“He used to wind his tail about a fan and he’d wave it to and fro by the hour.” Chapter XIII.
There was a pause for a few moments, when Diavolo said, “Uncle Munch, is that a true story you’ve been giving us?”
“True?” cried Mr. Munchausen. “True? Why, my dear boy, what a question! If you don’t believe it, bring me your atlas, and I’ll show you just where Para is.”
Diavolo did as he was told, and sure enough, Mr. Munchausen did exactly as he said he would, which Diavolo thought was very remarkable, but he still was not satisfied.
“You said he could write as well with himself as you or I could with a pen, Uncle Munch,” he said. “How was that?”
“Why that was simple enough,” explained Mr. Munchausen. “You see he was very black, and thirty-nine feet long and remarkably supple and slender. After a year of hard study he learned to bunch himself into letters, and if he wanted to say anything to me he’d simply form himself into a written sentence. Indeed his favourite attitude when in repose showed his wonderful gift in chirography as well as his affection for me. If you will get me a card I will prove it.”
Diavolo brought Mr. Munchausen the card and upon it he drew the following:
“There,” said Mr. Munchausen. “That’s the way Wriggletto always used to lie when he was at rest. His love for me was very affecting.”