"Very likely," said Mollie. "I don't know what wee-wee-wee means in little pig-talk, but over in Paris it means, 'O yes indeed, you're perfectly right about that.'"
"He'll never be able to learn French," laughed Whistlebinkie. "That is not so that he can speak it. Do you think he will?"
"That's what I'm anxious to see him for," said Mollie. "I'm just crazy to find out how he is getting along."
But all their efforts to get at the old gentleman were, as I have already said, unavailing. They knocked on the bag, and whispered and hinted and tried every way to draw him out but it was not until the little party was half way across the British Channel, on their way to France, that the Unwiseman spoke. Then he cried from the depths of the carpet bag:
"Hi there—you people outside, what's going on out there, an earthquake?"
"Whatid-i-tellu'" whistled Whistlebinkie. "That ain't French. Thass-singlish."
"Hallo-outside ahoy!" came the Unwiseman's voice again. "Slidyvoo la slide sur le top de cette carpet-bag ici and let me out!"
"That's French!" cried Mollie clapping her hands ecstatically together.
"Then I understand French too!" said Whistlebinkie proudly, "because I know what he wants. He wants to get out."
"Do you want to come out, Mr. Unwiseman?" said Mollie bending over the carpet-bag, and whispering through the lock.