"I haven't got one," said the Unwiseman. "I really don't need it, because I don't think I'll go to bed all the way across. I want to sit up and see the scenery. When you've only got a short time on the water and aren't likely to make a habit of crossing the ocean it's too bad to miss any of it, so I didn't take a room."
"I don't think there's much scenery to be seen on the ocean," suggested Mollie. "It's just plain water all the way over."
"O I don't think so," replied the Unwiseman. "I imagine from that story about Billy the Rover there's a lot of it. There's the Spanish main for instance. I want to keep a sharp look out for that and see how it differs from Bangor, Maine. Then once in a while you run across a latitude and a longitude. I've never seen either of those and I'm sort of interested to see what they look like. All I know about 'em is that one of 'em goes up and down and the other goes over and back I don't exactly know how, but that's the way it is and I'm here to learn. I should feel very badly if we happened to pass either of 'em while I was asleep."
"Naturally," said Mollie.
"Then somewhere out here they've got a thing they call a horrizon, or a horizon, or something like that," continued the Unwiseman. "I've asked one of the sailors to point it out to me when we come to it, and he said he would. Funny thing about it though he said he'd sailed the ocean for forty-seven years and had never got close enough to it to touch it. 'Must be quite a sight close to,' I said, and he said that all the horrizons he ever saw was from ten to forty miles off. There's a place out here too where the waves are ninety feet high; and then there's the Fishin' Banks do you know I never knew banks ever went fishin', did you? Must be a funny sight to see a lot o' banks out fishin'. What State-room are you in, Mollie?"
"We've got sixty-nine," said Mollie.
"Sixty-nine," demanded the Unwiseman. "What's that mean?"
"Why it's the number of my room," explained Mollie.
"O," said the Unwiseman scratching his head in a puzzled sort of way. "Then you haven't got a State-room?"
"Yes," said Mollie. "It's a State-room."
"I don't quite see," said the Unwiseman, gazing up into the air. "If it's a State-room why don't they call it New Jersey, or Kansas, or Mitchigan, or some other State? Seems to me a State-room ought to be a State-room."
"I guess maybe there's more rooms on board than there are States," suggested Whistlebinkie. "There ain't more than sixty States, are there, Mollie?"
"There's only forty-six," said Mollie.
"Ah then that accounts for number sixty-nine," observed the Unwiseman. "They're just keeping a lot of rooms numbered until there's enough States to go around."
"I hope we get over all right," put in Whistlebinkie, who wasn't very brave.
"O I guess we will," said the Unwiseman, cheerfully. "I was speaking to that sailor on that very point this morning, and he said the chances were that we'd go through all right unless we lost one of the screws."
"Screws?" inquired Whistlebinkie.
"Yes it don't sound possible, but this ship is pushed through the water by a couple of screws fastened in back there at the stern. It's the screws sterning that makes the boat go," the Unwiseman remarked with all the pride of one who really knows what he is talking about. "Of course if one of 'em came unfastened and fell off we wouldn't go so fast and if both of 'em fell off we wouldn't go at all, until we got the sails up and the wind came along and blew us into port."
"Well I never!" said Whistlebinkie.
"O I knew that before I came aboard," said the Unwiseman, sagely. "So I brought a half dozen screws along with me. There they are."
And the old gentleman plunged his hand into his pocket and produced six bright new shining screws.
"You see I'm ready for anything," he observed. "I think every passenger who takes one of these screwpeller boats that's what they call 'em, screwpellers ought to come prepared to furnish any number of screws in case anything happens. I'm not going to tell anybody I've got 'em though. I'm just holding these back until the Captain tells us the screws are gone, and then I'll offer mine."
"And suppose yours are lost too, and there ain't any wind for the sails?" demanded Whistlebinkie.
"I've got a pair o' bellows down in my box," said the Unwiseman gleefully. "We can sit right behind the sails and blow the whole business right in the teeth of a dead clam."
"Dead what?" roared Mollie.
"A dead clam," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't found out why they call it a dead clam unless it's because it's so still but that's the way we sailors refer to a time at sea when there isn't a handful o' wind in sight and the ocean is so smooth that even the billows are afraid to roll in it for fear they'd roll off."
"We sailors!" ejaculated Whistlebinkie, scornfully under his breath. "Hoh!"
"Well you certainly are pretty well prepared for whatever happens, aren't you, Mr. Unwiseman," said Mollie admiringly.
"I like to think so," said the old gentleman. "There's only one thing I've overlooked," he added.
"Wass-that?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"I have most unaccountably forgotten to bring my skates along, and I'm sure I don't know what would happen to me without 'em if by some mischance we ran into an iceberg and I was left aboard of it when the steamer backed away," the Unwiseman remarked.
Here the deck steward came along with a trayful of steaming cups of chicken broth.
"Broth, ma'am," he said politely to Mollie.
"Thank you," said Mollie. "I think I will."
Whistlebinkie and the Unwiseman also helped themselves, and a few minutes later the Unwiseman disappeared bearing his cup in his hand. It was three hours after this that Mollie again encountered him, sitting down near the stern of the vessel, a doleful look upon his face, and the cup of chicken broth untasted and cold in his hands.
"What's the matter, dearie?" the little girl asked.
"O nothing," he said, "only I I've been trying for the past three hours to find out how to tie a sinker to this soup and it regularly stumps me. I can tie it to the cup, but whether it's the motion of the ship or something else, I don't know what, I can't think of swallowing that without feeling queer here."
And the poor old gentleman rubbed his stomach and looked forlornly out to sea.
III
AT SEA
It was all of three days later before the little party of travellers met again on deck. I never inquired very closely into the matter but from what I know of the first thousand miles of the ocean between New York and Liverpool I fancy Mollie and Whistlebinkie took very little interest in anybody but themselves until they had got over that somewhat uneven stretch of water. The ocean is more than humpy from Nantucket Light on and travelling over it is more or less like having to slide over eight or nine hundred miles of scenic railroads, or bumping the bumps, not for three seconds, but for as many successive days, a proceeding which interferes seriously with one's appetite and gives one an inclination to lie down in a comfortable berth rather than to walk vigorously up and down on deck though if you can do the latter it is the very best thing in the world to do. As for the Unwiseman all I know about him during that period is that he finally gave up his problem of how to tie a sinker to a half-pint of chicken broth, and diving head first into the ventilator through which he had made his first appearance on deck, disappeared from sight. On the morning of the fourth day however he flashed excitedly along the deck past where Mollie and Whistlebinkie having gained courage to venture up into Mollie's steamer chair were sitting, loudly calling for the Captain.
"Hi-hullo!" called Mollie, as the old gentleman rushed by. "Mr. Me!" Mr. Me it will be remembered by his friends was the name the Unwiseman had had printed on his visiting cards. "Mister Me come here!"
The Unwiseman paused for a moment.
"I'm looking for the Captain," he called back. "I find I forgot to tell the burgular who's rented my house that he mustn't steal my kitchen stove until I get back, and I want the Captain to turn around and go back for a few minutes so that I can send him word."
"He wouldn't do that, Mr. Me," said Mollie.
"Then let him set me on shore somewhere where I can walk back," said the Unwiseman. "It would be perfectly terrible if that burgular stole my kitchen stove. I'd have to eat all my bananas and eclairs raw, and besides I use that stove to keep the house cool in summer."
"There isn't any shore out here to put you on," said Mollie.
"Where's your bottle of native land?" jeered Whistlebinkie. "You might walk home on that."
"Hush, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie. "Don't make him angry."
"Well," said the Unwiseman ruefully. "I'm sure I don't know what to do about it. It is the only kitchen stove I've got, and it's taken me ten years to break it in. It would be very unfortunate just as I've got the stove to do its work exactly as I want it done to go and lose it."
"Why don't you send a wireless message?" suggested Mollie. "They've got an office on board, and you can telegraph to him."
"First rate," said the old man. "I'd forgotten that." And the Unwiseman sat down and wrote the following dispatch:
Dear Mr. Burgular:
Please do not steal my kitchen stove. If you need a stove steal something else like the telephone book or that empty bottle of Woostershire Sauce standing on the parlor mantel-piece with the daisy in it, and sell them to buy a new stove with the money. I've had that stove for ten years and it has only just learned how to cook and it would be very annoying to me to have to get a new one and have to teach it how I like my potatoes done. You know the one I mean. It's the only stove in the house, so you can't get it mixed up with any other. If you do I shall persecute you to the full extent of the law and have you arrested for petty parsimony when I get back. If you find yourself strongly tempted to steal it the best thing to do is to keep it red hot with a rousing fire on its insides so that it will be easier for you to keep your hands off.
Yours trooly,The Unwiseman.P.S. Take the poker if you want to but leave the stove. It's a wooden poker and not much good anyhow.
Yours trooly,The Unwiseman."There!" he said as he finished writing out the message. "I guess that'll fix it all right."
"It-tortoo," whistled Whistlebinkie through the top of his hat.
"What?" said Mollie, severely.
"It-ought-to-fix-it," repeated Whistlebinkie.
And the Unwiseman ran up the deck to the wireless telegraph office. In a moment he returned, his face full of joy.
"I guess I got the best of 'em that time!" he chortled gleefully. "What do you suppose Mollie? They actually wanted me to pay twenty-one dollars and sixty cents for that telegram. The very idea!"
"Phe-ee-ew!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Very far from few," retorted the Unwiseman. "It was many rather than few and I told the man so. 'I can buy five new kitchen stoves for that amount of money,' said I. 'I can't help that,' said the man. 'I guess you can't,' said I. 'If you could the price o' kitchen stoves would go up'."
"What did you do?" asked Mollie.
"I told him I was just as wireless as he was, and I tossed my message up in the air and last time I saw it it was flying back to New York as tight as it could go," said the Unwiseman. "I guess I can send a message without wires as well as anybody else. It's a great load off my mind to have it fixed, I can tell you," he added.
"What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last, Mr. Me?" asked Mollie, as her old friend seated himself on the foot-rest of her steamer chair.
"O I've managed to keep busy," said the Unwiseman, gazing off at the rolling waves.
Whistlebinkie laughed.
"See-zick?" he whistled.
"What me?" asked the Unwiseman. "Of course not we sailors don't get sea-sick like land-lubbers. No, sirree. I've been a little miserable due to my having eaten something that didn't agree with me I very foolishly ate a piece of mince pie about five years ago but except for that I've been feeling first rate. For the most part I've been watching the screw driver they've got a big steam screw driver down-stairs in the cellar that keeps the screws to their work, and I got so interested watching it I've forgotten all about meals and things like that."
"Have you seen horrizon yet?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"Yes," returned the Unwiseman gloomily. "It's about the stupidest thing you ever saw. See that long line over there where the sky comes down and touches the water?"
"Yep," said Whistlebinkie.
"Well that's what they call the horrizon," said the Unwiseman contemptuously. "It's nothin' but a big circle runnin' round and round the scenery, day and night, now and forever. It won't go near anybody and it won't let anybody go near it. I guess it's just about the most unsociable fish that ever swam the sea. Speakin' about fish, what do you say to trollin' for a whale this afternoon?"
"That would be fine!" cried Mollie. "Have you any tackle?"
"Oh my yes," replied the Unwiseman. "I've got a half a mile o' trout line, a minnow hook and a plate full o' vermicelli."
"Vermicelli?" demanded Mollie.
"Yes don't you know what Vermicelli is? It's sort of baby macaroni," explained the Unwiseman.
"What good is it for fishing?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"I don't know yet," said the Unwiseman "but between you and me I don't believe if you baited a hook with it any ordinary fish who'd left his eyeglasses on the mantel-piece at home could tell it from a worm. I neglected to bring any worms along in my native land bottle, and I've searched the ship high and low without finding a place where I could dig for 'em, so I borrowed the vermicelli from the cook instead."
"Does-swales-like-woyms?" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"I don't know anything about swales," said the Unwiseman.
"I meant-twales," said Whistlebinkie.
"Never heard of a twale neither," retorted the Unwiseman. "Just what sort of a rubber fish is a twale?"
"He means whales," Mollie explained.
"Why don't he say what he means then?" said the Unwiseman scornfully. "I never knew such a feller for twisted talk. He ties a word up into a double bow knot and expects everybody to know what he means right off the handle. I don't know whether whales like vermicelli or not. Seems to me though that a fish that could bite at a disagreeable customer like Jonah would eat anything whether it was vermicelli or just plain catterpiller."
"Well even if they did you couldn't pull 'em aboard with a trout line anyhow," snapped Whistlebinkie. "Whales is too heavy for that."
"Who wants to pull 'em aboard, Smarty?" retorted the Unwiseman. "I leave it to Mollie if I ever said I wanted to pull 'em aboard. Quite the contrary opposite. I'd rather not pull a whale on board this boat and have him flopping around all over the deck, smashing chairs and windows, and knockin' people overboard with his tail, and spouting water all over us like that busted fire-hose the firemen turned on me when I thought I'd caught fire from my pipe."
"You did say you'd take us fishing for whales, Mr. Me," Mollie put in timidly.
"That's a very different thing," protested the Unwiseman. "Fishin' for whales is a nice gentle sport as long as you don't catch any. But of course if you're going to take his side against me, why you needn't go."