"He says, 'Daisy come back,'" answers the little girl. "That's what you
wanted--wasn't it, Ralphie?"
"Es, me ont daykumboa," assents his Highness.
The Professor regards his niece with humble admiration not unmixed with
awe, and retires to his study to lay his dictionaries by. Victoria rolls
her eyes ceilingward, and says, "Well, I declar'!" then falls to work
picking up the ruins of their various offerings, and the two ladies turn
to help her after a little silent astonishment.
Ten minutes after, his Highness is seen in the garden pouring sand down
his sister's neck, and sternly ordering her to "fit 'till," when she
objects, in a tone that makes his aunts wonder if this _can_ be the same
boy who spent the greater part of two hours in wailing, "Ont daykumboa."
[Illustration: Music: Little Birdie.]