Half-Hours With Jimmieboy Part 12

"He thinks somebody's trying to steal us," said a funny little voice, the like of which Jimmieboy had never heard before.

"How siss-siss-sissingular of him," said another voice that sounded like a fire-cracker missing fire.

"He thinks he can fool us by imitating the voice of his pop-pop-pop-popper," put in a third voice, with a laugh.

At which Jimmieboy opened the door and looked in, and then he saw whence the whispering had come, and to say that he was surprised at what he saw is a too mild way of putting it. He was so astonished that he lost all control over his joints, and the first thing he knew he was sitting on the floor. The spectacle had, in fact, knocked him over, as well it might, for there, walking up and down the floor, swarming over chairs and tables, playing pranks with each other, and acting in a generally strange fas.h.i.+on, were the fire-works themselves. It was interesting, and at the same time alarming, for one or two reckless sky-rockets were smoking, a lot of foolish little fire-crackers were playing with matches in one corner, and a number of the great big cannon torpedoes were balancing themselves on the arms of the gas-fixture, utterly heedless of the fact that if they were to fall to the floor they would explode and be done for forever.

"Hullo, Jimmieboy!" said one of the larger rockets, taking off his funny little cap at the astonished youngster. "I suppose you've come down to see us rehea.r.s.e?"

"I thought somebody was stealing you, and I came down to frighten them away," Jimmieboy replied.

The Rocket laughed. "n.o.body can steal us," it said. "If anybody came to steal us, we'd cry, and get so soaked with tears n.o.body could get us to go off, so what good would we be?"

"Not much, I guess," said Jimmieboy.

"That's the answer," returned the Rocket. "You seem to be good at riddles. Let me give you another. What's the difference between a man who steals a whole wig and a fire-cracker?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Jimmieboy, still too full of wonderment to think out an answer to a riddle like that.

"Why, one goes off with a whole head of hair," said the Rocket, "and the other goes off only with a bang."

"That's good," said Jimmieboy. "Make it up yourself?"

"No," said the Rocket. "I got that out of the magazine."

"What magazine?" asked Jimmieboy, innocently.

"The powder-magazine," roared the Rocket, and then the Pin Wheel and other fire-works danced about, and threw themselves on the floor with laughter--all except the Torpedoes, which jumped up and down on a soft plush chair, where they were safe.

When the laughter over the Rocket's wit had subsided, one of the Roman Candles called to the Giant Cracker, and asked him to sing a song for Jimmieboy.

"I can't sing to-night," said the Cracker. "I'm very busy making ready my report for to-morrow."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GIANT CRACKER SINGING HIS SONG.]

Here the Cracker winked at Jimmieboy, as much as to say, "How is that for a joke?" Whereat Jimmieboy winked back to show that he thought it wasn't bad; which so pleased the Cracker that he said he guessed, after all, he would sing his song if the little Crackers would stop playing until he got through. The little Crackers promised, and the Giant Cracker sang this song:

"THE GIANT CRACKER AND THE MANDARIN'S DAUGHTER.

"He was a Giant Cracker bold, His name was Wing-Hi-Ee.

He wore a dress of red and gold-- Was handsome as could be.

His master was a Mandarin, Who lived in old Shang-Hai, And had a daughter named Ah Din, With sweet blue almond eye.

"Now Wing he loved this Saffron Queen, And Ah Din she loved him; But Chinese law came in between Them with its measures grim.

For you must know, in that far land, Where dwell the heathen wild, A Cracker may not win the hand Of any n.o.ble's child.

"This made their love a hopeless one-- Alas! that it should be That anywhere beneath the sun Exists such misery!

So they resolved, since she could not Become his cherished bride, Together they'd seek out some spot And there they'd suicide.

"They hastened, weeping, from the town, Wing-Hi and fair Ah Din, And on the river-bank sat down Until the tide came in.

Then Wing-Hi whispered, sitting there, With tear-drops in his eye, 'Good-by, Ah Din!' And, in despair, She answered him, 'Good-by.'

"And then she grasped a sulphur match; She lit it on her shoe, Whereat, with neatness and dispatch, Wing-Hi she touched it to.

There came a flash, there came a shriek, A sound surpa.s.sing weird, And Wing-Hi brave and Ah Din meek In pieces disappeared."

"Isn't that lovely?" asked the Rocket, his voice husky with emotion.

"It's very fine," said Jimmieboy. "It's rather sad, though."

"Yes; but it might have been sadder, you know," said the Giant Cracker.

"She might not have loved him at all; and if she hadn't loved him, he wouldn't have wasted a match committing suicide for her sake, and then there wouldn't have been any tragedy, and, of course, no song would have been written about it. Why, there is no end to the misery there might have been."

Here one of the Torpedoes fell off the gas-fixture to the floor, where he exploded with a loud noise. There was a rush from all sides to see whether the poor little fellow was done for forever.

"Send for the doctor," said the Pin Wheel. "I think he can be mended."

"No, don't," said the injured Torpedo. "I can fix myself up again. Send for a whisk broom and bring me a parlor match, and I'll be all right."

"What's the whisk broom for?" asked Jimmieboy, somewhat surprised at the remedies suggested.

"Why," said the Torpedo, "if you will sweep me together with the whisk broom and wrap me up carefully, I'll eat the head off the parlor match, and I'll be all right again. The match head will give me all the snap I need, and if you'll wrap me up in the proper way, I'll show you what noise is to-morrow. You'll think I'm some relation to that Miss Din in the Giant Cracker's song, unless I'm mistaken, when you hear me explode."

The Fire-crackers jeered a little at this, because there has always been more or less jealousy between the Torpedoes and the Fire-crackers, but the Rocket soon put a stop to their sneers.

"What's the use of jeering?" he said. "You don't know whether he'll make much noise or not. The chances are he'll make more noise than a great many of you Crackers, who are just as likely as not to turn out sissers in the long-run."

The Fire crackers were very much abashed by the Rocket's rebuke, and retired shamefacedly into their various packs, whereupon the Pin Wheel suggested that the Rocket recite his poem telling the singular story of Nate and the Rocket.

"Would you like to hear that story, Jimmieboy?" asked the Rocket.

"Very much," said Jimmieboy. "The name of it sounds interesting."

"Well, I'll try to tell it. It's pretty long, and your ears are short; but we can try it, as the boy observed to the man who said he didn't think the boy's mouth was large enough to hold four pieces of strawberry short-cake. So here goes. The real t.i.tle of the poem is

"THE DREADFUL FATE OF NAUGHTY NATE.

"Way back in eighty-two or three-- I don't recall the date-- There lived somewhere--'twixt you and me, I really can't locate The place exact; say Sangaree-- A lad; we'll call him Nate.

"His father was a grocer, or A banker, or maybe He kept a thriving candy store, For all that's known to me.

Perhaps he was the Governor Of Maine or Floridee.

"At any rate, he had a dad-- Or so the story's told; Most youngsters that I've known have had-- And Nate's had stacks of gold, And those who knew him used to add, He spent it free and bold.

"If Nate should ask his father for A dollar or a cent, His father'd always give him more Than for to get he went; And then, before the day was o'er, Nate always had it spent.

"Mola.s.ses taffy, circus, cake, Tarts, soda-water, pie, Hot b.u.t.ter-scotch, or rare beefsteak, Or silk hats, Nate could buy.

His father'd never at him shake His head and ask him 'Why?'

"'For but one thing,' his father cried, 'You must not spend your store; Sky-rockets I cannot abide, So buy them never more.