The Wallypug of Why — Context and Discussion

at she was floating rapidly through the air.

“Eighty-five, eighty-six! Oh dear! somebody has taken hold of my other hand now,” cried Girlie. “I really _must_ look.”

And, opening her eyes, she found herself in a country lane.

A benevolent-looking little old gentleman, dressed in knee breeches and wearing a huge broad-brimmed hat, was holding her wrist with one hand, while in the other he held a toy watch.

Dumpsey Deazil was floating rapidly away in the distance, frantically waving her arms and screaming out in an agonised voice,—

“I told you not to open your eyes until you had got to one hundred!”

Girlie watched her disappear over the hedge, and then turned in dismay to the little old gentleman, who was still holding her hand and beaming upon her with a reassuring smile.

“Your friend was taking you through the air rather too quickly to be good for your health, so I thought that I had better stop you,” he said.

“Well, then, I think it was very rude of you,” said Girlie, who felt greatly alarmed at having lost Dumpsey Deazil. “I don’t know, I am sure, however I am going to get home again now,” she continued, feeling half inclined to cry.

“Excuse me, you should never say ‘_I don’t know_,’” said the old gentleman. “It is a very bad plan. If you really do not know anything, you should always pretend that you do. I invariably do so, and I ought to know, for I am the Wallypug’s Doctor-in-law.”

“Oh! Who _is_ the Wallypug, please?” asked Girlie curiously, “and I’m afraid I don’t know what a doctor-in-law is, either.”

“One question at a time, my child,” said the old gentleman. “Who the Wallypug is you will soon find out for yourself; and a doctor-in-law is something between a father-in-law and a step-father, a sort of half-a-stepfather, in fact. That will be six-and-eightpence, please,” and the Doctor-in-law held out his hand with a smile.

“What for?” exclaimed Girlie.

“Professional advice,” said the Doctor-in-law blandly.

“What advice?” asked Girlie; “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Didn’t I _advise_ you never to say, ‘I don’t know’?” explained the Doctor-in-law.

“But I didn’t ask you to give me any advice at all,” cried Girlie in dismay.

“Oh! if I waited till people _asked_ me for advice I should never get any clients!” said the Doctor-in-law; “and you might as well give me the other guinea at the same time,” he continued.

“What other guinea? What _do_ you mean?” asked Girlie.

“The guinea for professional attendance when you first arrived here,” said the Doctor-in-law. “I always charge a guinea for that.”

“But I didn’t want you to attend to me,” said Girlie indignantly. “I wish you hadn’t.”

“If I waited till people _wanted_ me to attend to them I should get no patients,” admitted the Doctor-in-law; “so I always attend to people when I think they require it, whether they wish me to do so, or not. I must really insist on the fee, please. Let’s see, that will be three pounds seven altogether, won’t it?” he continued, making a calculation in his pocket-book.

“Certainly not!” said Girlie; “how can you make that out?”

“Well, you see, if you add them together they come to about that,” said the Doctor-in-law.

“I am sure they don’t,” cried Girlie.

“It’s very rude to contradict your elders,” remarked the Doctor-in-law severely. “I am surprised at you. Give me the money at once, please.”

“But I have no money with me,” said Girlie, getting rather frightened.

“Dear me, this is very serious,” said the old gentleman, looking genuinely grieved. “Do you really mean to tell me,” he continued, “that you are travelling about the country without any money at all in your pocket?”

“Yes,” said Girlie. “You see, I didn’t know that I was coming here, or that I should require any.”

“Oh! that’s an absurd excuse, my dear,” said the Doctor-in-law. “But what’s that in your hand?” he continued, staring at her right hand.

Girlie opened it, and found a crumpled piece of paper in it, though how it came there she could never tell. Smoothing it out, she found it to be a kind of money-order with the words, “Please to pay the bearer the sum of five pounds. Signed, THE WALLYPUG,” written on it.

“Oh! a Wallypug order for five pounds; that will do very nicely,” said the Doctor-in-law, taking it from her and putting it into his pocket. “And now you will only owe me the odd sixpence,” he said.

“What odd sixpence?” asked Girlie. “I don’t remember anything about a sixpence.”

“Well,” said the Doctor-in-law, “if you don’t remember it, _it’s very odd_, therefore it must be an odd sixpence; don’t you see, my dear?” and he held out his hand again.

“But I’ve already given you five pounds instead of three pounds seven,” said Girlie, getting hopelessly muddled.

“Well, my dear, don’t let _that_ worry you in the least,” said the Doctor-in-law kindly; “I’ll overlook it this time, and, if you can’t find the sixpence, I don’t mind taking your watch instead. I see that you have a very pretty one.”

“I think it’s very unkind and greedy of you, then!” said Girlie, turning very red and feeling greatly frightened; for her watch had been given to her by her aunt, and she was allowed to wear it only now and then as a great treat.

“Not at all, my dear; you don’t look at these things in the right light,” said the Doctor-in-law. “Don’t you see that, if you can’t pay me the money, it is only fair that you should give me your watch?”

“But it is worth a great deal more than sixpence,” argued Girlie.

“Not at all!” said the Doctor-in-law, flourishing his watch about at the end of the chain. “Mine only cost a penny.”

“Yes, but yours doesn’t go,” objected Girlie; “mine does, you know.”

“Does what?” asked the Doctor-in-law.

“Oh, well, then, I don’t want it,” said the Doctor-in-law hurriedly. “I don’t want a watch that will _go_, I want one that will stay. Why, if my watch was to _go_, I should always have to be going after it! and, talking about going, I must be off or I shall be late for the Wallypug. You can pay me the half-crown when we meet again.” And, with a nod and a smile, the little old gentleman pocketed his watch and hurried off.

“Oh! if you please!” cried Girlie, running after him, “could you direct me to——”

“Can’t stop!” interrupted the Doctor-in-law; “my time is far too valuable, and besides, you have no money.” And walking rapidly away, he got over a stile and disappeared into a field beyond.

“Oh dear me! whatever _shall_ I do now?” thought poor Girlie, looking about her in dismay.

There was nobody in sight, so she decided to sit down on the bank and wait until some one came past who would direct her to somewhere or other.

“For I haven’t the remotest idea where I am,” she thought. “I don’t even know how many miles I am from home. I wonder,” she went on, “how many miles one can travel through the air while you count eighty-five. I suppose it depends upon how quickly you are travelling. Perhaps I could make a sum of it and do it by rule of three. Let’s see! If it takes one girl one minute to count sixty, how many miles can a girl and a doll travel through the air while you count eighty-five? I suppose you have to multiply the minutes by the miles, and divide by the number of people,” she thought; and was so very busy trying to _do this sum in her head_, as she described it, that she did not notice a young man walking down the lane, till he had nearly reached her.

Girlie could scarcely keep from laughing when she first saw him, for he looked such a _very_ comical person; he had long hair, and wore glasses, and carried his hands dangling in front of him. (“For all the world like a kangaroo,” thought Girlie.)

He came and sat down quite close to her, and after staring at her for some time, smiled in a patronising kind of way.

“Don’t you think me very handsome?” he said at last.

“Well, I am afraid not,” stammered Girlie, who did not like to hurt his feelings by telling him what she really did think about him.

“Dear me! then your eyes must be seen to, decidedly,” said the young man. “Why, you must be nearly blind not to see that I am very, _very_ beautiful; and I am a very _important_ person, too,” he continued impressively.

“Are you really?” asked Girlie, who could scarcely keep serious.

“Yes, I am a very superior individual indeed. I am the King’s Minstrel, enormously rich, and I am going to marry the Wallypug’s niece. I _compose_ better than any one else in the world.”

“Really!” said Girlie. “What do you compose?”

“Draughts,” said the King’s Minstrel. “Of course you have heard of composing draughts.”

“Yes,” said Girlie. “They are things to send you to sleep, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes,” said the King’s Minstrel. “Mine keep you awake, though, and that’s why they are so much better than anybody else’s.”

“Isn’t it very difficult to compose?” asked Girlie.

“Yes; it requires a great brain like mine to do it properly,” replied the King’s Minstrel conceitedly. “Would you like to hear my latest composition?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” said Girlie, folding her hands in her lap and preparing to listen.

The King’s Minstrel took a roll of music from under his arm and, after coughing importantly, began to sing in a very harsh and discordant voice—

“‘Won’t you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly, How I wonder what you are, up above the world so high. ‘I’m going a-milking, sir,’ she said, And when she got there the poor dog was dead.

“Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, Gin a body, kiss a body, need a body cry. Humpty-dumpty sat on a wall, And if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm.”

“There! isn’t it lovely?” he asked when he had finished.

“Why, it’s perfect _nonsense_!” cried Girlie; “it’s just a lot of separate lines from nursery rhymes all strung together; and, besides, there’s no sense in it,” she added.

“That shows you don’t know anything at all about it,” said the King’s Minstrel contemptuously. “Any respectable person knows that there never _should_ be any sense in really good poetry; the less you are able to understand it the better it is; and it wouldn’t be a composition,” he went on, “if it wasn’t _composed_ of several bits of other poems. The great thing is to get it to rhyme. You see this all rhymes beautifully.”

“I’m sure the last two lines don’t!” said Girlie decidedly.

“Oh!” said the King’s Minstrel, looking rather confused, “you see, you have to pronounce ‘_harm_’ as near like ‘_wall_’ as you can; you often have to do that in poetry, you know. Besides, people always pardon little slips of that kind in really clever people, like myself. Good-bye! You _may_ have the honour of meeting me again later,” he continued, preparing to go.

“Oh, I was going to ask you,” cried Girlie hurriedly, “whether you could kindly direct me to Why, or tell me the way to get home again.”

“I beg your pardon, but I make it a point _never_ to do anything useful. I am purely _ornamental_,” said the King’s Minstrel, bowing politely and then strutting away with a conceited air, leaving Girlie once more alone in the lane.

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_THE FISH WITH A COLD._

“WELL, which way shall I go?” said Girlie to herself looking up and down the lane, “for it will never do to stay here all day, you know. I wish I had a compass,” she continued, “I should know which way to go, then.”

Girlie had the haziest notions as to what a compass really is, but had come to the conclusion that you had only to look at one in order to find your way anywhere.

“I suppose,” she continued, “I had better follow the lane; it’s sure to lead to somewhere or other.”

She could see that a little further on the roadway took a sudden turn to the left, and, on reaching the corner, she found herself facing a large pond, by the side of which a fish, well wrapped up in a plaid shawl, was sitting on a wooden stool fishing.

On the other side of the road was a five-barred gate, on which sat a calf dressed in a bright blue coat, yellow-striped waistcoat, and red plush knee-breeches; he wore his hat quite at the back of his head, because of his horns, and had a scarlet geranium in his coat; he was tapping his hoof impatiently with a small cane which he carried in one _hand_.

“Here she comes at last,” he called out to the Fish when Girlie came in sight.

“O-o-o-b! o-o-o-b! o-o-o-b!” said the Fish, rolling his great eyes around and staring dejectedly at her, and then immediately resuming his occupation.

“What does he say?” asked Girlie, who, somehow or other, did not feel at all surprised at this strange sight; perhaps it was because she had read so many fairy tales.

“Nothing,” said the Calf, “he never talks when he is fishing; it isn’t considered polite; he says ‘o-o-o-b’ because he can’t help it; _all_ fishes say that, you know.”

And, when Girlie came to think of it, she remembered that her gold fish at home always seemed to be saying “o-o-o-b, o-o-o-b,” when she looked at them swimming about.

“But what is he fishing for?” she asked. “I have never heard of a fish fishing before.”

“Why shouldn’t a fish fish, as well as a baker bake, or a tailor tail?” asked the Calf.

“But I’ve never heard of tailors tailing before,” said Girlie. “Do they?”

“Certainly they do,” said the Calf; “they _retail_ and _coat tail_, don’t they?”

“Oh yes, of course,” admitted Girlie; “but what does he fish for?” she persisted, pointing to the fish.

“Compliments,” said the Calf abruptly.

“Oh, I’ve heard of people fishing for compliments before,” thought Girlie. “Has he caught anything?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the Calf, grinning.

“What?” asked Girlie eagerly.

“Same as most folks do that go fishing—a cold,” replied the Calf.

“Oh dear! where did he catch it?” asked Girlie.

“In his head, to be sure,” said the Calf; “he is very subject to them; I think it’s being in the water so much,” he continued; “he gets _frightfully_ damp sometimes when he’s been swimming about all day. It’s a great pity, too, for he is going to lecture at Why this afternoon before the Wallypug on the ‘_Whichness of the What, as compared to the Thatness of the Thus_.’ Shall you be there?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Girlie dubiously; “I want to go to Why, though,” she said. “Can you direct me?”

“Oh yes!” replied the Calf. “Do you know anybody there?”

Girlie, thinking that Dumpsey Deazil must have gone there, nodded her head.

“Oh, don’t do _that_,” cried the Calf in a tone of alarm, while the Fish turned slowly round and stared at her again.

“What did I do?” asked Girlie.

“You _nodded your head_; it’s a very dangerous thing to do; you might turn into a _Mandarin_,” said the Calf.

“What is that?” asked Girlie, who couldn’t remember having heard the name before, though it seemed familiar too.

“Any one who cannot say ‘_no_’ is a Mandarin,” said the Calf; “the worst kind are the Chinese, who are born with a wire through their necks, so that they can only move their heads in one direction.”

“Oh, I know! You mean little figures that nod their heads when you touch them,” cried Girlie. “I remember now, I saw one in a toyshop the other day. They are made of china, aren’t they?”

“Of course,” said the Calf, “_all_ the Chinese are made of china, just as all the Japanese are japanned. There is a song about a Mandarin that ought to be a warning to people not to nod their heads. Shall I repeat it?” he asked.

“Oh yes, please,” replied Girlie.

“O-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, stop a biddit,” said the Fish, putting away his fishing-rod and wobbling awkwardly towards them. “Led be hear id, too.”

“Oh, you’ve heard it before,” said the Calf; “get on with your fishing.”

“O-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, I’ve odely heard id dide tibes,” said the Fish pleadingly.

“Very well, then, come and sit down,” said the Calf, pointing to where Girlie had settled herself on a little mound beside the road.

The Fish sat down, and, opening his mouth very widely, stared vacantly at the Calf, who repeated the following lines:—

“THE NODDING MANDARIN.

“Oh! it’s sad when you cannot say ‘no’ And your head on a pivot is fixed, If you have to _consent_ When a _negative’s_ meant, Your affairs will get hopelessly mixed.

“And that was the Mandarin’s case, Of that there can not be a doubt, She asked him to wed, And he _nodded his head_, And that’s how it all came about.

“It happened one day in the spring; As he sat ’neath his red parasol She _must_ have had cheek, Though she did look so meek _She_ was only a black rubber doll.

“I think it was dreadfully mean, For she knew that _he couldn’t refuse_, He had to say ‘yes,’ Though he rued it, I guess— Aren’t you glad that you’re not in his shoes?

“She must be a strong-minded girl, For they say she has purchased the ring, And threatens, I’ve heard, If he goes from his word, To drag him to Church with a string.

“They say she’s a terrible shrew, And will lead him a regular dance, And, although she’s so plain, She’s remarkably vain, And _will_ have her dresses from France.

“She asks him for this thing and that; No wonder the poor man is vexed; He keeps nodding his head, Although trembling with dread, For he never knows what she’ll want next.

“The only thing I can suggest, Is to ask him some day to agree To _execute_ Dinah, Or send her to China; He’s _bound to consent_, don’t you see?”

Girlie was just wondering whether she ought to clap her hands, when the Fish, who had been sitting all the while with his mouth wide open, rolled his eyes ecstatically and exclaimed in a gratified way—“O-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, o-o-o-b, thad’s very, very comfordig.”

“What do you mean?” asked Girlie.

“O-o-o-b. Well, you see, I couldn’t dod by head if I tried,” said the Fish, “so I cad dever get into the sabe buddle thad the baderid did. Besides——”

“I say,” interrupted the Calf, and speaking to Girlie, “hadn’t you better be off if you are going? or you won’t get to Why to-day, you know.”

Girlie had been so interested in hearing about the Mandarin, that she had forgotten all about wanting to go there.

“Shall you go by water?” continued the Calf.

“Is that the quickest way?” asked Girlie.

“Yes, it is,” said the Calf.

“Then I think I will,” said Girlie.

“Very well,” replied the Calf, “step in.”

“In where?” asked Girlie, puzzled to know what he meant.

“Into the _water_, of course,” said the Calf. “You said you were going by water, didn’t you?”

“But I shall get wet,” cried Girlie in alarm.

“Oh no, you won’t; this is _dry_ water,” said the Calf.

“How absurd!” said Girlie; “why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, you haven’t heard of much, then,” said the Calf. “I suppose you haven’t even heard of _dry_ champagne?”

“Oh yes, I have,” said Girlie, “and often wondered what it meant.”

“Very well, then, this is _dry water_; it’s the same sort of thing,” said the Calf. “Step in, and you will see; you needn’t be afraid; make haste.”