A WHALE IN A WAISTCOAT.
Davy rushed up to the clock, and, pulling open the little door in the
front of it, looked inside. To his great disappointment the Goblin had
again disappeared, and there was a smooth, round hole running down into
the sand, as though he had gone directly through the beach. He was
listening at this hole, in the hope of hearing from the Goblin, when a
voice said, "I suppose that's what they call going into the interior of
the country;" and, looking up, he saw the Hole-keeper sitting on a
little mound in the sand, with his great book in his lap.
The little man had evidently been having a hard time since Davy had seen
him. His complexion had quite lost its beautiful transparency, and his
jaunty little paper tunic was sadly rumpled, and, moreover, he had lost
his cocked hat. All this, however, had not at all disturbed his
complacent conceit; he was, if anything, more pompous than ever.
"How did _you_ get here?" asked Davy, in astonishment.
"I'm banished," said the Hole-keeper, cheerfully. "That's better than
being boiled, any day. Did you give Robinson my letter?"
"Yes, I did," said Davy, as they walked along the beach together; "but
I got it very wet coming here."
"That was quite right," said the Hole-keeper. "There's nothing so
tiresome as a dry letter. Well, I suppose Robinson is expecting me by
this time, isn't he?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Davy. "He didn't say that he was
expecting you."
"He _must_ be," said the Hole-keeper, positively. "I never even
mentioned it in my letter; so, of course, he'll know I'm coming. By the
way," he added, hurriedly opening his book, and staring anxiously at one
of the blank pages, "there isn't a word in here about Billyweazles. This
place must be full of 'em."
"What are they?" said Davy.
"They're great pink birds, without any feathers on 'em," replied the
Hole-keeper, solemnly. "And they're particularly fond of sugar. That's
the worst thing about 'em."
"I don't think there's anything very wicked in that," said Davy.
"Oh! of course _you_ don't," said the Hole-keeper, fretfully. "But you
see I haven't any trowsers on, and I don't fancy having a lot of strange
Billyweazles nibbling at my legs. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like
to run away from here."
"Very well," said Davy, who was himself beginning to feel rather nervous
about the Billyweazles, and accordingly he and the Hole-keeper started
off along the beach as fast as they could run.
Presently the Hole-keeper stopped short and said, faintly, "It strikes
me the sun is very hot here."
The sun certainly was very hot, and Davy, looking at the Hole-keeper as
he said this, saw that his face was gradually and very curiously losing
its expression, and that his nose had almost entirely disappeared.
"What's the matter?" inquired Davy, anxiously.
"The matter is that I'm going back into the raw material," said the
Hole-keeper, dropping his book, and sitting down helplessly in the sand.
"See here, Frinkles," he continued, beginning to speak very thickly;
"wrap me up in my shirt and mark the packish distingly. Take off shir
quigly!" and Davy had just time to pull the poor creature's shirt over
his head and spread it quickly on the beach, when the Hole-keeper fell
down, rolled over upon the garment, and, bubbling once or twice, as if
he were boiling, melted away into a compact lump of brown sugar.
Davy was deeply affected by this sad incident, and, though he had never
really liked the Hole-keeper, he could hardly keep back his tears as he
wrapped up the lump in the paper shirt and laid it carefully on the big
book. In fact, he was so disturbed in his mind that he was on the point
of going away without marking the package, when, looking over his
shoulder, he suddenly caught sight of the Cockalorum standing close
beside him, carefully holding an inkstand, with a pen in it, in one of
his claws.
"Oh! thank you very much," said Davy, taking the pen and dipping it in
the ink. "And will you please tell me his name?"
The Cockalorum, who still had his head done up in flannel, and was
looking rather ill, paused for a moment to reflect, and then murmured,
"Mark him '_Confectionery._'"
[Illustration: "THE COCKALORUM CAREFULLY INSPECTED THE MARKING."]
This struck Davy as being a very happy idea, and he accordingly printed
"CONFEXIONRY" on the package in his very best manner. The Cockalorum,
with his head turned critically on one side, carefully inspected the
marking, and then, after earnestly gazing for a moment at the inkstand,
gravely drank the rest of the ink and offered the empty inkstand to
Davy.
"I don't want it, thank you," said Davy, stepping back.
[Illustration: "'I'M PRETTY WELL, I THANK YOU,' SAID DAVY."]
"No more do I," murmured the Cockalorum, and, tossing the inkstand
into the sea, flew away in his usual clumsy fashion.
Davy, after a last mournful look at the package of brown sugar, turned
away, and was setting off along the beach again, when he heard a
gurgling sound coming from behind a great hummock of sand, and, peeping
cautiously around one end of it, he was startled at seeing an enormous
whale lying stretched out on the sand basking in the sun, and lazily
fanning himself with the flukes of his tail. The great creature had on a
huge white garment, buttoned up in front, with a lot of live seals
flopping and wriggling at one of the button-holes, and with a great
chain cable leading from them to a pocket at one side. Before Davy could
retreat the Whale caught sight of him and called out, in a tremendous
voice, "How d'ye do, Bub?"
"I'm pretty well, I thank you," said Davy, with his usual politeness to
man and beast. "How are you, sir?"
"Hearty!" thundered the Whale; "never felt better in all my life. But
it's rather warm lying here in the sun."
"Why don't you take off your"--Here Davy stopped, not knowing exactly
what it was the Whale had on.
"Waistcoat," said the Whale, condescendingly. "It's a canvas-back-duck
waistcoat. The front of it is made of wild duck, you see, and the back
of it out of the fore-top-sail of a brig. I've heard they always have
watches on board of ships, but I couldn't find any on this one, so I had
to satisfy myself with a bit of chain cable by way of a watch-guard. I
think this bunch of seals rather sets it off, don't you?"
"Yes, rather," said Davy, doubtfully; "only they slobber so."
"Ah, that reminds me that it's wash-day," said the Whale; and here he
spouted a great stream of water out of the top of his head and let it
run down in a little cascade all over the front of his waistcoat. The
seals seemed to enjoy this amazingly, and flopped about in an ecstasy.
"What do whales eat?" said Davy, who thought it was a good time for
picking up a little information.
"Warious whales wants warious wiands," replied the Whale. "That's an old
sea-saw, you know. For my part I'm particularly fond of small buoys."
"I don't think that is a very nice taste," said Davy, beginning to feel
very uneasy.
"Oh! don't be frightened," bellowed the Whale, good-naturedly. "I don't
mean live boys. I mean the little red things that float about in the
water. Some of 'em have lights on 'em, and _them_ are particularly nice
and crisp."
"Is it nice being a Whale?" said Davy, who was anxious to change the
subject.
[Illustration: "'I'M AS NIMBLE AS A SIXPENCE,' SAID THE WHALE."]
"Famous!" said the Whale, with an affable roar. "Great fun, I assure
you! We have fish-balls every night, you know."
"Fish-balls at night!" exclaimed Davy. "Why, we always have ours for
breakfast."
"Nonsense!" thundered the Whale, with a laugh that made the beach quake;
"I don't mean anything to eat. I mean dancing parties."
"And do _you_ dance?" said Davy, thinking that if he did it must be a
very extraordinary performance.
"Dance?" said the Whale, with a reverberating chuckle. "Bless you! I'm
as nimble as a sixpence. By the way I'll show you the advantage of
having a bit of whalebone in one's composition;" and with these words
the Whale curled himself up, then flattened out suddenly with a
tremendous flop, and, shooting through the air like a flying elephant,
disappeared with a great splash in the sea.
Davy stood anxiously watching the spot where he went down, in the hope
that he would come up again; but he soon discovered that the Whale had
gone for good. The sea was violently tossed about for a few moments, and
then began circling out into great rings around the spot where the Whale
had gone down. These soon disappeared, however, and the water resumed
its lazy ebb and flow upon the shore; and Davy, feeling quite lonesome
and deserted, sat down on the sand, and gazed mournfully out upon the
sea.