The William Henry Letters

by Abby Morton Diaz

First, they had a table, with a long table-cloth on it that touched the floor. It must touch the floor, so as to hide the real feet of the one that’s going to be the dwarf. When Bubby Short was all ready he sat down to the table, same as if he’d been doing his examples or eating his dinner,—sat facing the company and waited for the curtain to rise. Course you have to have a curtain. The table-cloth covered the lower part of him. His own hands and arms were turned into feet and legs for the dwarf. I’ll tell you how. The arms had little trousers on them, and the hands were put into nice little button-boots, so they looked like legs and feet. He was all stuffed out above his waist, and had on a stiff shirt bosom, and breastpin, and necktie, and false whiskers, and a wig made of black curled hair, and a tasselled cap, with a gilt band round it. He crooked his arms at the elbows and laid them flat on the table, with the button-boots towards the curtain, so when the curtain went up it looked like a little dwarf sitting down, facing the company. Now I must tell you where the dwarf’s arms and hands came from. For you know that Bubby Short’s arms and hands were made into legs and feet for the dwarf. Now to make arms, he had on a little coat, with the sleeves of it stuffed out to look like arms, and then a stuffed pair of white cotton gloves was sewed on to the sleeves, to look like hands, and these gloves were pinned together by the fingers in front of his waist so as to look like clasped hands.

The showman asked him to do different things. Asked him to try to stand up. Then Bubby Short began to get up, very slow, as if ’t was tough work to do it, and let his arms straighten themselves down, and looked just as if there was a little short fellow standing on the table. I thought like enough you’d like to know how, so as to make one some time, out of Tommy or some bigger boy that knows how to whistle. The showman made his dwarf whistle a funny tune, and told us ’t was an air of his native country. Then made him step out the tune with his little button-boots, and it seemed just like a little dancing dwarf. The showman said that was the national dance of his country. I guess Uncle Jacob would like to see one. I guess his eyes would twinkle.

When the curtain went up you ought to ’ve heard the folks roar! Some of them thought ’t was real. When the company asked him if he could move his arms, he shook his head, no. Then the showman said he could make him do it, by whispering a charm in his ear. So he went close up and whispered, and took out the pin that pinned the gloves, in a secret way, and then the arms dropped apart. All the way he could move his arms was by shaking his body, and then only a little. The showman said the fearful accident that stopped his growth lost him the use of his arms, though he could dance and whistle and make a bow [here he made him make a bow], and could scratch his ear with his boot [here he scratched his ear with the button-boot-toe], but his brain was strong as anybody’s. Then afterwards he told how much he knew. But you can read about it in the Narrative. He made him crook his knees sideways. He could do this easy enough, for ’t was only the elbows bending outwards. Then he made him sit down again. I don’t believe any of you ever saw anything so funny. The showman kept a very sober face all the time, and ’most made us believe every word of his story was true, and at the end he spoke very loud and acted it out, like an orator.

Your affectionate Cousin,
William Henry.

P. S. Will you please send back the picture of that creature we sent you once? We want to do something with it. I put in the Narrative some of the things the audience did.

NARRATIVE.

My dear young Friends,—

Hyladdu Alizamrald, the unfortunate gentleman now before you, was born in the country of Empskutia, on the borders of the great unknown region of Phlezzogripotamia, which lies beyond the sources of the river Phlezzra. He was the only child of a nobleman, whose wealth was unbounded, and whose power was immense. The day of his birth was made a day of rejoicing throughout the city. Not only were fountains of wine set flowing, that none might go athirst (for the Empskutians are driest when they’re happiest), but living fountains of milk also, that every child might, on that happy day, drink its fill of the pure infantine fluid. It is perhaps needless to remark that these last were cows, driven in from the surrounding plains.

Hyladdu was an infant of great promise, and bade fair to become the pride of his native land, instead of being—of being—pardon my emotion. [Showman puts handkerchief to his eyes. Hyladdu wipes away a tear with his boot-toe.] Yes, gentlemen and ladies [calmer], at his birth there seemed to be no reason why Hyladdu’s head should not rise as far towards the clouds as will yours, my smiling young friends before me. Briefly, he was not born a dwarf. Shall I relate how this sweet flower of promise was nipped in the bud? [The audience cry, “Yes! yes!” Hyladdu takes his handkerchief in both boots and wipes his eyes.]

Listen, then. When Hyladdu had reached the age of eighty-one days—eighty-one being the third multiple of three—his parents, according to the custom of the country, summoned to the cradle of the young child a Thulsk.