Then the Slambangaree took one of the boxwood tops from Reginald's pocket, and tossed it in the air a few times, and then threw it against the ceiling. Instead of descending, it remained on the ceiling, where it spun at a great rate, and, instead of humming, repeated the multiplication table so fast that it would finish twelve times in about four seconds. Then it got spinning so fast that it set all the room and the furniture whirling at the same rate. As the Slambangaree whirled with the rest, its grin increased until its head seemed to be all grin. Finally the Slambangaree grew smaller and smaller, until it was so small that it vanished into the top, which still whirled away at an awful rate. And when Reginald thought he was rid of his goblin visitor, the top suddenly began to increase in size until it was as large as a barrel, when it suddenly burst, and out popped the Slambangaree, leading a curious monster, the like of which Reginald had never seen or dreamed of. Its mouth opened like a door, and its eyes slid up and down like windows. And it had two heads, one at each end. And it could move with equal grace and swiftness in either direction. It ran all over the room, and what seemed strangest of all was that the room grew larger to accommodate the antics of the monster. Occasionally it would raise one eye like a window-sash, and curious birds would fly forth, and, after fluttering around, fly to the other end of the monster, who would throw open an eye to admit them. As the Slambangaree deposited the boxwood top in Reginald's pocket, it pointed to the monster, and said,
"That thing is a Cariftywhifty."
"What can a Cariftywhifty do?" asked Reginald.
"What can a Cariftywhifty do?" repeated the Slambangaree. "Why, a Cariftywhifty can eat you, and that is what this Cariftywhifty is about to do."
Then the Cariftywhifty chased Reginald into a corner, and took him into his mouth as if he were a raw oyster, and soon had him beneath his teeth, which were like the keys of a piano, and played tunes while it was eating. When Reginald reached the inside of the Cariftywhifty's teeth he found that he had not been hurt; and when he realized that he was being swallowed he was greatly surprised to find that the monster's throat consisted of a stairway, down which he walked into its stomach, which was a beautiful garden. Boxwood tops were spinning on the limbs of trees, and the place was lighted even at night by the Cariftywhifty's eyes. The only time the place was dark was when the unique monster closed its eyes. When the garden was suddenly darkened for a moment, and then illuminated, it indicated that the owner had just winked. Reginald knew that all this garden was in his own room, of course, but he didn't know how he was going to gain his freedom. But he wandered down the main path, seeing many curious sights, until he was chased by a lot of bull-frogs of great size, that jumped great distances and turned somersaults with ease. As these bull-frogs were made of papier-maché, they had no sense of feeling, because when Reginald stepped upon one of them it only made it laugh. They said they would put him in a box and feed him on flies if they could only catch him. This caused poor Reginald to redouble his efforts, and he was almost exhausted when he readied the throat stairway at the other end of the Cariftywhifty. Up these steps he bounded in safety, and was soon under the teeth of the monster, that chewed him and emitted a tune with its musical teeth at the same time.
In a moment Reginald was in his bed again, looking at the Slambangaree, that was now so small that the poor worried boy knew the plum-pudding must be almost digested. Finally the Slambangaree entered the mouth of the Cariftywhifty, and the latter, bounding across the room for a flying start, dashed through the window, and disappeared without breaking the glass or making the slightest noise.
It must have been at that time that Reginald knocked upon my door. When he was admitted he sat on the side of my bed, and told me all about the Slambangaree, the Capecodger, and the Cariftywhifty, at the same time saying that if he ever ate plum-pudding again he only hoped that he would have his nightmare while asleep, and not when lying wide awake. I have written his story down just as he told it to me, in the hope that it may be a warning to other boys to always eat just plum-pudding enough, and never too much, lest they meet with a midnight adventure similar to that of little Reginald's.
