Half-Hours with Jimmieboy Page 3

  III.

  JIMMIEBOY'S DREAM POETRY.

  If there is anything in the world that Jimmieboy likes better thancustard and choo-choo cars, it is to snuggle down in his papa's lapabout bedtime and pretend to keep awake. It doesn't matter at all howtired he is, or how late bedtime may on special occasions be delayed, heis never ready to be undressed and "filed away for the night," as hisUncle Periwinkle puts it.

  It was just this way the other night. He was as sleepy as he possiblycould be. The sandman had left enough sand in his eyes, or so it seemedto Jimmieboy, to start a respectable sea-beach, and he really felt as ifall he needed to make a summer resort of himself was a big hotel, a bandof music, and an ocean. But in spite of all this he didn't want to go tobed, and he had apparently made up his mind that he wasn't going towant to go to bed for some time to come; and as his papa was in anunusually indulgent mood, the little fellow was permitted to nestle upclose under his left arm and sit there on his lap in the library afterdinner, while his mamma read aloud an article in one of the magazines onthe subject of dream poetry.

  It was a very interesting article, Jimmieboy thought. The idea ofanybody's writing poetry while asleep struck him as being very comical,and he laughed several times in a sleepy sort of way, and then all of asudden he thought, "Why, if other people can do it, why can't I?"

  "Why?" he answered--he was quite fond of asking himself questions andthen answering them--"why? Because you can't write at all. You don'tknow an H from a D, unless there's a Horse in the picture with the H,and a Donkey with the D. That's why."

  "True; but that's only when I'm awake."

  "Try it and see," whispered the Pencil in his papa's vest pocket. "I'llhelp, and maybe our old friend the Scratch Pad will help too."

  "That's a good idea," said Jimmieboy, taking the Pencil out of hispapa's pocket, and assisting it to climb down to the floor, so that itcould run over to the desk and tell the Scratch Pad it was wanted.

  "Don't you lose my pencil," said papa.

  "No, I won't," replied Jimmieboy, his eyes following the Pencil in itsrather winding course about the room to where the desk stood.

  "I have to keep out of sight, you know, Jimmieboy," the Pencil said, ina low tone of voice. "Because if I didn't, and your papa saw me walkingoff, he'd grab hold of me and put me back in his pocket again."

  Suddenly the Pencil disappeared over by the waste-basket, and thenJimmieboy heard him calling, in a loud whisper: "Hi! Pad! Paddy!Pad-dee!"

  "What's wanted?" answered the Pad, crawling over the edge of the deskand peering down at the Pencil, who was by this time hallooing himselfhoarse.

  "Jimmieboy and I are going to write some dream poetry, and we want youto help," said the Pencil.

  "Oh, I'm not sleepy," said the Pad.

  "Neither am I," returned the Pencil. "But that needn't make anydifference. Jimmieboy, does the sleeping and dreaming, and you and I dothe rest."

  "Oh, that's it, eh? Well, then, I don't mind; but--er--how am I evergoing to get down there?" asked the Pad. "It's a pretty big jump."

  "That's so," answered the Pencil. "I wouldn't try jumping. Can't theTwine help you?"

  "No. He's all used up."

  "Then I have it," said the Pencil. "Put a little mucilage on your backand slide down. The mucilage will keep you from going too fast."

  "Good scheme," said the Pad, putting the Pencil's suggestion intopractice, and finding that it worked beautifully, even if it did makehim feel uncomfortably sticky.

  ARM IN ARM THEY TIPTOED SOFTLY ACROSS THE ROOM.]

  And then, arm in arm, they tip-toed softly across the room and climbedup into Jimmieboy's lap. So quietly did they go that neither Jimmieboy'smamma, nor his papa noticed them at all, as they might have had theconspirators been noisy, although mamma was reading and papa's head wasthrown back, so that his eyes rested on the picture moulding.

  "Here we are, Jimmieboy," said the Pad. "Pen here tells me you're goingto try a little dream poetry."

  "Yes," said Jimmieboy. "I am, if you two will help."

  "Count on us," said the Pencil. "What do you do first?"

  "I don't exactly know," said Jimmieboy. "But I rather think I takePencil in my hand, Pad in my lap, and fall asleep."

  "All right," said the Pad, lying flat on his back. "I'm ready."

  "So am I," put in the Pencil, settling down between two of Jimmieboy'sfingers.

  "All aboard for sleep," said Jimmieboy, with a smile, and then he fellinto a doze. In about two minutes he opened his eyes again, and foundboth Pad and Pencil in a great state of excitement.

  "Did I write anything?" asked Jimmieboy, in an excited whisper.

  "Yes," said the Pad. "You just covered me up with a senseless mass ofwords. This isn't any fun."

  "No," said the Pencil. "It's all nonsense. Just see here what you'vegot."

  JIMMIEBOY FINDS NOTHING BUT DREAM-WRITING ON THE PAD.]

  Jimmieboy looked anxiously at the Pad, and this is what he saw:

  I seen since, memory's wrong, They both dressed couple walked

  And straightway change upstairs with me, "I think it's "If that's the case,"

  catch the early in." to leave the shop, for it's pla Polypop.

  two weeks yesterday." haven't uttered Oh, Polypop, I ersnee, "See here,

  He didn't pay moon was shining bright. To see the Polypop came down

  "Dear me!" he said. "Why, that doesn't mean anything, does it?"

  "No. There isn't much in dream poetry, I guess," said the Pad. "I'mgoing back home. Good-by."

  "Oh, don't go," said the Pencil. "Let's try it again--just once more.Eh?"

  "Very well," returned the Pad, good-naturedly, tearing off one of hisleaves. "Go ahead, Jimmieboy."

  And Jimmieboy dozed off again.

  "Wake up, wake up!" cried the Pencil in about three minutes. "We've gotsomething this time."

  But they were all disappointed, for, when they looked, all that theycould see was this:

  have not them And if my not were in chintz; With that the along;

  your vest." For you to go Replied best, the Snickersnee,

  And tra I hadn't time "My reason in; "I know it," said the

  Since You one small cheer, say, Then quoth the Snick

  his fee. And as the Snickersnee, The one night,

  "Rubbish!" said the Pad, indignantly. "There's two leaves of myselfwasted now on your old dream poetry. I think that's enough. I'm off.Good-by."

  "Don't be hasty, Pad," retorted the Pencil. "That's a great deal betterthan the other. Why, there's one part there with all the lines beginningwith capitals, and when that happens it's generally a sign that there'spoetry around."

  "There isn't much there, though," said Jimmieboy, a little disappointedby the result. "I guess Pad's right. We'd better give it up."

  "Not yet," pleaded the Pencil. "There's luck in odd numbers, you know.Let's try it just once more."

  "Shall we, Jimmieboy?" asked the Pad.

  "Yes. Let's," assented Jimmieboy, as he dropped off to sleep for thethird time.

  This time he must have slept five minutes. When he opened his eyes hesaw the Pencil staring blankly at the Pad, on which was written nothingmore than this curious looking formula:

  2 2 - 4

  "How aggravating!" said Jimmieboy.

  "Abominable!" ejaculated the Pad.

  "I believe it's a key to what has gone before," said the Pencil, shakinghis rubber wisely. "Two and two make four--two and two make four. Ah! Iknow. You've got to put two and two together to make four. If we putthose two leaves of nonsensical words together, maybe we'll have a poem.Let's try."

  "It'
ll use me up, I'm afraid," sighed the Pad.

  "Oh, no. It won't take more than a half of you," said the Pencil,putting the two leaves on which Jimmieboy had first written together.

  "It looks like a poem," he said, when he had fitted the two together."Let's see how it reads.

  "I have not seen them since. And if my memory's not wrong, They both were dressed in chintz, With that the couple walked along;"

  "That doesn't mean a blessed thing," said the Pad.

  "It's nonsense," said Jimmieboy.

  "Just wait!" said the Pencil, beginning to read again:

  And straightway change your vest." For you to go upstairs with me, Replied, "I think it's best "If that's the case," the Snickersnee

  And catch the early train." I hadn't time to leave the shop "My reason for it's plain; "I know it," said the Polypop;

  "Since two weeks yesterday." You haven't uttered one small cheer Oh, Polypop, I say, Then quoth the Snickersnee, "See here,

  He didn't pay his fee. And as the moon was shining bright, To see the Snickersnee, The Polypop came down one night

  "Ho!" jeered the Pad. "That's elegant poetry, that is. You might getpaid five cents a mile for stuff like that, if you wanted to sell it andhad luck."

  "I don't care," said the Pencil. "It rhymes well."

  "Oh, I know what's the matter," said Jimmieboy, gleefully. "Why, ofcourse it's poetry. Read it upside down, and it's all right. It's dreampoetry, and dreams always go the other way. Why, it's fine. Justlisten:

  "The Polypop came down one night To see the Snickersnee, And, as the moon was shining bright, He didn't pay his fee."

  "That is good," said the Pad. "Let me say the next:

  "Then, quoth the Snickersnee, 'See here, Oh, Polypop, I say, You have not uttered one small cheer Since two weeks yesterday.'"

  "I thought it would come out right," said the Pencil. "The next twoverses are particularly good, too:

  "'I know it,' said the Polypop; 'My reason for it's plain; I hadn't time to leave the shop And catch the early train.'

  "'If that's the case,' the Snickersnee Replied, 'I think it's best For you to go upstairs with me, And straightway change your vest.'"

  "Now altogether," cried the Pad, enthusiastically. "One, two, three!"And then they all recited:

  "With that the couple walked along; They both were dressed in chintz; And if my memory's not wrong, I have not seen them since."

  "Hooray!" cried Jimmieboy, as they finished--so loudly that it nearlydeafened the Pad, which jumped from his lap and scurried back to thetable as fast as it could go.

  "What's that cheer for?" asked papa, looking down into Jimmieboy's face,and grabbing the Pencil, which was on the point of falling to the floor.

  "It's for Dream Poetry," murmured Jimmieboy, getting drowsy again. "I'vejust dreamed a lot. It's on the Pad."

  "Indeed!" said papa, with a sly wink at mamma. "Let's get the Pad andread it."

  The little fellow straightened up and ran across to the desk, and,grasping the Pad firmly in his hands, handed it to his father to read.

  "H'm!" said papa, staring at the leaf before him. "Blank verse."

  "Read it," said Jimmieboy.

  "I can't to-night, my boy," he answered. "My eyes are too weak for me tosee dream writing."

  For between you and me that was the only kind of writing there was onthat Pad.