"I never did." Jimmieboy answered. "I never heard of a land-sage either. What is a land-sage?"
"A land-sage is a creature like a man. In fact, he is a man, and he lives on the land, and thinks he knows everything, when in reality he only knows land things."
"But isn't it good to know land things?" Jimmieboy asked.
"Oh yes—in a way," said the merboy, patronizingly. "But just because you know land things doesn't make you the wisest thing in the world. It's a great deal better to know sea things, because if you know sea things you know more than you do if you only know land things. There's three times as much sea as land in the world, and so, of course, sea-sages are three times as wise as land-sages. What's more, you who live on the land don't begin to hear of a half of a millionth part of the things that happen under the sea, while we who live under the sea can get all the land news we want by tapping your Atlantic cable."
"Why, so you can," said Jimmieboy. "I never thought of that."
"Of course you didn't. You haven't got the kind of mind that thinks that kind of thoughts," sneered the merboy. "You people think you are great when you are able to sit at your breakfast tables in New York on Friday morning and talk about what has happened in London that same Friday afternoon—and it is rather smart to be able to do that, I admit—but what do you know about what has been going on in Sealadelphia, or Sharkargo, or Whalington, or Moss-bunkerton? Not a thing, I'll warrant. But these sea creatures know all you know, and all their own news besides. So, you see, when a land-sage begins swapping knowledge with a sea-sage he finds himself 'way behind."
"And what was the story about the Porpoise and the Land-sage?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Well, as I remember it," said the merboy, "it went this way:
"THE PORPOISE AND THE LAND-SAGE.
"A Land-sage once, who thought he knew
All that there was to know,
Went out to sea without a crew,
And floated to and fro.
And then, before he was aware
Just what he was about,
A fearful wind did straightway tear
His jib and mainsail out.
"I'm all at sea!" he moaned and cried;
"Oh dear, what shall I do!
Would that I'd never come outside
Without my gallant crew."
Just as he spoke a Porpoise came.
The Land-sage cried, "What, ho!
Where are you from, and what's your name?
Hullo there, you! Hullo!"
"What do you wish?" the Porpoise said
In accents soft and meek.
"I'd like to be at home in bed—
What language do you speak?"
"Sea-doggerel," the Porpoise then
Made answer with a grin,
"Unless I speak with Englishmen,
And then I speak in Finn."
"Perhaps," the Land-sage then observed,
"You can enlighten me
By telling me— I'm much unnerved—
Just where I chance to be."
"Of course I can," the fish said. "You,
I think 'tis very clear,
Are out of sight of Manitou
And just about off here."
"Pray do not mock me," quoth the sage;
"I'm truly badly off,
And 'tis not right one of your age
At one like me should scoff.
I am the most enlightened man
That e'er the world did see;
So help me home, sir, if you can,
And tell me where I be."
"You make me laugh," the Porpoise said.
"Why should you come to me?
If you've all knowledge in your head,
I truly cannot see
Why you should ask a Porpoise, who
Is ignorant and plain,
What in this instance you should do
To get back home again?
"But I will tell you what I'll do:
If you will shed some light
Upon a few things—one or two—
I'll get you back all right."
"A bargain!" cried the Land-sage, loud.
"I pray you do begin."
"I will," the Porpoise said, and bowed.
"Why do you wear a chin?
"Why have you hair upon your head?
And why do men wear cuffs?
And why are cannon-crackers red?
And why is cream in puffs?
Why can't you swim on mountain-tops?
And why is water wet?
And why don't hens, like lambs, have chops?
And why don't roosters set?"
"The Land-sage paled as to his cheek.
"I cannot say," said he.
"Then why does Friday come each week?
And why do maids drink tea?
Oh tell me why all kittens mew?
And why do little boys,
When with their daily tasks they're through,
Make such a dreadful noise?
"The Porpoise waited for the sage
To answer, but in vain.
It filled the wise man full of rage
To have to flunk again.
Whereat the Porpoise, with a sneer
And very scornful glance,
Remarked: "You're very dull, I fear.
I'll give you one more chance.
"Tell me one thing I never heard
In all my life before,
And I will pass to you my word
To see you safe ashore.
But don't be rash, oh, sage," said he.
"Take all the time you need
To think of what to tell me
That's truly new indeed."
"The Land-sage thought and thought all day,
He thought the long night through,
But not an idea came his way
That he was sure was new;
And finally, in great despair,
He thought that he would see
What could be done to ease his care
By simple flattery.
"And so he spoke, "Oh, Mr. P——,
Oh, Porpoise, sleek and trim,
The thought has just occurred to me
My wisdom's rather slim;
But I believe a creature that
'S as beautiful as you
Can't have the heart to let a flat
Like me die in the blue."
"You think me so?" the Porpoise said.
"I do!" the sage replied.
"You have the purest classic head
I ever have espied.
Your eyes are truly lovely,
And your mouth is full of grace,
And nothing nobler can one see
Than is your noble face."
"The Land-sage ceased; the Porpoise smoled
And winked his eyes of blue.
"You've won, professor. You have told
Me something truly new.
I never heard my beauty praised
In all my life before."
And then his good right fin he raised
And towed the sage ashore.