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ONE day Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., becoming separated from his
comrades who had accompanied him from the Land of Oz, and finding that
time hung heavy on his hands (he had four of them), decided to walk
down the Main street of the City and try to discover something or other
of interest.
The initials "H. M." before his name meant "Highly Magnified,"
for this Woggle-Bug was several thousand times bigger than any other
woggle-bug you ever saw. And the initials "T. E." after his named meant
"Thoroughly Educated"--and so he was, in the Land of Oz. But his
education, being applied to a woggle-bug intellect, was not at all
remarkable in this country, where everything is quite different than Oz.
Yet the Woggle-Bug did not suspect this, and being, like so many other
thoroughly educated persons, proud of his mental attainments, he marched
along the street with an air of importance that made one wonder what
great thoughts were occupying his massive brain.
Being about as big, in his magnified state, as a man, the
Woggle-Bug took care to clothe himself like a man; only, instead of
choosing sober colors for his garments, he delighted in the most
gorgeous reds and yellows and blues and greens; so that if you looked at
him long the brilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes.
I suppose the Waggle-Bug did not realize at all what a queer
appearance he made. Being rather nervous, he seldom looked into a
mirror; and as the people he met avoided telling him he was unusual, he
had fallen into the habit of considering himself merely an ordinary
citizen of the big city wherein he resided.
So the Woggle-Bug strutted proudly along the street, swinging a
cane in one hand, flourishing a pink handkerchief in the other,
fumbling his watch-fob with another, and feeling his necktie was
straight with another. Having four hands to use would prove rather
puzzling to you or me, I imagine; but the Woggie-Bug was thoroughly
accustomed to them.
Presently he came to a very fine store with big plate-glass
windows, and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature
so beautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance
at her nearly took his breath away. Her complexion was lovely, for it
was wax; but the thing which really caught the Woggle-Bug's fancy was
the marvelous dress she wore. Indeed, it was the latest (last year's)
Paris model, although the Woggle-Bug did not know that; and the designer
must have had a real woggly love for bright colors, for the gown was
made of red cloth covered with big checks which were so loud the fashion
books called them "Wagnerian Plaids."
Never had our friend the Woggle-Bug seen such a beautiful gown
before, and it afflicted him so strongly that he straightaway fell in
love with the entire outfit--even to the wax-complexioned lady herself!
Very politely he tipped his to her; but she stared coldly back without
in any way acknowledging the courtesy.
"Never mind," he thought; "'faint heart never won fair lady.'
And I'm determined to win this kaliedoscope of beauty or perish in the
attempt!" You will notice that our insect had a way of using big words
to express himself, which leads us to suspect that the school system in
Oz is the same they employ in Boston.
As, with swelling heart, the Woggle-Bug feasted his eyes upon
the enchanting vision, a small green tag that was attached to a button
of the waist suddenly attracted his attention. Upon the tag was marked:
"Price $7.93--GREATLY REDUCED."
"Ah!" murmured the Woggle-Bug; "my darling is in greatly
reduced circumstances, and $7.93 will make her mine! Where, oh where,
shall I find the seven ninety-three wherewith to liberate this divinity
and make her Mrs. Woggle-Bug?"
"Move on!" said a gruff policeman, who came along swinging his
club. And the Woggle-Bug obediently moved on, his brain working fast and
furious in the endeavor to think of a way to procure seven dollars and
ninety-three cents.
You see, in the Land of Oz they use no money at all, so that
when the Woggle-Bug arrived in America he did not possess a single
penny. And no one had presented him with any money since.
"Yet there must be several ways to procure money in this
country," he reflected; "for otherwise everybody would be as penniless
as I am. But how, I wonder, do they manage to get it?"
Just then he came along a side street where a number of men
were at work digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer.
"Now these men," thought the Woggle-Bug, "must get money for
shoveling all that earth, else they wouldn't do it. Here is my chance to
win the charming vision of beauty in the shop window!"
Seeking out the foreman, he asked for work, and the foreman agreed to hire him.
"How much do you pay these workmen?" asked the highly magnified one.
"Two dollars a day," answered the foreman.
"Then," said the Woggle-Bug, "you must pay me four dollars a
day; for I have four arms to their two, and can do double their work."
"If that is so, I'll pay you four dollars," agreed the man.
The Woggle-Bug was delighted.
"In two days," he told himself, as he threw off his brilliant
coat and placed his hat upon it, and rolled up his sleeves; "in two days
I can earn eight dollars--enough to purchase my greatly reduced darling
and buy her seven cents worth of caramels besides."
He seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four arms that the foreman said: "You must have been forewarned."
"Why?" asked the Insect.
"Because there's a saying that to be forewarned is to be four-armed," replied the other.
"That is nonsense," said the Woggle-Bug, digging with all his
might; "for they call you the foreman, and yet I only see one of you."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the man, and he was so proud of his new
worker that he went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the
barkeeper what a treasure he had found.
It was just after noon that the Woggle-Bug hired as a
ditch-digger in order to win his heart's desire; so at noon on the
second day he quit work, and having received eight silver dollars he put
on his coat and rushed away to the store that he might purchase his
intended bride.
But, alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! Just as the
Woggle-Bug reached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store
dressed in identical checks with which he had fallen in love!
At first he did not know what to do or say, for the young
lady's complexion was not wax--far from it. But a glance into the window
showed him the wax lady now dressed in a plain black tailor-made suit,
and at once he knew the wearer of the Wagnerian plaids was his real
love, and not the stiff creature behind the glass.
"Beg pardon!" he exclaimed, stopping the young lady; "but
you're mine. Here's the seven ninety-three, and seven cents for candy."
But she glanced at him in a haughty manner, and walked away with her nose slightly elevated.
He followed. He could not do otherwise with those delightful checks shining before him like beacon-lights to urge him on.
The young lady stepped into a car, which whirled away rapidly.
For a moment he was nearly paralyzed at his loss; then he started after
the car as fast as he could go, and this was very fast indeed--he being a
woggle-bug.
Somebody cried: "Stop, thief!" and a policeman ran out to
arrest him. But the Woggle-Bug used his four hands to push the officer
aside, and the astonished man went rolling into the gutter so recklessly
that his uniform bore marks of the encounter for many days.
Still keeping an eye on the car, the Woggle-Bug rushed on. He
frightened two dogs, upset a fat gentleman who was crossing the street,
leaped over an automobile that shot in front of him, and finally ran
plump into the car, which had abruptly stopped to let off a passenger.
Breathing hard from his exertions, he jumped upon the rear platform of
the car, only to see his charmer step off at the front and walk
mincingly up the steps of a house. Despite his fatigue, he flew after
her at once, crying out:
"Stop, my variegated dear--stop! Don't you know you're mine?"
But she slammed the door in his face, and he sat down upon the
steps and wiped his forehead with his pink handkerchief and fanned
himself with his hat and tried to think what he should do next.
Presently a very angry man came out of the house. He had a revolver in one hand and a carving-knife in the other.
"What do you mean by insulting my wife?" he demanded.
"Was that your wife?" asked the Woggle-Bug, in meek astonishment.
"Of course it is my wife," answered the man.
"Oh, I didn't know," said the insect, rather humbled. "But I'll
give you seven ninety-three for her. That's all she's worth, you know;
for I saw it marked on the tag."
The man gave a roar of rage and jumped into the air with the
intention of falling on the Woggle-Bug and hurting him with the knife
and pistol. But the Woggle-Bug was suddenly in a hurry, and didn't wait
to be jumped on. Indeed, he ran so very fast that the man was content to
let him go, especially as the pistol wasn't loaded and the
carving-knife was as dull as such knives usually are.
But his wife had conceived a great dislike for the Wagnerian
check costume that had won for her the Woggle-Bug's admiration. "I'll
never wear it again!" she said to her husband, when he came in and told
her that the Woggle-Bug was gone.
"Then," he replied, "you'd better give it to Bridget; for she's
been bothering me about her wages lately, and the present will keep her
quite for a month longer."
So she called Bridget and presented her with the dress, and the
delighted servant decided to wear it that night to Mickey Schwartz's
ball.
Now the poor Woggle-Bug, finding his affection scorned, was
feeling very blue and unhappy that evening, When he walked out, dressed
(among other things) in a purple-striped shirt, with a yellow necktie
and pea-green gloves, he looked a great deal more cheerful than he
really was. He had put on another hat, for the Woggle-Bug had a
superstition that to change his hat was to change his luck, and luck
seemed to have overlooked the fact that he was in existence.
The hat may really have altered his fortunes, as the Insect
shortly met Ikey Swanson, who gave him a ticket to Mickey Schwartz's
ball; for Ikey's clean dickey had not come home from the laundry, and so
he could not go himself.
The Woggle-Bug, thinking to distract his mind from his dreams
of love, attended the hall, and the first thing he saw as he entered the
room was Bridget clothed in that same gorgeous gown of Wagnerian plaid
that had so fascinated his bugly heart.
The dear Bridget had added to her charms by putting seven
full-blown imitation roses and three second-hand ostrich-plumes in her
red hair; so that her entire person glowed like a sunset in June.
The Woggle-bug was enraptured; and, although the divine Bridget
was waltzing with Fritzie Casey, the Insect rushed to her side and,
seizing her with all his four arms at once, cried out in his truly
educated Bostonian way:
"Oh, my superlative conglomeration of beauty! I have found you at last!"
Bridget uttered a shriek, and Fritzie Casey doubled two fists that looked like tombstones, and advanced upon the intruder.
Still embracing the plaid costume with two arms, the Woggle-Bug
tipped Mr. Casey over with the other two. But Bridget made a bound and
landed with her broad heel, which supported 180 pounds, firmly upon the
Insect's toes. He gave a yelp of pain and promptly released the lady,
and a moment later he found himself flat upon the floor with a dozen of
the dancers piled upon him--all of whom were pummeling each other with
much pleasure and a firm conviction that the diversion had been planned
for their special amusement.
But the Woggle-Bug had the strength of many men, and when he
flopped the big wings that were concealed by the tails of his coat, the
gentlemen resting upon him were scattered like autumn leaves in a gust
of wind.
The Insect stood up, rearranged his dress, and looked about
him. Bridget had run away and gone home, and the others were still
fighting amongst themselves with exceeding cheerfulness. So the
Woggle-Bug selected a hat which fit him (his own having been crushed out
of shape) and walked sorrowfully back to his lodgings.
"Evidently that was not a lucky hat I wore to the ball," he
reflected; "but perhaps this one I now have will bring about a change in
my fortunes."
Bridget needed money; and as she had worn her brilliant costume
once and allowed her friends to see how becoming it was, she carried it
the next morning to a second-hand dealer and sold it for three dollars
in cash.
Scarcely had she left the shop when a lady of Swedish
extraction--a widow with four small children in her train--entered and
asked to look at a gown. The dealer showed her the one he had just
bought from Bridget, and its gay coloring so pleased the widow that she
immediately purchased it for $3.65.
"Ay tank ets a good deal money, by sure," she said to herself;
"but das leedle children mus' have new fadder to mak mind un tak care
dere mudder like, by yimminy! An' Ay tank no man look may way in das ole
dress I been wearing."
She took the gown and the four children to her home, where she
lost no time in trying on the costume, which fitted her as perfectly as a
flour-sack does a peck of potatoes.
"Das _beau_--tiful!" she exclaimed, in rapture, as she tried to
see herself in a cracked mirror. "Ay go das very afternoon to valk in
da park, for das man-folks go crazy-like ven he sees may fine frocks!"
Then she took her green parasol and a hand-bag stuffed with
papers (to make it look prosperous and aristocratic) and sallied forth
to the park, followed by all her interesting flock.
The men didn't fail to look at her, as you may guess; but none
looked with yearning until the Woggle-Bug, sauntering gloomily along a
path, happened to raise his eyes and see before him his heart's delight
the very identical Wagnerian plaids which had filled him with such
unbounded affection.
"Aha, my excruciatingly lovely creation!" he cried, running up
and kneeling before the widow; "I have found you once again. Do not, I
beg of you, treat me with coldness!"
For he had learned from experience not to unduly startle his
charmer at their first moment of meeting; so he made a firm attempt to
control himself, that the wearer of the checked gown might not scorn
him.
The widow had no great affection for bugs, having wrestled with
the species for many years; but this one was such a big-bug and so
handsomely dressed that she saw no harm in encouraging him--especially
as the men she had sought to captivate were proving exceedingly shy.
"So you tank Ay I ban loavely?" she asked, with a coy glance at the Insect.
"I do! With all my heart I do!" protested the Woggle-Bug, placing all four hands, one after another, over that beating organ.
"Das mak plenty trouble by you. I don'd could be yours!" sighed
the widow, indeed regretting her admirer was not an ordinary man.
"Why not?" asked the Woggle-Bug. "I have still the seven
ninety-three; and as that was the original price, and you are now
slightly worn and second-handed, I do not see why I need despair of
calling you my own."
It is very queer, when we think of it, that the Woggle-Bug
could not separate the wearer of his lovely gown from the gown itself.
Indeed, he always made love directly to the costume that had so
enchanted him, without any regard whatsoever to the person inside it;
and the only way we can explain this remarkable fact is to recollect
that the Woggle-Bug was only a woggle-bug, and nothing more could be
expected of him. The widow did not, of course, understand his speech in
the least; but she gathered the fact that the Woggle-Bug had id money,
so she sighed and hinted that she was very hungry, and that there was a
good short-order restaurant just outside the park.
The Woggle-Bug became thoughtful at this. He hated to squander
his money, which he had come to regard a sort of purchase price with
which to secure his divinity. But neither could he allow those darling
checks to go hungry; so he said:
"If you will come with me to the restaurant, I will gladly supply you with food."
The widow accepted the invitation at once, and the Woggle-Bug
walked proudly beside her, leading all of the four children at once with
his four hands.
Two such gay costumes as those worn by the widow and the
Woggle-Bug are seldom found together, and the restaurant man was so
impressed by the sight that he demanded his money in advance.
The four children, jabbering delightedly in their broken
English, clambered upon four stools, and the widow sat upon another. And
the Woggle-Bug, who was not hungry (being engaged in feasting his eyes
upon the checks), laid down a silver dollar as a guarantee of good
faith.
It was wonderful to see so much pie and cake and
bread-and-butter and pickles and dough-nuts and sandwiches disappear
into the mouths of the four innocents and their comparatively innocent
mother. The Woggle-Bug had to add another quarter to the vanished dollar
before the score was finally settled; and no sooner had the tribe
trooped out restaurant than they turned into the open portals of an
Ice-Cream Parlor, where they all attacked huge stacks of pale ice-cream
and consumed several plates of lady-fingers and cream-puffs.
Again the Woggle-Bug reluctantly abandoned a dollar; but the
end was not yet. The dear children wanted candy and nuts; and then they
warned pink lemonade; and then pop-corn and chewing-gum; and always the
Woggle-Bug, after a glance at the entrancing costume, found himself
unable to resist paying for the treat.
It was nearly evening when the widow pleaded fatigue and asked
to be taken home. For none of them was able to eat another morsel, and
the Woggle-Bug wearied her with his protestations of boundless
admiration.
"Will you permit me to call upon you this evening?" asked the
Insect, pleadingly, as he bade the wearer of the gown good-bye on her
door-step.
"Sure like!" she replied, not caring to dismiss him harshly;
and the happy Woggle-Bug went home with a light heart, murmuring to
himself:
"At last the lovely plaids are to be my own! The new hat I found at the ball has certainly brought me luck."
I am glad our friend the Woggle-Bug had those few happy
moments, for he was destined to endure severe disappointments in the
near future.
That evening he carefully brushed his coat, put on a green
satin necktie and a purple embroidered waist-coat, and walked briskly
towards the house of the widow. But, alas! as he drew near to the
dwelling a most horrible stench greeted his nostrils, a sense of great
depression came over him, and upon pausing before the house his body
began to tremble and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.
For the wily widow, wishing to escape her admirer, had
sprinkled the door-step and the front walk with insect Exterminator, and
not even the Woggle-Bug's love for the enchanting checked gown could
induce him to linger longer in that vicinity.
Sick and discouraged, he returned home, where his first act was
to smash the luckless hat and replace it with another. But it was some
time before he recovered from the horrors of that near approach to
extermination, and he passed a very wakeful and unhappy night, indeed.
Meantime the widow had traded with a friend of hers (who had
once been a wash-lady for General Funston) the Wagnerian costume for a
crazy quilt and a corset that was nearly as good as new and a pair of
silk stockings that were not mates. It was a good bargain for both of
them, and the wash-lady being colored--that is, she had a deep mahogany
complexion--was delighted with her gorgeous gown and put it on the very
next morning when she went to deliver the wash to the brick-layer's
wife.
Surely it must have been Fate that directed the Woggle-Bug's
steps; for, as he walked disconsolately along, an intuition caused him
to raise his eyes, and he saw just ahead of him his affinity--carrying a
large clothes-basket.
"Stop!" he called our, anxiously; "stop, my fair Grenadine, I implore you!"
The colored lady cast one glance behind her and imagined that
Satan had at last arrived to claim her. For she had never before seen
the Woggle-Bug, and was horrified by his sudden and unusual appearance.
"Go 'way, Mars' Debbil! Go 'way an' lemme 'lone!" she
screeched, and the next minute she dropped her empty basket and sped up
the street with a swiftness that only fear could have lent her
flat-bottomed feet.
Nevertheless, the Woggle-Bug might have overtaken her had he
not stepped into the clothes-basket and fallen headlong, becoming so
tangled up in the thing that he rolled over and over several times
before he could free himself. Then, when he had picked up his hat, which
was utterly ruined, and found his cane, which had flown across the
street, his mahogany charmer in the Wagnerian Plaids had disappeared
from view.
With a sigh at his latest misfortune he returned home for
another hat, and the agitated wash-lady, imagining that the devil had
doubtless been lured by her beautiful gown, made haste to sell it to a
Chinaman who lived next door.
Its bright colors pleased the Chink, who ripped it up and made
it over into a Chinese robe, with flowing draperies falling to his
heels. He dressed himself in his new costume and, being proud of
possessing such finery, sat down on a bench outside his door so that
everyone passing by could see how magnificent he looked.
It was here the wandering Woggle-Bug espied him; and,
recognizing at once the pattern and colors of his infatuating idol, he
ran up and sat beside the Chinaman, saying in agitated but educated
tones:
"Oh my prismatic personification of gigantic gorgeousness!--again I have found you!"
"Sure tling," said the Chink with composure.
"Be mine! Only be mine!" continued the enraptured Woggle-Bug.
The Chinaman did not quite understand.
"Two dlolla a day," he answered, cautiously.
"Oh, joy," exclaimed the insect in delight; "I can then own you
for a day and a half--for I have three dollars left. May I feel your
exquisite texture, my dearest Fabric?"
"No flabic. No feelee. You too flesh. I _man_ Chinaman!" returned the Oriental calmly.
"Never mind that! 'Tis your beautiful garment I love. Every check in that entrancing dress is a joy and a delight to my heart!"
While the Woggle-Bug thus raved, the Chinaman's wife (who was
Mattie De Forest before she married him) heard the conversation, and
decided this love affair had gone far enough. So she suddenly appeared
with a broomstick, and with it began pounding the Woggle-Bug as fiercely
as possible--and Mattie was no weakling, I assure you.
The first blow knocked the Insect's hat so far over his eyes
that he was blinded; but, resolving not to be again cheated out of his
darling, he grasped firmly hold of the Wagnerian plaids with all four
hands, and tore a goodly portion of it from the frightened Celestial's
body.
Next moment he was dashing down the street, with the precious
cloth tucked securely underneath an arm, and Mattie, being in slight
dishabile, did not think best to follow him.
The triumphant joy of the Woggle-Bug can well be imagined. No
more need he chase the fleeting vision of his love--no more submit to
countless disappointments in his efforts to approach the object of his
affection. The gorgeous plaids were now his own (or a large part of
them, anyway), and upon reaching the quiet room wherein he lodged he
gloated long and happily over its vivid coloring and violent contrasts
of its glowing hues. To the eyes of the Woggle-Bug nothing could be more
beautiful, and he positively regretted the necessity of ever turning
his gaze from this bewitching treasure.
That he might never in the future be separated from the checks,
he folded them, with many loving caresses, into compact form, and
wrapped them in a sheet of stout paper tied with cotton cord that had a
love-knot at the end. Wherever he went, thereafter, he carried the
parcel underneath his left upper arm, pressed as closely to his heart as
possible. And this sense of possession was so delightful that our
Woggle-Bug was happy as the day is long.
In the evening his fortunes changed with cruel abruptness.
He walked out to take the air, and noticing a crowd people
standing in an open space and surrounding a huge brown object, our
Woggle-Bug stopped to learn what the excitement was about.
Pushing his way through the crowd, and hugging his precious
parcel, he soon reached the inner circle of spectators and found they
had assembled to watch a balloon ascension. The Professor who was to go
up with the balloon had not yet arrived; but the balloon itself was
fully inflated and tugging hard at the rope that held it, as if anxious
to escape the blended breaths of the people that crowded around. Just
below the balloon was a small basket, attached to the netting of the
gas-bag, and the Woggle-Bug was bending over the edge of this, to see
what it contained, when a warning cry from the crowd caused him to pause
and glance over his shoulder.
Great horrors and crumpled creeps! Springing toward him, with a
scowl on his face and a long knife with a zig-zag blade in his uplifted
hand, was that very Chinaman from whose body he had torn the Wagnerian
plaids!
The plundered Celestial was evidently vindictive, and intended to push the wicked knife into the Woggle-Bug's body.
Our hero was a brave bug, as can easily be proved; but he did
not wait for the knife to arrive at the broad of his back. Instead, he
gave a yell (to show he was not afraid) and leaped nimbly into the
basket of the balloon. The descending knife, missing its intended
victim, fell upon the rope and severed it, and instantly the great
balloon from the crowd and soared majestically toward the heavens.
The Woggle-Bug had escaped the Chinaman, but he didn't know whether to be glad or not.
For the balloon was earning him into the clouds, and he had no
idea how to manage it, or to make it descend to earth again. When he
peered over the edge of the basket he could hear the faint murmur of the
crowd, and dimly see the enraged Professor (who had come too late)
pounding the Chinaman, while the Chinaman tried to dissect the Professor
with his knife.
Then all was blotted out; clouds rolled about him; night fell.
The man in the moon laughed at him; the stars winked at each other as if
delighted at the Woggle-Bug's plight, and a witch riding by on her
broomstick yelled at him to keep on the right side of the road, and not
run her down.
But the Woggle-Bug, squatted in the bottom of the basket and
hugging his precious parcel to his bosom, paid no attention to anything
but his own thoughts.
He had often ridden in the Gump; but never had he been so high as this, and the distance to the ground made him nervous.
When morning came he saw a strange country far beneath him, and longed to tread the earth again.
Now all woggle-bugs are born with wings, and our
highly-magnified one had a beautiful, broad pair of floppers concealed
beneath ample coat-tails. But long ago he had learned that his wings
were not strong enough to lift his big body from the ground, so he had
never tried to fly with them.
Here, however, was an occasion when he might put these wings to
good use, for if he spread them in the air and then leaped over the
side of the basket they would act in the same way a parachute does, and
bear him gently to the ground.
No sooner did this thought occur to him than he put it into practice.
Disentangling his wings from his coat-tails, he spread them as wide as possible and then jumped from the car of the balloon.
Down, down the Woggle-Bug sank; but so slowly that there was no
danger in the flight. He began to see the earth again, lying beneath
him like a sun-kissed panorama of mud and frog-ponds and rocks and
brushwood.
There were few trees, yet it was our insect's fate to drop
directly above what trees there were, so that presently he came
ker-plunk into a mass of tangled branches--and stuck there, with his
legs dangling helplessly between two limbs and his wings caught in the
foliage at either side.
Below was a group of Arab children, who at first started to run
away. But, seeing that the queer creature which had dropped from the
skies was caught fast in the tree, they stopped and began to throw
stones and clubs at it. One of the missiles struck the tree-limb at the
right of the Woggle-Bug and jarred him loose. The next instant he
fluttered to the ground, where his first act was to fold up his wings
and tuck them underneath his coat-tails again, and his next action was
to assure himself that the beloved plaids were still safe.
Then he looked for the Arab children; but they had scuttled
away towards a group of tents, and now several men with dark skins and
gay clothing came from the tents and ran towards the Woggle-Bug.
"Good morning," said our hero, removing his hat with a flourish and bowing politely.
"Meb-la-che-bah!" shouted the biggest Arab, and at once two
others wound coils of rope around the Woggle-Bug and tied the ends in
hard knots.
His hat was knocked off and trampled into the mud by the Shiek
(who was the big Arab), and the precious parcel was seized and
ruthlessly opened.
"Very good!" said the Shiek, eyeing the plaids with pleasure. "My slaves shall make me a new waistcoat of this cloth."
"No! oh, no!" cried the agonized Insect; "it is taken from a
person who has had small-pox and yellow-fever and toothache and
mumps--all at the same time. Do not, I bet you, risk your valuable life
by wearing that cloth!"
"Bah!" said the Shiek, scornfully; "I have had all those
diseases and many more. I am immune. But now," he continued, "allow me
to bid you good-bye. I am sorry to be obliged to kill you, but such is
our custom."
This was bad news for the Woggle-Bug; but he did not despair.
"Are you not afraid to kill me?" he asked, as if surprised.
"Why should I be afraid?" demanded the Shiek.
"Because it is well-known that to kill a woggle-bug brings bad luck to one."
The Shiek hesitated, for he was very superstitious.
"Are you a woggle-bug?" he asked.
"I am," replied the Insect, proudly. "And I may as well tell
you that the last person who killed one of my race had three unlucky
days. The first his suspenders broke (the Arab shuddered), the second
day he smashed a looking-glass (the Arab moaned), and the third day he
was chewed up by a crocodile."
Now the greatest aversion Arabs have is to be chewed by a
crocodile, because these people usually roam over the sands of the
desert, where to meet an amphibian is simply horrible; so at the
Woggle-Bug's speech they set up a howl of fear, and the Shiek shouted:
"Unbind him! Let not a hair of his head be injured!"
At once the knots in the ropes were untied, and the Woggle-Bug
was free. All the Arabs united to show him deference and every
respectful attention, and since his own hat had been destroyed they
wound about his head a picturesque turban of an exquisite soiled white
color, having stripes of red and yellow in it.
Then the Woggle-Bug was escorted to the tents, where he
suddenly remembered his precious plaids, and asked that the cloth he
restored to him.
Thereupon the Shiek got up and made a long speech, in which he described his grief at being obliged to refuse the request.
At the end of that time one of the women came op to them with a
lovely waistcoat which she had manufactured out of the Wagnerian
plaids; and when the Shiek saw it he immediately ordered all the
tom-toms and kettle-drums in the camp destroyed, as they were no longer
necessary. Then he put on the gorgeous vestment, and turned a deaf ear
to the Woggle-Bug's agonized wails.
But there were some scraps of cloth left, and to show that he
was liberal and good-natured, the Shiek ordered these manufactured into a
handsome necktie, which he presented Woggle-Bug in another long speech.
Our hero, realizing a larger part of his darling was lost to
him, decided to be content with the smaller share; so he put on the
necktie, and felt really proud of its brilliance and aggressive
elegance.
Then, bidding the Arabs farewell, he strode across the desert
until he reached the borders of a more fertile and favored country.
Indeed, he found before him a cool and enticing jungle, which
at first seemed deserted. But while he stared about him a sound fell
upon his ear, and he saw approaching a young lady Chimpanzee. She was
evidently a personage of some importance, for her hair was neatly banged
just over her eyes, and she wore a clean white pinafore with bows of
pink ribbon at the shoulders.
"Good morning, Mr. Beetle," said she, with merry laughter.
"Do not, I beg of you, call me a beetle," exclaimed our hero,
rather peevishly; "for I am actually a Woggle-Bug, and Highly-Magnified
at that!"
"What's in a name?" laughed the gay damsel. "Come, let me
introduce you to our jungle, where strangers of good breeding are always
welcome."
"As for breeding," said the Woggle-Bug, "my father, although of
ordinary size, was a famous Bug-Wizard in his day, and claimed descent
from the original protoplasm which constituted the nucleus of the
present planetary satellite upon which we exist."
"That's all right," returned Miss Chim. "Tell that to our king,
and he'll decorate you with the medal of the Omnipotent Order of
Onerous Orthographers, Are you ready to meander?"
The Woggle-Bug did not like the flippant tone in which maiden spoke; but he at once followed her.
Presently they came to a tall hedge surrounding the Inner
Jungle, and without this hedge stood a patrol of brown bears who wore
red soldier-caps and carried gold-plated muskets in their hands.
"We call this the bearier," said Miss Chim, pointing to the soldiers, "because they oblige all strangers to paws."
"I should think it was a bearicade," remarked the Woggle-Bug.
But when they approached the gateway the officer in charge
saluted respectfully to Miss Chim, and permitted her to escort the
Woggle-Bug into the sacred precincts of the Inner Jungle.
Here his eyes were soon opened to their widest capacity in genuine astonishment.
The Jungle was as clean and as well-regulated as any city of
men the Insect had ever visited. Just within the gate a sleek antelope
was running a pop-corn stand, and a little further on a screech-owl
stood upon a stump playing a violin, while across her breast was a sign
reading: "I am blind--at present."
As they walked up the street they came to a big grey monkey
turning a hand-organ, and attached to a cord was a little nigger-boy
whom the monkey sent into the crowd of animals, standing by to gather up
the pennies, pulling him back every now and then by means of the cord.
"There's a curious animal for you," said Miss Chim, pointing to
the boy. "Those horrid things they call men, whether black or white,
seem to me the lowest of all created beasts."
"I have seen them in a highly civilized state," replied the
Woggle-Bug, "and they're really further advanced than you might
suppose."
But Miss Chim gave a scornful laugh, and pulled him away to
where a hippopotamus sat under the shade of a big tree, mopping his brow
with a red handkerchief--for the weather was somewhat sultry. Before
the hip was a table covered with a blue cloth, and upon the cloth was
embroidered the words: "Professor Hipmus, Fortune Teller."
"Want your fortune told?" asked Miss Chim.
"I don't mind," replied the Woggle-Bug.
"I'll read your hand," said the Professor, with a yawn that
startled the insect. "To my notion palmistry is the best means of
finding out what nobody knows or cares to know."
He took the upper-right hand of the Woggle-Bug, and after adjusting his spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom.
"You have been in love," announced the Professor; "but you got it in the neck."
"True!" murmured the astonished Insect, putting up his left lower hand to feel of the beloved necktie.
"You think you have won," continued the Hip; "but there are
others who have 1, 2. You have many heart throbs before you, during your
future life. Afterward I see no heart throbs whatever. Forty cents,
please."
"Isn't he just wonderful?" asked Miss Chim, with enthusiasm. "He's the greatest fortune teller in the jungle."
"On account of his size, I suppose," returned the Woggle-Bug, as they walked on.
Soon they came to the Royal Palace, which was a beautiful bower
formed of vines upon which grew many brilliant-hued forest flowers. The
entrance was guarded by a Zebra, who barred admission until Miss Chim
whispered the password in his ear. Then he permitted them to enter, and
the Chimpanzee immediately ushered the Woggle-Bug into the presence of
King Weasel.
This monarch lay coiled upon a purple silk cushion, half asleep
and yet wakeful enough to be smoking a big cigar. Beside him crouched
two prairie-dogs who were combing his hair very carefully, while a red
squirrel perched near his head and fanned him with her bushy tail.
"Dear me, what have we here?" exclaimed the King of the Jungle,
in a querulous tone, "Is it an over-grown pinch-bug, or is it a
kissing-bug?"
"I have the honor to be a Woggle-Bug, your Majesty!" replied our hero, proudly.
"Sav, cut out that Majesty," snapped the King, with a scowl.
"If you can find anything majestic about me, I'd like to know what it
is."
"Don't treat him with any respect," whispered Miss Chim to the
Insect, "or you'll get him riled. Sneer at him, and slap his face if you
get a chance."
The Woggle-Bug took the hint.
"Really," he told the King. "I have never seen a more
despicable creature than you. The admirable perspicacity inherent in
your tribe seems to have deteriorated in you to a hyperbolated
insousancy." Then he reached out his arms and slapped the king four
times, twice on one side of his face and twice on the other.
"Thanks, my dear June-Bug," said the monarch; "I now recognize you to be a person of some importance."
"Sire, I am a Woggle-Bug, highly magnified and thoroughly
educated. It is no exaggeration to say I am the greatest Woggle-Bug on
earth."
"I fully believe it, so pray do not play any more foursomes on
my jaw. I am sufficiently humiliated at this moment to recognize you as a
Sullivanthauros, should you claim to be a member of that extinct race."
Then two little weasels--a boy weasel and a girl weasel--came
into the bower and threw their school-books at the squirrel so cleverly
that one hit the King upon the nose and smashed his cigar and the other
caught him fairly in the pit of his stomach.
At first the monarch howled a bit; then he wiped the tears from his face and said:
"Ah, what delightful children I have! What do you wish, my darlings?"
"I want a cent for chewing gum," said the Girl Weasel.
"Get it from the Guinea-Pig; you have my assent. And what does my dear boy want?"
"Pop," went the Weasel, "our billy-goat has swallowed the hare you gave me to play with."
"Dear me," sighed the King, "how often I find a hair in the
butter! Whenever I reign people carry umbrellas; and my son, although
quite polished, indulges only in monkey-shines! Uneasy lies the head
that wears a crown! but if one is scalped, the loss of the crown renders
the head still more uneasy."
"Couldn't they find a better king than you?" enquired the Woggle-Bug, curiously, as the children left the bower.
"Yes; but no worse," answered the Weasel; "and here in the
jungle honors are conferred only upon the unworthy. For if a truly great
animal is honored he gets a swelled head, and that renders him
unbearable. They now regard the King of the Jungle with contempt, and
that makes all my subjects self-respecting."
"There is wisdom in that," declared the Woggle-Bug,
approvingly; "a single glance at you makes me content with being so
excellent a bug."
"True," murmured the King, yawning. "But you tire me, good
stranger. Miss Chim, will you kindly get the gasoline can? It's high
time to eradicate this insect."
"With pleasure," said Miss Chim, moving away with a smile.
But the Woggle-Bug did not linger to be eradicated. With one
wild bound he cleared the door of the palace and sprinted up the
entrance of the Jungle. The bear soldiers saw him running away, and took
careful aim and fired. But the gold-plated muskets would not shoot
straight, and now the Woggle-Bug was far distant, and still running with
all his might.
Nor did he pause until he had emerged from the forest and
crossed the plains, and reached at last the city from whence he had
escaped in the balloon. And, once again in his old lodgings, he looked
at himself in the mirror and said:
"After all, this necktie is my love--and my love is now mine forevermore! Why should I not be happy and content?"
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