Mollie and the Unwiseman Abroad Part 25

"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't seen much in the papers about him lately, but that don't prove he's dead."

"Why he discovered America in 1492," said Mollie.

"Well--let's see--how long ago was that? More'n forty years, wasn't it?"

said the Unwiseman.

"I guess it was more than forty years ago," giggled Mollie.

"Well--say fifty then," said the Unwiseman. "I'm pretty nearly that old myself. I was born in 1839, or 1843, or some such year, and as I remember it we'd been discovered then--but that wouldn't make him so awfully old you know. A man can be eighty and still live. Look at old Methoosalum--he was nine hundred."

"Oh well," said Mollie, "there isn't any use of talking about it.

Columbus has been dead a long time----"

"All I can say is that I'm very sorry," interrupted the Unwiseman, with a sad little shake of his head. "I should very much like to have gone over and called on him just to thank him for dishcovering the United States. Just think, Mollie, of what would have happened if he hadn't!

You and I and old Fizzled.i.n.kie here would have had to be Eye-talians, or Switzers, and live over here all the time if it hadn't been for him, and our own beautiful native land would have been left way across the sea all alone by itself and we'd never have known anything about it."

"We certainly ought to be very much obliged to Mr. Columbus for all he did for us," said Mollie.

"I-guess-somebuddyelse-wudda-donit," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They cuddn'-ta-helpt.i.t-with-all-these-socean steamers-going-over-there every-day."

"That's true enough," said the Unwiseman, "but we ought to be thankful to Columbus just the same. Other people _might_ have done it, but the fact remains that he _did_ do it, so I'm much obliged to him. I'd sort of like to do something to show my grat.i.tude."

"Better write to his family," grinned Whistlebinkie.

"For a rubber doll with a squeak instead of brain in his head that's a first rate idea, Fizzled.i.n.kie," said the old gentleman. "I'll do it."

And so he did. The evening mail from the Unwiseman's hotel carried with it a souvenir postal card addressed to Christopher Columbus, Jr., upon which the sender had written as follows:

GENOA, Aug. 23, 19--.

DEAR CHRISTOPHER:

As an American citizen I want to thank you for your Papa's very great kindness in dishcovering the United States. When I think that if he hadn't I might have been born a Switzer or a French John Darm it gives me a chill. I would have called on you to say this in person if I'd had time, but we are going to sail tomorrow for home and we're pretty busy packing up our carpet-bags and eating our last meals on sh.o.r.e. If you ever feel like dishcovering us on your own account and cross over the briny deep yourself, don't fail to call on me at my home where I have a fine kitching stove and an umbrella which will always be at your disposal.

Yours trooly, THE UNWISEMAN, U. S. A.

Later in the evening to the same address was despatched another postal reading:

P.S. If you happen to have an extra photograph of your Papa lying around the house that you don't want with his ortygraph on it I shall be glad to have you send it to me. I will have it framed and hung up in the parlor alongside of General Was.h.i.+ngton and President Roosevelt who have also been fathers of their country from time to time.

Yours trooly, THE UNWISEMAN, U. S. A.

"I'm glad I did that," said the Unwiseman when he told Mollie of his two messages to Christopher, Jr. "I don't think people as a rule are careful enough these days to show their thanks to other people who do things for them. It don't do any harm to be polite in matters of that kind and some time it may do a lot of good. Good manners ain't never out of place anywhere anyhow."

In which praiseworthy sentiment I am happy to say both Mollie and Whistlebinkie agreed.

The following day the travellers embarked on the steamer bound for New York. This time, weary of his experience as a stowaway on the trip over, the Unwiseman contented himself with travelling in his carpet-bag and not until after the s.h.i.+p had pa.s.sed along the Mediterranean and out through the straits of Gibraltar, did he appear before his companions.

His first appearance upon deck was just as the coast of Africa was fading away upon the horizon. He peered at this long and earnestly through a small blue bottle he held in his hand, and then when the last vestige of the scene sank slowly behind the horizon line into the sea, he corked the bottle up tightly, put it into his pocket and turned to Mollie and Whistlebinkie.

"Well," he said, "that's done--and I'm glad of it. I've enjoyed this trip very much, but after all I'm glad I'm going home. Be it ever so b.u.mble there's no place like home, as the Bee said, and I'll be glad to be back again where I can sleep comfortably on my kitchen-stove, with my beloved umbrella standing guard alongside of me, and my trusty leak looking down upon me from the ceiling while I rest."

"You missed a wonderful sight," said Mollie. "That Rock of Gibraltar was perfectly magnificent."

"I didn't miss it," said the Unwiseman. "I peeked at it through the port-hole and I quite agree with you. It is the cutest piece of rock I've seen in a long time. It seemed almost as big to me as the boulder in my back yard must seem to an ant, but I prefer my boulder just the same. Gibrallyper's too big to do anything with and it spoils the view, whereas my boulder can be rolled around the place without any trouble and doesn't spoil anything. I suppose they keep it there to keep Spain from sliding down into the sea, so it's useful in a way, but after all I'm just as glad it's here instead of out on my lawn somewhere."

"What have you been doing all these days?" asked Mollie.

"O just keeping quiet," said the Unwiseman. "I've been reading up on Christopher Columbus and--er--writing a few poems about him. He was a wonderful man, Columbus was. He proved the earth was round when everybody else thought it was flat--and how do you suppose he did it?"

"By sailin' around it," said Whistlebinkie.

"That was after he proved it," observed the Unwiseman, with the superior air of one who knows more than somebody else. "He proved it by making an egg stand up on its hind legs."

"What?" cried Mollie.

"I didn't know eggs had hind legs," said Whistlebinkie.

"Ever see a chicken?" asked the Unwiseman.

"Yes," said Whistlebinkie.

"Well, a chicken's only an advanced egg," said the Unwiseman.

"That's true," said Mollie.

"And chickens haven't got anything but hind legs, have they?" demanded the old gentleman.

"Tha.s.s-a-fact," whistled Whistlebinkie.

"And Columbus proved it by making the egg stand up?" asked Mollie.

"That's what history tells us," said the Unwiseman. "All the Harvard and Yale professors of the day said the earth was flat, but Columbus knew better, so he just took an egg and proved it. That's one of the things I've put in a poem. Want to hear it?"

"Indeed I do," said Mollie. "It must be interesting."

"It is--it's the longest poem I ever wrote," said the Unwiseman, and seeking out a retired nook on the steamer's deck the droll old fellow seated himself on a coil of rope and read the following poem to Mollie and Whistlebinkie.

COLUMBUS AND THE EGG.

"Columbus was a gentleman Who sailed the briny sea.

He was a bright young Genoan In sunny Italy Who once discovered just the plan To find Amerikee."

"Splendid!" cried Mollie, clapping her hands with glee.

"Perfly-bully!" chortled Whistlebinkie, with a joyous squeak.

"I'm glad you like it," said the Unwiseman, with a smile of pleasure.

"But just you wait. The best part of it's to come yet."