you know--"
"Doos oo always confuses two animals together?" Bruno asked.
"Pretty often, I'm afraid," the Professor candidly confessed.
"Now, for
instance, there's the
rabbit-hutch and the hall-clock."
The Professor
pointed them out. "One gets a little confused with
them--both having doors, you know. Now, only yesterday--would you
believe it?--I put some lettuces into the clock, and tried to wind up
the
rabbit!"
"Did the
rabbit go, after oo wounded it up?" said Bruno.
The Professor clasped his hands on the top of his head, and groaned.
"Go? I should think it did go! Why, it's gone? And where ever it's
gone to--that's what I ca'n't find out! I've done my best--I've read
all the article 'Rabbit' in the great dictionary--Come in!"
"Only the
tailor, Sir, with your little bill," said a meek voice
outside the door.
"Ah, well, I can soon settle his business," the Professor said to the
children, "if you'll just wait a minute. How much is it, this year,
my man?" The
tailor had come in while he was speaking.
"Well, it's been a doubling so many years, you see," the
tailorreplied, a little
gruffly, "and I think I'd like the money now.
It's two thousand pound, it is!"
"Oh, that's nothing!" the Professor
carelessly remarked, feeling in his
pocket, as if he always carried at least that
amount about with him.
"But wouldn't you like to wait just another year, and make it four
thousand? Just think how rich you'd be! Why, you might be a King,
if you liked!"
"I don't know as I'd care about being a King," the man said
thoughtfully. "But it; dew sound a powerful sight o' money!
Well, I think I'll wait--"
"Of course you will!" said the Professor. "There's good sense in you,
I see. Good-day to you, my man!"
"Will you ever have to pay him that four thousand pounds?" Sylvie asked
as the door closed on the departing creditor.
"Never, my child!" the Professor replied
emphatically. "He'll go on
doubling it, till he dies. You see it's always worth while waiting
another year, to get twice as much money! And now what would you like
to do, my little friends? Shall I take you to see the Other Professor?
This would be an excellent opportunity for a visit," he said to
himself, glancing at his watch: "he generally takes a short rest
--of fourteen minutes and a half--about this time."
Bruno
hastily went round to Sylvie, who was
standing at the other side
of the Professor, and put his hand into hers. "I thinks we'd like to
go," he said
doubtfully: "only please let's go all together.
It's best to be on the safe side, oo know!"
"Why, you talk as if you were Sylvie!" exclaimed the Professor.
"I know I did," Bruno replied very
humbly. "I quite forgotted I wasn't
Sylvie. Only I fought he might be rarver fierce!"
The Professor laughed a jolly laugh. "Oh, he's quite tame!" he said.
"He never bites. He's only a little--a little
dreamy, you know."
He took hold of Bruno's other hand; and led the children down a long
passage I had never noticed before--not that there was anything
remarkable in that: I was
constantly coming on new rooms and passages
in that
mysterious Palace, and very seldom succeeded in
finding the old
ones again.
Near the end of the passage the Professor stopped. "This is his room,"
he said, pointing to the solid wall.
"We ca'n't get in through there!" Bruno exclaimed.
Sylvie said nothing, till she had carefully examined whether the wall
opened
anywhere. Then she laughed
merrily. "You're playing us a
trick, you dear old thing!" she said. "There's no door here!"
"There isn't any door to the room," said the Professor.
"We shall have to climb in at the window."
So we went into the garden, and soon found the window of the Other
Professor's room. It was a ground-floor window, and stood invitingly
open: the Professor first lifted the two children in, and then he and I
climbed in after them.
[Image...The other professor]
The Other Professor was seated at a table, with a large book open
before him, on which his
forehead was resting: he had clasped his arms
round the book, and was snoring heavily. "He usually reads like that,"
the Professor remarked, "when the book's very interesting: and then
sometimes it's very difficult to get him to attend!"
This seemed to be one of the difficult times: the Professor lifted him
up, once or twice, and shook him
violently: but he always returned to
his book the moment he was let go of, and showed by his heavy breathing
that the book was as interesting as ever.
"How
dreamy he is!" the Professor exclaimed. "He must have got to a
very interesting part of the book!" And he rained quite a
shower of
thumps on the Other Professor's back, shouting "Hoy! Hoy!" all the
time. "Isn't it wonderful that he should be so
dreamy?" he said to
Bruno.
"If he's always as
sleepy as that," Bruno remarked, "a course he's
dreamy!"
"But what are we to do?" said the Professor. "You see he's quite
wrapped up in the book!"
"Suppose oo shuts the book?" Bruno suggested.
"That's it!" cried the
delighted Professor. "Of course that'll do it!"
And he shut up the book so quickly that he caught the Other Professor's
nose between the leaves, and gave it a
severe pinch.
The Other Professor
instantly rose to his feet, and carried the book
away to the end of the room, where he put it back in its place in the
book-case. "I've been
reading for eighteen hours and three-quarters,"
he said, "and now I shall rest for fourteen minutes and a half.
Is the Lecture all ready?"
"Very nearly, "the Professor
humbly replied. "I shall ask you to give
me a hint or two--there will be a few little difficulties--"
"And Banquet, I think you said?"
"Oh, yes! The Banquet comes first, of course. People never enjoy
Abstract Science, you know, when they're ravenous with hunger.
And then there's the Fancy-Dress-Ball. Oh, there'll be lots of
entertainment!"
"Where will the Ball come in?" said the Other Professor.
"I think it had better come at the
beginning of the Banquet--it brings
people together so
nicely, you know."
"Yes, that's the right order. First the Meeting: then the Eating: then
the Treating--for I'm sure any Lecture you give us will be a treat!"
said the Other Professor, who had been
standing with his back to us all
this time, occupying himself in
taking the books out, one by one, and
turning them upside-down. An easel, with a black board on it, stood
near him: and, every time that he turned a book upside-down, he made a
mark on the board with a piece of chalk.
"And as to the 'Pig-Tale'--which you have so kindly promised to give us--"
the Professor went on,
thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "I think that
had better come at the end of the Banquet: then people can listen
to it quietly."
"Shall I sing it?" the Other Professor asked, with a smile of delight.
"If you can," the Professor replied, cautiously.
"Let me try," said the Other Professor, seating himself at the pianoforte.
"For the sake of
argument, let us assume that it begins on A flat."
And he struck the note in question. "La, la, la! I think that's
within an octave of it." He struck the note again, and appealed to Bruno,
who was
standing at his side. "Did I sing it like that, my child?"
"No, oo didn't," Bruno replied with great decision. "It were more like
a duck."
"Single notes are apt to have that effect," the Other Professor said
with a sigh. "Let me try a whole verse.
There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan,
Because he could not jump.
Would you call that a tune, Professor?" he asked, when he had finished.
The Professor considered a little. "Well," he said at last, "some of
the notes are the same as others and some are different but I should
hardly call it a tune."
"Let me try it a bit by myself," said the Other Professor.
And he began
touching the notes here and there, and humming to himself
like an angry bluebottle.
"How do you like his singing?" the Professor asked the children in a
low voice.
"It isn't very beautiful," Sylvie said, hesitatingly.
"It's very
extremely" target="_blank" title="ad.极端地;非常地">
extremely ugly!" Bruno said, without any
hesitation at all.
"All
extremes are bad," the Professor said, very gravely.
"For
instance, Sobriety is a very good thing, when practised in
moderation: but even Sobriety, when carried to an
extreme,
has its disadvantages."
"What are its disadvantages?" was the question that rose in my mind--
and, as usual, Bruno asked it for me. "What are its
lizard bandages?'
"Well, this is one of them," said the Professor. "When a man's tipsy
(that's one
extreme, you know), he sees one thing as two. But, when he's
extremely" target="_blank" title="ad.极端地;非常地">
extremely sober (that's the other
extreme), he sees two things as one.
It's
equallyinconvenient,
whichever happens.
"What does 'illconvenient' mean?" Bruno whispered to Sylvie.
"The difference between 'convenient' and '
inconvenient' is best
explained by an example," said the Other Professor, who had overheard
the question. "If you'll just think over any Poem that contains the
two words--such as--"
The Professor put his hands over his ears, with a look of dismay.
"If you once let him begin a Poem," he said to Sylvie,
"he'll never leave off again! He never does!"
"Did he ever begin a Poem and not leave off again?" Sylvie enquired.
"Three times," said the Professor.
Bruno raised himself on
tiptoe, till his lips were on a level with
Sylvie's ear. "What became of them three Poems?" he whispered.
"Is he
saying them all, now?"
"Hush!" said Sylvie. "The Other Professor is speaking!"
"I'll say it very quick," murmured the Other Professor, with downcast
eyes, and
melancholy voice, which contrasted oddly with his face, as he
had forgotten to leave off smiling. ("At least it wasn't exactly a
smile," as Sylvie said afterwards: "it looked as if his mouth was made
that shape."
"Go on then," said the Professor. "What must be must be."
"Remember that!" Sylvie whispered to Bruno, "It's a very good rule for
whenever you hurt yourself."
"And it's a very good rule for
whenever I make a noise," said the saucy
little fellow. "So you remember it too, Miss!"
"Whatever do you mean?" said Sylvie,
trying to frown, a thing she never
managed particularly well.
"Oftens and oftens," said Bruno, "haven't oo told me ' There mustn't be
so much noise, Bruno!' when I've tolded oo 'There must!' Why, there
isn't no rules at all about 'There mustn't'! But oo never believes me!"
"As if any one could believe you, you
wickedwicked boy!" said Sylvie.
The words were
severe enough, but I am of opinion that, when you are
really
anxious to
impress a
criminal with a sense of his guilt, you
ought not to pronounce the
sentence with your lips quite close to his
cheek--since a kiss at the end of it, however
accidental, weakens the
effect terribly.
CHAPTER 11.
PETER AND PAUL.
"As I was
saying," the Other Professor resumed, "if you'll just think
over any Poem, that contains the words--such as
'Peter is poor,' said noble Paul,
'And I have always been his friend:
And, though my means to give are small,
At least I can afford to lend.
How few, in this cold age of greed,
Do good, except on
selfish grounds!
But I can feel for Peter's need,
And I WILL LEND HIM FIFTY POUNDS!'
How great was Peter's joy to find