THE RISE AND FALL OF TRIPE
In the reign of the Caliph John Aye the great Mac, there dwelt in the Mountain City, a poor scribe called Patrie-pa, a son of the East who made a precarious living pen pushing; and the neighbors of Patrie-pa and the neighbors’ little boys referred to him as “Tripe” for short. One day Tripe, while carrying a large roll of Manuscript to a customer, stopped to rest himself upon the steps of a great palace; the air that came from within the palace was scented and sweet, and besides strains of beautiful music were wafted on the summer breeze accompanied by the dulcet notes of nightingales and things.
From the melody, and smell of savoury dishes, Tripe concluded that a feast with great rejoicing was in progress; being of an enquiring turn of mind he was curious to know who so rejoiced and the reason thereof, so he hied him to the back door of the palace and enquired of the servants the names of the revellers. “What?” replied one of them, “do you live in the Mountain City and know not that this is the feast of the Conservers, the bodyguard and henchmen of the Great Mac?” “Holy Smoke,” said Tripe loud enough to be heard, “consider the diff. between these and me; I am exposed every day to duns and Bailiffs and such, and can scarcely get pea-soup for myself and family, while these popular politicians expend the riches of the people and lead a life of pleasure. What have they done to enjoy a lot so agreeable, and what have I done to deserve one so wretched?” While poor Tripe was thus complaining a servant came out of the palace and bade him follow him, as the Caliph Mac had heard his wail and would speak with him. Trembling, Tripe followed the servant into the presence of the Great Mac, who by giving the poor fellow the glad hand, soon put him at his ease. Mac enquired kindly after his health, and on examining his Manuscript was much pleased with the turn of his P’s and Q’s; Mac being ambitious at the time to stand well with those of the East thought that if he raised this poor Tripe it would be noised about and he would find favour in the eyes of the East; so he said to Tripe, “So, so my good scribe, you complain of your lot and wail aloud when times are good! How now would you like a position under us? I will make you one of my Chief Squirts, at Umpty pieces of Silver now and again and pickings: what say you?” Now Tripe although poor was no slouch; he had much cunning and was no moss back; and so albeit the position of Squirt was no great dignity, he abased himself before Mac and accepted his offer with much flow of thankful words.
Before many moons had passed Tripe had shown such aptitude as a Schemer and became so useful to Mac that he was promoted from Chief Squirt to High Jobber, and from that rose finally to be Mac’s Wind Raiser, and so remained until the death of Mac. Now when Mac died, the Conservers who were in power hoped to elect another Caliph in his stead of their own stripe; and in this they did temporarily succeed by electing one Tomtom; but they trotted in hard luck, for Tomtom was soon gathered to his fathers, and when they replaced Tomtom by the Caliph Scrupper they were defeated on the first onslaught of the Liberators, who deposed Scrupper and elected Wilfridus, the Silver Tongue, in his stead. In this way was Tripe thrown on his beam ends, but nothing daunted he straightway went to Wilfridus, and by arguments of how he had enabled the Grand Old Man to raise the wind, and by informations of all the secret hiding-places of the Conservers, and saying also that anyway at heart he had never been a Conserver, but really a good hot Liberator, he so worked upon the credulity of Wilfridus, who was new to the game, that Wilfridus reinstated him in the position of Wind-Raiser and also made him Sinister of Wublic Perks, requiring only in return that he should make a public exhibition of himself by changing his Blue Coat of the Conservers for the Red Coat of the Liberators. Thus did the cunning Tripe remain in power when his friends fell. Immediately, Tripe, to show his ardour for his new party, put forth all the power of his ability and raised so much and such beautiful and Balmy Winds for the Liberators that they marvelled at his power, and to aid him in his art they presented him for his uses a cunningly contrived Organ with many keys and stops, and capable of playing tunes and airs to please everyone, and they called this wonderful organ “The Paps.” And now Tripe began to think he was the whole thing, and that without him and his organ the Liberators and even Wilfridus himself were Small Potatoes; and he ground his organ to suit himself and played wicked and mischievous airs thereon which not only stirred up the Conservers, but annoyed many High Liberators. He also put on his “Chapeau Parlant” and visited strange countries, and the country of his forefathers and he talked through his Chapeau much rot and vanity, and he ran off his trolley and went away up in the air and thought he was a balloon and that the whole world was watching his flight; but some good staunch Liberators who were disgusted with his antics fantastique gave him the knife so that his wind was let out where his sense had gone. He fell and fell hard.
Thus did the cunning Tripe fall and pull others down with him.
Moral—???
Dream not; while thou dreameth another moveth.