THE SKIPPER OF THE ARGONAUT.
“Well, of all the stupid creatures,” said the Dodo, “I think that this is the most remarkable. Here, I say! Wake up, will you!” and he gave the reins another sharp pull.
The sloth-bear blinked his eyes, sleepily, and muttered, “What’s up?”
“Why, aren’t you going to make a start?” inquired the Dodo, angrily; “how do you suppose we shall ever get to our destination if you go on like this?”
The sloth-bear, after staring vacantly awhile slowly shook his head. “Speed not to exceed quarter of a mile an hour, them’s my orders,” he said, “and four times nine is—er—ninety-nine, so you’ll get there about next Thursday week. Y—ah—a—a—ow,” and he gave another tremendous yawn, as his head sank between his knees again.
“Good gracious! what’s to be done?” said Dick, getting down from the chariot. “It’s not the slightest use our trying to go anywhere in this thing.”
“What did he mean by saying four times nine were ninety-nine? They ain’t,” said Fidge, “”cos I know my ”four times,” and four nines are thirty-six.”
“Perhaps it was something to do with the number of miles we shall have to travel before we reach the place where the ships start from,” suggested Marjorie.
“Wake him up again, will you, please?” she said, turning to the Dodo. “Perhaps he will tell us.”
“All right,” said the Dodo, “I’ll wake him up. Here!” he cried, going up to the sloth-bear, and giving him a good shake. “Wake up! Wake up!”
The creature slowly lifted his head, and, staring reproachfully at the Dodo, began to cry. “Boo—hoo—hoo! Boo—hoo—hoo!” he sobbed. “It’s a shame, it is.”
“What’s the matter now, cry-baby?” asked the Dodo.
“Why can’t you let me alone?” whined the sloth-bear. “I’ve never done nothing to you, have I? Why can’t you let a poor beast sleep in peace?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake let the lazy old thing go to sleep if it wants to,” said Dick, impatiently, while tender-hearted Marjorie went up to the creature and stroked and comforted it as best she could.
Her pity was wasted, however, for almost before the last words were out of its mouth the sloth-bear was snoring peacefully with a contented smirk on its face.
“Come on,” said Dick, “let’s try and find the way ourselves. Oh! I know,” he exclaimed; “of course, why we’ve forgotten all about the power we have of floating in the air; we’ll rise up above the trees, and then we shall soon see where the sea is.”
No sooner said than done. The children just expressed the wish, and, as the Little Panjandrum’s Ambassador had promised them, they found that they had the power of rising at will.
“Jolly, isn’t it?” said Dick, as they floated upwards, leaving the Dodo gazing after them enviously.
“Like being in a b”loon,” chuckled Fidge, clutching at the leaves of a tree as he passed through them. Fidge never would pronounce balloon properly.
“Oh! look!” cried Marjorie, as they passed above the trees, “there’s the sea over there, and some houses, and people on the beach. I can see them quite distinctly. Oh, jolly, we can soon fly over there; come on.”
“What about the Dodo?” asked Dick.
“Oh, of course. I’d forgotten him. Let’s see, he can’t fly, can he?”
“Judging by the exhibition he made of himself when we first saw him, I should say not,” laughed Dick.
“Well, perhaps we could carry him between us,” suggested Marjorie, “he doesn’t look very heavy.”
“All right, let’s try,” said her brother, and, having made quite sure of the direction in which the sea lay, they slowly descended to the ground again.
“Find out what you wanted to?” asked the Dodo, who had taken off his gloves, and was blowing into them to take out the creases.
“Yes,” said Dick, “there are a few houses by the side of the sea about two miles to the left; do you think you could manage to fly as far as that?”
The Dodo smiled in a sickly sort of way. “I’m a little out of practise,” he faltered.
“Well, do you think that if we each took hold of one of your—ahem—wings, we could get along that way?”
“You wouldn’t crush my gloves?” asked the Dodo, anxiously.
“Oh, you could take them off, you know,” said Dick, “and put them in your p——” (he was going to say pocket, but suddenly remembered that the Dodo hadn’t one)—“in my pocket till we get there, if you like,” he added.
“What!” cried the Dodo, indignantly, “travel without my gloves! Never! It wouldn’t be respectable. I shouldn’t think of doing such a thing!”
“Oh, well, come, on then; let’s try this way,” said Dick, putting his arm under one of the Dodo’s wings, while Marjorie did the same to the other. “Now then—one—two—three.”
Slowly, very slowly, the children rose, for the Dodo was rather heavy after all, as he dangled down clumsily and uncomfortably between them.
I think they would have managed, however, but just as they had reached the lower branches of the trees, they heard a voice scream furiously—
“Now, then, what are you up to?”
In their agitation they let go of the Dodo, who, after making several frantic efforts to support himself, fell to the ground with a dull thud.
“What are you up to, I say?” said the voice again, and the children could see that the parrot, who had been so insolent to them before, was sitting on one of the branches near them.
“Pretty objects you are making of yourselves, I must say,” he remarked, sneeringly. “What do you think you are doing, I should like to know?”
“I don’t see what it has to do with you,” said Dick, crossly, while the Dodo, with his eyes shut and his head on one side, ran about rubbing his back with one pinion, and crying, “Oh! oh! oh!” for he had evidently hurt himself very much.
“You don’t, do you?” said the parrot. “Well, then, it has a great deal to do with me. Trying to fly, weren’t you? Well, you are not birds, and it isn’t allowed; do you hear? The idea of mere human creatures aping their betters in that way. Flying, indeed! Don’t you let me catch you at it again, or you will be sorry for it, I can tell you. Now move on, and walk on your feet in a sensible way, like rational human beings. Go along! What next, I wonder!”
He was evidently so very angry that the children thought it best not to provoke him further, so, leading the Dodo, who hobbled along painfully, they walked silently away in the direction of the sea, while the parrot watched them with a severe expression, screaming out—“Move on! move on!” every time they stopped.
“What a disagreeable bird,” whispered Marjorie, when they had gone some little distance.
“Wretch!” declared the Dodo, rubbing his back.
“For two pins I’d wring his neck,” muttered Dick, angrily.
“Much obliged, I’m sure,” said a mocking voice overhead, and there was that wretched parrot, looking down from one of the upper branches.
“Listeners never hear any good of themselves,” remarked the Dodo.
“Pooh!—as though I cared what you thought about me,” said the parrot. “Why, if I liked, I could—oh!” he cried, looking off to the left, “the Skipper,” and, spreading his wings, he flew rapidly away with every sign of alarm.
The children followed his glance, and saw coming towards them a very stout, very jolly-looking sailor, with a red, hearty face and a jovial smile. To their great surprise, they saw that he was using a skipping-rope, and skipping towards them, smiling good-naturedly.
“Thank goodness, here’s a man at last,” said Dick. “Now we shall be able to find out something as to where we are, and how we are to get home again.”
“Ship ahoy!” called out the sailor, when he first saw them.
"'They calls me a skipper,' said he, 'because I skips.'"
“How do you do?” said Dick, politely offering his hand.
“Stop a bit, my hearty,” said the sailor. “Salt!” and he began skipping rather quickly. “Pepper!!” and he quickened the pace considerably. “Mustard!!!” and the rope flew round so quickly that the children could hardly see it, while the jolly fat sailor skipped up and down furiously. Presently he stopped, and sank exhausted on a stone, puffing and blowing with all his might.
“I’m a Skipper,” he panted, in an explanatory tone.
“A Skipper!” exclaimed the children.
“Yes, they calls me a Skipper,” said he, “because I skips.”
“But I thought a Skipper was a kind of Captain or something,” said Marjorie.
“Quite right, my little dear; I’m Captain of the tidiest craft ye ever set eyes on. She’s lying out yonder. Will ye come and have a look at her?”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Dick, delightedly; “and perhaps you can tell us the way to get to England?”
“To be sure I can,” said the Skipper. “There are my men,” he said, proudly, as they came to an open space, where a dozen or more sailors, of all ages, sat at spinning wheels, working industriously.
“Whatever are they doing?” inquired Marjorie, curiously.
"Each sailor was spinning a yarn."
“Spinning yarns,” explained the Skipper; “each sailor is spinning a yarn—they always do that in their spare time, you know. Here, Bill,” he called out to one of the sailors, who answered, “Aye, aye, Sir,” and touched his forelock. “Bring some of your yarn here, and show this young lady.”
The man said, “Aye, aye, Sir,” again, and came forward with some coarse brown worsted.
“This,” said the Skipper, “is the toughest yarn you will find anywhere. We are celebrated for it here.”