Then they spread out their wings and executed the most diverting feather dance ever seen out of a pantomime.
I am a watchful bird, you know,
And I am a Phœnix smart;
From Shakespeare unto Jones—
The Welsh one—who intones,
We have played a striking part.
For we're so very mystical,
Both off-springs of the brain;
The Mongoose is our pere,
And the Nightmare is our mere,
And we thrive on Fiction Plain!
They repeated their dance and then knocked at the door of the nearest house and begged pantomimically for money, but as it was washing day they were refused. So they went into the cook shop and had some Irish Stew, which did not agree with them. Consequently they sprang into the hash that was simmering on the fire, and were seen no more. Whereupon the Zankiwank looked gooseberrily out of his eyes and murmured as if nothing out of the way or in the way had happened, or the Phœnix or the Griffin had existed—"The Bletherwitch will send me a telegram to say that she will be ready for the ceremony in half-an-hour."
"But where is the Bletherwitch, and how do you know?" asked Maude, somewhat incredulously.
"She is being arrayed for the marriage celebration. At present she is in Spain gathering Spanish onions."
"But Spanish onions don't come from Spain!"
"You are right. It is pickled walnuts she is gathering from the Boot Tree in the scullery. However, that is of no consequence. Let us be joyful as befits the occasion. Who has got any crackers?"
Before any reply could be given a voice in the air screamed out:—"Beware of the Nargalnannacus!" At which the Zankiwank trembled and the whole place seemed to rock to and fro.