Читать книгу Tommy Toddles - Albert Lee - Страница 7

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Tommy could not think of anything to say, but the ex-Pirate soon broke the silence himself by remarking,

“I wrote it.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Tommy, seizing the opportunity to say something pleasant at last, “The poetry was very nice. It sounded like some of the funny things Uncle Dick learned at college. But you said you would recite something about pirates too.”

“I will,” answered the ex-Pirate with alacrity, and he climbed up on top of the table again, “I’ll read you a selection from my autobiography. I was just writing it as you came,” and he pulled a large roll of manuscript out of his inner pocket. “This is Chapter XVII. If you prefer, I will go and get the preceding sixteen chapters, the introduction, and the preface, and read them to you too.”

“Oh no,” interposed the Sheep. “Chapter XVII. will do. We have not time to hear any more.”

“Very well,” replied the ex-Pirate, clearing his throat; “I will only read Chapter XVII.;

“‘The following day the sun rose up as usual from the East,

The sea was calm, the sky was clear, the stormy winds had ceased;

The Black Avenger sped along before a gentle breeze, And the starboard watch loafed on the deck in true piratic ease—’

What is it?” asked the ex-Pirate, interrupting his lecture and turning toward Tommy, who looked as if he wanted to ask a question,

“I was wondering what the Black Avenger was,” said the little boy,

“I supposed so,” replied the poet, reproachfully—“supposed so. The Black Avenger was the name of my pirate ship, and if you had let me read the first sixteen chapters of the autobiography you would have known all about the ship by this time. I think I had better go and get the other chapters,” and he started to step down from the table.

“Oh no,” put in the Sheep. “We know what the Black Avenger is now. It’s your ship.”

“Yes,” said the ex-Pirate, dramatically; “she was a low, trim craft, with tall, rakish masts—”

“Just like all pirate ships,” interrupted the Sheep.

“Not a bit of it!” shouted the ex-Pirate, vehemently. “She was not like any other ship afloat, you mutton-head.”

“Don’t you call me a mutton-head!” retorted the Sheep, hotly, rising from his seat on the bench. “You may think that because—”

“But—” began the ex-Pirate.

“—because you are up there on that table—”

“But—” began the ex-Pirate again.

“Oh, don’t tell him to butt!” cried Tommy, who was beginning to fear there might be a fight.

“I didn’t,” said the ex-Pirate, turning to the little boy.

“Well, both of you stop quarrelling,” continued Tommy, asserting himself. I think it’s very rude of each one of you.”

The ex-Pirate looked at the little boy as though he did not quite understand, and the Sheep moved off to the far end of the bench and began to sulk. Tommy was surprised to see this, for, until then, he had entertained a very favorable opinion of his new friend. He was surprised to see the Sheep sulk, because it was something he never did himself, as he had been told that it was unmanly.

“Perhaps it is not unsheeply,” thought Tommy, who was willing to make every excuse possible for the Sheep.

“Shall I go on?” said the ex-Pirate to Tommy, as he glanced at the Sheep.

“Certainly,” replied the little boy; “He is very ill-behaved. He ought to be ashamed of himself.”

“I guess he is,” remarked the ex-Pirate; “he certainly looks sheepish;” and although this did not strike Tommy as being odd at the time, he wondered afterwards how a sheep could look otherwise.

The little man on the table glanced over his manuscript, and, having found the place where he left off, read again:

“ ‘I took my breakfast down below, and when I came on deck

I looked about, and far away I saw a little speck

Upon the blue horizon, and I knew it was a—’

“I guess I’ll have to stop here,” said the ex-Pirate, suddenly, putting his papers into his pocket and looking around uneasily,

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Tommy, noticing his evident nervousness. The Sheep, too, had straightened up and was looking about.

“Don’t you smell anything?” asked the ex-Pirate.

“No; what is it?” inquired Tommy, sniffing and looking about like the rest of them. But before the ex-Pirate could answer, the little boy heard a sort of shuffling noise coming from the direction of the woods, and presently he saw a most peculiar-looking animal, such as he had never seen or heard of before, waddle out into the open, grassy space in front of the Poorhouse. The strange beast seemed to be about the size of a hippopotamus, yet, he resembled a rabbit. And he was yellow. As he came nearer his body looked as if it were made of cheese, and his long ears resembled pieces of toast. A sort of white vapor floated off the creature’s back, and, as the breeze wafted it toward the group at the table, Tommy noticed that it had a fragrant and appetizing odor.

“What is that thing?” he asked, somewhat tremulously.

“That’s the Welsh-Rabbit,” whispered the Sheep.

“Oh,” said Tommy. “Uncle Dick eats one every night.”

“Sh-h-h!” said the ex-Pirate. “Don’t talk like that, he might hear you.” The Sheep was frowning severely, and Tommy feared that he had said something indiscreet. In a few moments he was sure he had.

“Never talk of eating things,” said the Sheep. “It is a tender subject with some people. How would you like to have a lion come along here now and look at you and ask me if you were good to eat?”

This question, with its suggested possibilities, made Tommy feel uncomfortable, and he moved nearer to the ex-Pirate.

“Are there any lions hereabouts?” he asked.

“There might be,” replied the Sheep; “but they are all well-bred lions, and they don’t talk about things to eat.” This statement reassured the little boy, but it made him again eager to change the subject of the conversation.