CHAPTER XI.
Folly is better than physic. If no one ever made this aphorism before, we at once lay claim to and include it in our copyright; entered according to act of Congress in the clerk's office, and all the rest of it. A good old-fashioned time we had of it last Christmas evening at the house of our friend Nix. What a happy, merry, jolly crowd of noodles, ninnies, judies, tomfools, and undignified people we were to be sure! Nix gave himself unheard-of moustaches and eyebrows with India-ink, and then washed himself into the likeness of a boss chimney-sweep, in which condition he remained the whole evening, and came to business the next day with a faint tinge of the dusty pigment under his left ear, although he averred that he had parboiled himself over night with scalding soap and water in honest efforts to remove the oriental stain.
At this distance of time it would be hard to recall who were the guests at this tomfool's festival, even had we ever known them all; but a fluttering of little faces and pink sashes, and very bunchy frocks suggestive of new crinoline—indeed, now we think of it, one wee thing told us emphatically she had on a "noo hoop-stirt," and raised her short red frock to show us the inestimable treasure; and that again reminds us of another toddler, of the masculine persuasion, who thrice called our attention to his new boots, and once requested us to feel the soles where his mother had scratched them with her scissors to prevent his slipping on the carpets. But, as we were saying, a certain confused picture of fluttering pink sashes, bunchy crinoline, blue eyes, and flushed cheeks, is one of the chefs-d'œuvre in the private gallery of our memory, and was nearly all we carried away from that foolish Christmas carnival. We remember, though, Aunty Delluvian, in all the pomp, pride, and circumstance of a dress which might have been described by some fashionable modiste of fifty years ago, but before which the steel nibs of a modern pen grow parched and gape inkless in their course over the cream laid. We can state that it was of silk, and very thick, and rustled, and had an odor, not of myrrh—for that we have purchased at the drug stores as being good for the gums—though perhaps of frankincense, but certainly of some Eastern perfume; and there our descriptive capacity ends. Concerning certain gems and trinkets, also worn by that worthy lady, we are equally humble and bewildered; but if our memory serves us rightly, they were chiefly of pale and yellow stones surrounded by pearls, and of oval and slender forms, save one sombre brooch (she wore in the neck of her dress under a bow of ribbon), which has hair in it, and was shown us as a rare piece of workmanship and a great relic; indeed, Aunty Delluvian informed us, very confidentially, that a person by the name of Sally Mason would have given her ears to possess it once—from which we judged it to be of great value.
The scientific gentleman was there; and others "too numerous to mention," as the advertisements say. One of the company, whom we had never met before, left a particular impression on our mind, partly because he came from a far-off land, with a large budget of strange knowledge and exotic ideas, and partly because he showed us a quite curious and simple little toy. Among other things he expatiated on the dexterity of the Australasian savages in the use of the boomerang, which they would throw in such a way as to make it skim entirely around a house and return to their feet. He told us that one of these savages would seize his boomerang and send it whirling into a flock of parrots, bringing down half a dozen of the birds, and then return to his feet. He added that parrot-pie was excellent eating; a statement which sent a thrill of indignation through the juvenile portion of the company. The idea of cooking birds that say "Pretty Poll!" While the young were indignant, many of the elders felt incredulous, touching the boomerang; one person, indeed, delicately hinting that "throwing the boomerang" must be the Australasian equivalent of our expression "pulling the long bow;" but Aunty Delluvian, who had just heard the latter part of the discourse, came gallantly to the rescue (she had taken rather a notion to the young Australian). She assured the company that there could be no doubt of the existence of the boomerang, for an uncle of hers had on a certain occasion brought one from China, and that it grew so tame that it would come and feed out of your hand. This statement, as may be supposed, produced a profound sensation, which good breeding alone prevented from being an explosion. Several persons present tried to hush the matter up by suggesting that the good lady probably confounded the instrument in question with a baboon or orang-outang. But Aunty Delluvian would listen to nothing of the kind; no compromises for her. "Bless the child, she had seen it with her own eyes, and it went all round the house and came back to her feet, and caught the pigeon, and killed the parrot, just as the gentleman described." However, the young antipodean asserted his own veracity very effectively by offering to manufacture a model of the weapon then and there.
"If you will only provide me," he said, "with a good stiff card—an old playing-card will do as well as anything—I will soon satisfy you that what I described can be done."
The card was produced, and in a couple of minutes he had with a pair of scissors clipped out a piece of the size and shape of the subjoined diagram. He then borrowed a book and a lead pencil, and placed the miniature boomerang on the former, with one end projecting over the edge of the book about an inch. He then took the book in his left hand, and holding it at a slight angle as represented in the diagram, page 119, struck the projecting end a smart blow with the pencil. This sent it whirling through the air towards the opposite corner of the ceiling, which it nearly though not quite reached—then it came fluttering back to the very feet of the performer. This operation was repeated several times with almost universal applause, the only dissentient voice being that of a little shaver of five, who wanted to see the parrots come down.
About this time it became evident that some mysterious preparations were being made outside. A good deal of whispering occurred, and Nix, with one or two others, disappeared from the apartment. We, in the meantime, amused ourselves with sundry time-honored experiments. First came an optical illusion-trick, the fun of which consisted in the futile efforts of several persons to knock a cork off a fork with the fore-finger; and is performed thus: A steel fork, or some other sharp instrument, is stuck in the door, and a cork placed on the end of it.