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The sentry was very much impressed apparently by the cordiality of the Unwiseman's invitation for he bowed most graciously a half dozen times, and touched his bear-skin hat very respectfully, and smiled so royally that anybody could see he was delighted with the idea of some day visiting that far off land where the Unwiseman lived, and seeing that wonderful kitchen-stove of which, as we know, the old gentleman was so proud.
"By the way," said the Unwiseman, confidentially. "Before I go I'd like to say to you that if you are writing at any time to the Emperor of Germany you might send him my kind regards. I had hoped to be able to stop over at Kettledam, or wherever it is he lives – no, it's Pottsdam – I always do get pots and kettles mixed – I had hoped to be able, I say, to stop over there and pay my respects to him, but the chances are I won't be able to do so this trip. I'd hate to have him think that I'd been over here and hadn't paid any attention to him, and if you'll be so kind as to send him my regards he won't feel so badly about it. I'd write and tell him myself, but the fact is my German is a little rusty. I only know German by sight – and even then I don't know what it means except Gesundheit, – which is German for 'did you sneeze?' So you see a letter addressed to Mr. Hoch – "
"Beg pardon, but Mr. Who sir?" asked the Sentry.
"Mr. Hoch, der Kaiser," said the Unwiseman. "That's his name, isn't it?"
The sentry said he believed it was something like that.
"Well as I was saying even if I wrote he wouldn't understand what I was trying to say, so it would be a waste of time," said the Unwiseman.
The sentry nodded pleasantly, and his eyes twinkled under his great bear-skin hat like two sparkling bits of coal.
"Good bye, your h. r. h.," the Unwiseman continued, holding out his hand. "It has been a real pleasure to meet you, and between you and me if all kings were as good mannered and decent about every thing as you are we wouldn't mind 'em so much over in America. If the rest of 'em are like you they're all right."
And so the Unwiseman shook hands with the sentry and Mollie did likewise while Whistlebinkie repeated his squeak with a quaver that showed how excited he still was. The three travellers re-entered the hansom and inasmuch as it was growing late they decided not to do any more sight-seeing that day, and instructed the cabby to drive them back to the hotel.
"Wonderfully fine man, that King," said the Unwiseman as they drove along. "I had a sort of an idea he'd have a band playing music all the time, with ice cream and cake being served every five minutes in truly royal style."
"He was just as pleasant as a plain everyday policeman at home," said Mollie.
"Pleasanter," observed the Unwiseman. "A policeman at home would probably have told us to move on the minute we spoke to him, but the King was as polite as ginger-bread. I guess we were lucky to find him outside there because if he hadn't been I don't believe the head-butler would have let us in."
"How-dy'u-know he was the King?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Oh I just felt it in my bones," said the Unwiseman. "He was so big and handsome, and then that red coat with the gold buttons – why it just simply couldn't be anybody else."
"He didn't say much, diddee," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"No," said the Unwiseman. "I guess maybe that's one of the reasons why he's a first class King. The fellow that goes around talking all the time might just as well be a – well a rubber-doll like you, Fizzledinkie. It takes a great man to hold his tongue."
The hansom drew up at the hotel door and the travellers alighted.
"Thank you very much," said the Unwiseman with a friendly nod at the cabby.
"Five shillin's, please, sir," said the driver.
"What's that?" demanded the Unwiseman.
"Five shillin's," repeated the cabby.
"What do you suppose he means?" asked the Unwiseman turning to Mollie.
"Why he wants to be paid five shillings," whispered Mollie. "Shillings is money."
"Oh – hm – well – I never thought of that," said the Unwiseman uneasily. "How much is that in dollars?"
"It's a dollar and a quarter," said Mollie.
"I don't want to buy the horse," protested the Unwiseman.
"Come now!" put in the driver rather impatiently. "Five shillin's, sir."
"Charge it," said the Unwiseman, shrinking back. "Just put it on the bill, driver, and I'll send you a cheque for it. I've only got ten dollars in real money with me, and I tell you right now I'm not going to pay out a dollar and a quarter right off the handle at one fell swoop."
"You'll pay now, or I'll – " the cabby began.
And just then, fortunately for all, Mollie's father, who had been looking all over London for his missing daughter, appeared, and in his joy over finding his little one, paid the cabby and saved the Unwiseman from what promised to be a most unpleasant row.
VI
THEY GET SOME FOG AND GO SHOPPING
The following day the Unwiseman was in high-feather. At last he was able to contemplate in all its gorgeousness a real London fog of which he had heard so much, for over the whole city hung one of those deep, dark, impenetrable mists which cause so much trouble at times to those who dwell in the British capital.
"Hurry up, Mollie, and come out," he cried enthusiastically rapping on the little girl's door. "There's one of the finest fogs outside you ever saw. I'm going to get a bottle full of it and take it home with me."
"Hoh!" jeered Whistlebinkie. "What a puffickly 'bsoyd thing to do – as if we never didn't have no fogs at home!"
"We don't have any London fogs in America, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie.
"No but we have very much finer ones," boasted the patriotic Whistlebinkie. "They're whiter and cleaner to begin with, and twice as deep."
"Well never mind, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie. "Don't go looking around for trouble with the Unwiseman. It's very nice to be able to enjoy everything as much as he does and you shouldn't never find fault with people because they enjoy themselves."
"Hi-there, Mollie," came the Unwiseman's voice at the door. "Just open the door a little and I'll give you a hatful of it."
"You can come in," said Mollie. "Whistlebinkie and I are all dressed."
And the little girl opened the door and the Unwiseman entered. He carried his beaver hat in both hands, as though it were a pail without a handle, and over the top of it he had spread a copy of the morning's paper.
"It's just the finest fog ever," he cried as he came in. "Real thick. I thought you'd like to have some, so I went out on the sidewalk and got a hat full of it for you."
Mollie and Whistlebinkie gathered about the old gentleman as he removed the newspaper from the top of his hat, and gazed into it.
"I do-see-anthing," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"You don't?" cried the Unwiseman. "Why it's chock full of fog. You can see it can't you Mollie?" he added anxiously, for to tell the truth the hat did seem to be pretty empty.
Mollie tried hard and was able to convince herself that she could see just a tiny bit of it and acted accordingly.
"Isn't it beautiful!" she ejaculated, as if filled with admiration for the contents of the Unwiseman's hat. "I don't think I ever saw any just like it before – did you, Mr. Me?"
"No," said the Unwiseman much pleased, "I don't think I ever did – it's so delicate and – er – steamy, eh? And there's miles of it outdoors and the Robert down on the corner says we're welcome to all we want of it. I didn't like to take it without asking, you know."
"Of course not," said Mollie, glancing into the hat again.
"So I just went up to the pleeceman and told him I was going to start a museum at home and that I wanted to have some real London fog on exhibition and would he mind if I took some. 'Go ahead, sir,' he said very politely. 'Go ahead and take all you want. We've got plenty of it and to spare. You can take it all if you want it.' Mighty kind of him I think," said the Unwiseman. "So I dipped out a hat full for you first. Where'll I put it?"
"O – ," said Mollie, "I – I don't know. I guess maybe you'd better pour it out into that vase up there on the mantel-piece – it isn't too thick to go in there, is it?"
"It don't seem to be," said the Unwiseman peering cautiously into the hat. "Somehow or other it don't seem quite as thick inside here as it did out there on the street. Tell you the truth I don't believe it'll keep unless we get it in a bottle and cork it up good and tight – do you?"
"I'm afraid not," agreed Mollie. "It's something like snow – kind of vaporates."
"I'm going to put mine in a bottle," said the Unwiseman, "and seal the cork with sealing wax – then I'll be sure of it. Then I thought I'd get an envelope full and send it home to my Burgular just to show him I haven't forgotten him – poor fellow, he must be awful lonesome up there in my house without any friends in the neighborhood and no other burgulars about to keep him company."
And the strange little man ran off to get his bottle filled with fog and to fill up an envelope with it as well as a souvenir of London for the lonesome Burglar at home. Later on Mollie encountered him leaving the hotel door with a small shovel and bucket in his hand such as children use on the beach in the summer-time.
"The pleeceman says it's thicker down by the river," he explained to Mollie, "and I'm going down there to shovel up a few pailsful – though I've got a fine big bottleful of it already corked up and labelled for my museum. And by the way, Mollie, you want to be careful about Whistlebinkie in this fog. When he whistles on a bright clear day it is hard enough to understand what he is saying, but if he gets his hat full of fog and tries to whistle with that it will be something awful. I don't think I could stand him if he began to talk any foggier than he does ordinarily."
Mollie promised to look out for this and kept Whistlebinkie indoors all the morning, much to the rubber-doll's disgust, for Whistlebinkie was quite as anxious to see how the fog would affect his squeak as the Unwiseman was to avoid having him do so. In the afternoon the fog lifted and the Unwiseman returned.
"I think I'll go out and see if I can find the King's tailor," he said. "I'm getting worried about that Duke's suit. I asked the Robert what he thought it would cost and he said he didn't believe you could get one complete for less than five pounds and the way I figure it out that's a good deal more than eight-fifty."
"It's twenty-five dollars," Mollie calculated.
"Mercy!" cried the Unwiseman. "It costs a lot to dress by the pound doesn't it – I guess I'd better write to Mr. King and tell him I've decided not to accept."
"Better see what it costs first," said Whistlebinkie.
"All right," agreed the Unwiseman. "I will – want to go with me Mollie?"
"Certainly," said Mollie.
And they started out. After walking up to Trafalgar Square and thence on to Piccadilly, the Unwiseman carefully scanning all the signs before the shops as they went, they came to a bake-shop that displayed in its window the royal coat of arms and announced that "Muffins by Special Appointment to H. R. H. the King," could be had there.
"We're getting close," said the Unwiseman. "Let's go in and have a royal cream-cake."
Mollie as usual was willing and entering the shop the Unwiseman planted himself before the counter and addressed the sales-girl.
"I'm a friend of Mr. King, Madame," he observed with a polite bow, "just over from America and we had a sort of an idea that we should like to eat a really regal piece of cake. What have you in stock made by Special Appointment for the King?"
"We 'ave Hinglish Muffins," replied the girl.
"Let me see a few," said the Unwiseman.
The girl produced a trayful.
"Humph!" ejaculated the Unwiseman looking at them critically. "They ain't very different from common people's muffins are they? What I want is some of the stuff that goes to the Palace. I may look green, young lady, but I guess I've got sense enough to see that those things are not royal."
"These are the kind his majesty prefers," said the girl.
"Come along, Mollie," said the Unwiseman turning away. "I don't want to get into trouble and I'm sure this young lady is trying to fool us. I am very much obliged to you, Madame," he added turning to the girl at the counter. "We'd have been very glad to purchase some of your wares if you hadn't tried to deceive us. Those muffins are very pretty indeed but when you try to make us believe that they are muffins by special appointment to his h. r. h., Mr. Edward S. King, plain and simple Americans though we be, we know better. Even my rubber friend, Whistlebinkie here recognizes a bean when he sees it. I shall report this matter to the King and beg to wish you a very good afternoon."
And drawing himself up to his full height, the Unwiseman with a great show of dignity marched out of the shop followed meekly by Mollie and Whistlebinkie.
"I-didn-tsee-an-thing th-matter-withem," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They looked to me like firs-class-smuffins."
"No doubt," said the Unwiseman. "That's because you don't know much. But they couldn't fool me. If I'd wanted plain muffins I could have asked for them, but when I ask for a muffin by special appointment to his h. r. h. the King I want them to give me what I ask for. Perhaps you didn't observe that not one of those muffins she brought out was set with diamonds and rubies."
"Now that you mention it," said Mollie, "I remember they weren't."
"Prezactly," said the Unwiseman. "They weren't even gold mounted, or silver plated, or anything to make 'em different from the plain every day muffins that you can buy in a baker's shop at home. I don't believe they were by special appointment to anybody – not even a nearl, much less the King. I guess they think we Americans don't know anything over here – but they're barking up the wrong tree if they think they can fool me."
"We-mightuv-tastedum!" whistled Whistlebinkie much disappointed, because he always did love the things at the baker's. "You can't tell just by lookin' at a muffin whether it's good or not."
"Well go back and taste them," retorted the Unwiseman. "It's your taste – only if I had as little taste as you have I wouldn't waste it on that stuff. Ah – this is the place I've been looking for."
The old man's eyes had fallen upon another sign which read "Robe Maker By Special Appointment to T. R. H. The King and The Queen."
"Here's the place, Mollie, where they make the King's clothes," he said. "Now for it."
Hand in hand the three travellers entered the tailor's shop.
"How do you do, Mr. Snip," said the Unwiseman addressing the gentlemanly manager of the shop whose name was on the sign without and who approached him as affably as though he were not himself the greatest tailor in the British Isles – for he couldn't have been the King's tailor if he had not been head and shoulders above all the rest. "I had a very pleasant little chat with his h. r. h. about you yesterday. I could see by the fit of his red jacket that you were the best tailor in the world, and while he didn't say very much on the subject the King gave me to understand that you're pretty nearly all that you should be."
"Verry gracious of his Majesty I am sure," replied the tailor, washing his hands in invisible soap, and bowing most courteously.
"Now the chances are," continued the Unwiseman, "that as soon as the King receives a letter I wrote to him from Liverpool about how to stamp out this horrible habit his subjects have of littering up the street with aitches, clogging traffic and overworking the Roberts picking 'em up, he'll ask me to settle down over here and be a Duke. Naturally I don't want to disappoint him because I consider the King to be a mighty nice man, but unless I can get a first-class Duke's costume – "
"We make a specialty of Ducal robes, your Grace," said the Tailor, manifesting a great deal of interest in his queer little customer.
"Hold on a minute," cried the Unwiseman. "Don't you call me that yet – I shant be a grace until I've decided to accept. What does an A-1 Duke's clothes cost?"
"You mean the full State – " began the Tailor.
"I come from New York State," said the Unwiseman. "Yes – I guess that's it. New York's the fullest State in the Union. How much for a New York State Duke?"
"The State Robes will cost – um – let me see – I should think about fifteen hundred pounds, your Lordship," calculated the Tailor. "Of course it all depends on the quality of the materials. Velvets are rawther expensive these days."
Whistlebinkie gave a long low squeak of astonishment. Mollie gasped and the Unwiseman turned very pale as he tremblingly repeated the figure.
"Fif-teen-hundred-pounds? Why," he added turning to Mollie, "I'd have to live about seven thousand years to get the wear out of it at a dollar a year."
"Yes, your Lordship – or more. It all depends upon how much gold your Lordship requires – " observed the Tailor.
"Seems to me I'd need about four barrels of it," said the Unwiseman, "to pay a bill like that."
"We have made robes costing as high as 10,000 pounds," continued the Tailor. "But they of course were of unusual magnificence – and for special jubilee celebrations you know."
"You haven't any ready made Duke's clothes on hand for less?" inquired the Unwiseman. "You know I'm not so awfully particular about the fit. My figure's a pretty good one, but after all I don't want to thrust it on people."
"We do not deal in ready made garments," said the Tailor coldly.
"Well I guess I'll have to give it up then," said the Unwiseman, "unless you know where I could hire a suit, or maybe buy one second-hand from some one of your customers who's going to get a new one."
"We do not do that kind of trade, sir," replied the Tailor, haughtily.
"Well say, Mr. Snip – ain't there anything else a chap can be made beside a Duke that ain't quite so dressy?" persisted the old gentleman. "I don't want to disappoint Mr. King you know."
"Oh as for that," observed the Tailor, "there are ordinary peerages, baronetcies and the like. His Majesty might make you a Knight," he added sarcastically.
"That sounds good," said the Unwiseman. "About what would a Knight gown cost me – made out of paper muslin or something that's a wee bit cheaper than solid gold and velvet?"
This perfectly innocent and sincerely asked question was never answered, for Mr. Snip the Tailor made up his mind that the Unwiseman was guying him and acted accordingly.
"Jorrocks!" he cried haughtily to the office boy, a fresh looking lad who had broken out all over in brass buttons. "Jorrocks, show this 'ere party the door."
Whereupon Mr. Snip retired and Jorrocks with a wink at Whistlebinkie showed the travellers out.
"Well did you ever!" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "You couldn't have expected any haughtier haughtiness than that from the King himself."
"He was pretty proud," said Mollie, with a smile, for to tell the truth she had had all she could do all through the interview to keep from giggling.
"He was proud all right, but I didn't notice anything very pretty about him," said the Unwiseman. "I'm going to write to the King about both those places, because I don't believe he knows what kind of people they are with their bogus muffins and hoity-toity manners."
They walked solemnly along the street in the direction of the hotel.
"I won't even wait for the mail," said the Unwiseman. "I'll walk over to the Palace now and tell him. That tailor might turn some real important American out of his shop in the same way and then there'd be a war over it."
"O I wouldn't," said Mollie, who was always inclined toward peace-making. "Wait and write him a letter."
"Send-im-a-wireless-smessage," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Good idea!" said the Unwiseman. "That'll save postage and it'll get to the King right away instead of having to be read first by one of his Secretaries."
So it happened that that night the Unwiseman climbed up to the roof of the hotel and sent the following wireless telegram to the King:
My dear Mr. King:
That tailor of yours seems to think he's a Grand Duke in disguise. In the first place he wanted me to pay over seven thousand dollars for a Duke's suit and when I asked him the price of a Knight-gown he told Jorrocks to show me the door, which I had already seen and hadn't asked to see again. He's a very imputinent tailor and if I were you I'd bounce him as we say in America. Furthermore they sell bogus muffins up at that specially appointed bake-shop of yours. I think you ought to know these things. Nations have gone to war for less.
Yours trooly,The Unwiseman.
P.S. I've been thinking about that Duke proposition and I don't think I care to go into that business. Folks at home haven't as much use for 'em as they have for sour apples which you can make pie out of. So don't do anything further in the matter.
"There," said the Unwiseman as he tossed this message off into the air. "That saves me $8.50 anyhow, and I guess it'll settle the business of those bogus muffin people and that high and mighty tailor."
