Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Part 6

He had lain in his little bed barely more than an hour, when from outside the window there came a whisper:--"Hi, there, Jimmieboy!"

Jimmieboy got up on his elbow to listen, but just then the door opened and Dr. Pump, accompanied by the landlord, walked in. So he lay back and the words at the window were not repeated.

Dr. Pump walked to the side of Jimmieboy's cot.

"Well, young man," said he, "what do you think of air pies up here, now?"

"They're bully," said Jimmieboy, weakly, and resolved to give in.

"H'm," said Dr. Pump. "Bad case, this. I can't say whether of insanity or compulsion. There's only one course. We'll order a pie. If he's insane he'll eat it. If he is acting under compulsion"----

"I won't eat it," roared Jimmieboy, springing up from his pillow. "I won't; I won't; I won't. I'll take cod liver oil on my strawberries first!"

His was evidently an awful case, for immediately Dr. Pump, the nurse and the landlord and every patient in the place fled from the room, shrieking with terror.

"Good for you! You've scared them silly," whispered the voice at the window. "Now, Jimmieboy, hurry. Jump out. I'll catch you and we'll be off. Be quick, for they'll be back in a moment. Jump!"

"Who are you?" cried Jimmieboy, for he was still the same cautious little traveller.

"Bikey! I only went back on you to help you!" he said. "Jump!"

And then the door opened again, and the landlord and Dr. Pump and the nurses and all the patients and a platoon of policemen crashed into the room.

"Catch him, quick!" cried the landlord. But Jimmieboy had already jumped, landing upon the friendly saddle of Bikey. In an instant he found himself speeding away through s.p.a.ce.

"Are we still on Saturn?" he gasped.

"Not we!" cried Bikey. "That place is too hot for us. We're not on anything. I'm simply tumbling through the clouds and whirring my wheels for fun. I like to see the wheels go round. Don't bother. We'll land somewhere."

"But," cried Jimmieboy, "where?"

And then there was a crash. Bikey made no reply, but----

"Here," said a well known and affectionate voice.

"Where's here?" asked Jimmieboy, faintly, opening his eyes and gazing up into a very familiar face.

"You interrupted me, my son," remarked the owner of the familiar face.

"I was about to say, 'Here now, Jimmieboy, this business of falling out of bed has got to stop.' This is the fifth time in two weeks that I have had to restore you to your comfortable couch. Where have you been this time?"

"Off with Bikey," murmured Jimmieboy, rubbing his eyes and gazing about his nursery.

"Nonsense," said his daddy, the owner of the familiar voice. "With Bikey? Why Bikey has been in the laundry all night." Which fact Bikey never denied, but nowadays when the incident is mentioned he agitates his cyclometer violently, and shakes all over as if he thought it was a good joke on somebody.

In all of which I am inclined to agree with him.

THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE

I

_JIMMIEBOY MAKES HIS ACQUAINTANCE_

The telephone was ringing, of that there was no doubt, and yet no one went to see what was wanted, which was rather strange. The cook had a great way of rus.h.i.+ng up from the kitchen to where the 'phone stood in the back hall whenever she heard its sounding bells, because a great many of her friends were in the habit of communicating with her over the wire, and she didn't like to lose the opportunity to hear all that was going on in the neighborhood. And then, too, Jimmieboy's papa was at work in the library not twenty feet away, and surely one would hardly suppose that he would let it ring as often as Jimmieboy had heard it this time--I think there were as many as six distinct rings--without going to ask the person at the other end what on earth he was making all that noise about. So it was altogether queer that after sounding six times the bell should fail to summon any one to see what was wanted.

Finally it rang loud and strong for a seventh time, and, although he wasn't exactly sure about it, Jimmieboy thought he heard a whisper repeated over and over again, which said, "Hullo, Jimmieboy! Jimmieboy, Hullo! Come to the telephone a moment, for I want to speak to you."

Whether there really was any such whisper as that or not, Jimmieboy did not delay an instant in rus.h.i.+ng out into the back hall and climbing upon a chair that stood there to answer whoever it was that was so anxious to speak to somebody.

"Hullo, you!" he said, as he got his little mouth over the receiver.

"Hullo!" came the whisper he thought he had heard before. "Is that you Jimmieboy?"

"Yes. It's me," returned Jimmieboy. "Who are you?"

"I'm me, too," answered the whisper with a chuckle. "Some people call me h.e.l.lo Hithere Wh.o.a.reyou, but my real name is Impy. I am the Imp of the Telephone, and I live up here in this little box right over where your mouth is."

"Dear me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jimmieboy in pleased surprise. "I didn't know anybody ever lived in that funny little closet, though I had noticed it had a door with a key-hole in it."

"Yes, I can see you now through the key-hole, but you can't see me,"

said the Imp, "and I'm real sorry you can't, for I am ever so pretty. I have beautiful mauve-colored eyes with eyelashes of pink, long and fine as silk. My eyebrows are sort of green like the lawn gets after a sun shower in the late spring. My hair, which is hardly thicker than the fuzzy down or the downy fuzz--as you prefer it--of a peach, is colored like the lilac, and my clothes are a bright red, and I have a pair of gossamer wings to fly with."

"Isn't there any chance of my ever seeing you?" asked Jimmieboy.

"Why, of course," said the Imp. "Just the best chance in all the world.

Do you remember the little key your papa uses to lock his new cigar box with?"

"The little silver key he carries on the end of his watch chain?"

queried Jimmieboy eagerly.

"The very same," said the Imp. "That key is the only key in this house that will fit this lock. If you can get it and will open the door you can see me, and if you will eat a small apple I give you when we do meet, you will smallen up until you are big enough to get into my room here and see what a wonderful place it is. Do you think you can get the key?"

"I don't know," Jimmieboy answered. "I've asked papa to let me have it several times already, but he has always said no."

"It looks hopeless, doesn't it?" returned the Imp. "But I'll tell you how I used to do with my dear old father when he wouldn't let me have things I wanted. I'd just ask him the same old question over and over again in thirteen different ways, and if I didn't get a yes in answer to one of 'em, why, I'd know it was useless; but the thirteenth generally brought me the answer I wanted."

"I suppose that would be a good way," said Jimmieboy, "but I really don't see how I could ask for the key in thirteen different ways."

"You don't, eh?" said the Imp, in a tone of disappointment. "Well, I am surprised. You are the first little boy I have had anything to do with who couldn't ask for a thing, no matter what it was, in thirteen different ways. Why, it's as easy as falling up stairs."

"Tell me a few ways," suggested Jimmieboy.