“Uncle Munch,” said Diavolo one afternoon as a couple of bicyclers sped past the house at breakneck speed, “which would you rather have, a bicycle or a horse?”
“Well, I must say, my boy, that is a difficult question to answer,” Mr. Munchausen replied after scratching his head dubiously1 for a few minutes. “You might as well ask a man which he prefers, a hammock or a steam-yacht. To that question I should reply that if I wanted to sell it, I’d rather have a steam-yacht, but for a pleasant swing on a cool piazza2 in midsummer or under the apple-trees, a hammock would be far preferable. Steam-yachts are not much good to swing in under an apple tree, and very few piazzas3 that I know of are big enough—”
“Oh, now, you know what I mean, Uncle Munch,” Diavolo retorted, tapping Mr. Munchausen upon the end of his nose, for a twinkle in Mr. Munchausen’s eye seemed to indicate that he was in one of his chaffing moods, and a greater tease than Mr. Munchausen when he felt that way no one has ever known. “I mean for horse-back riding, which would you rather have?”
“Ah, that’s another matter,” returned Mr. Munchausen, calmly. “Now I know how to answer your question. For horse-back riding I certainly prefer a horse; though, on the other hand, for bicycling, bicycles are better than horses. Horses make very poor bicycles, due no doubt to the fact that they have no wheels.”
Diavolo began to grow desperate.
“Of course,” Mr. Munchausen went on, “all I have to say in this connection is based merely on my ideas, and not upon any personal experience. I’ve been horse-back riding on horses, and bicycling on bicycles, but I never went horse-back riding on a bicycle, or bicycling on horseback. I should think it might be exciting to go bicycling on horse-back, but very dangerous. It is hard enough for me to keep a bicycle from toppling over when I’m riding on a hard, straight, level well-paved road, without experimenting with my wheel on a horse’s back. However if you wish to try it some day and will get me a horse with a back as big as Trafalgar Square I’m willing to make the effort.”
Angelica giggled4. It was lots of fun for her when Mr. Munchausen teased Diavolo, though she didn’t like it quite so much when it was her turn to be treated that way. Diavolo wanted to laugh too, but he had too much dignity for that, and to conceal5 his desire to grin from Mr. Munchausen he began to hunt about for an old newspaper, or a lump of coal or something else he could make a ball of to throw at him.
“Which would you rather do, Angelica,” Mr. Munchausen resumed, “go to sea in a balloon or attend a dumb-crambo party in a chicken-coop?”
“I guess I would,” laughed Angelica.
“That’s a good answer,” Mr. Munchausen put in. “It is quite as intelligent as the one which is attributed to the Gillyhooly bird. When the Gillyhooly bird was asked his opinion of giraffes, he scratched his head for a minute and said,
“‘The question hath but little wit
That you have put to me,
But I will try to answer it
With prompt candidity.
The automobile6 is a thing
That’s pleasing to the mind;
And in a lustrous7 diamond ring
Some merit I can find.
Some persons gloat o’er French Chateaux;
Some dote on lemon ice;
While others gorge8 on mixed gateaux,
Yet have no use for mice.
I’m very fond of oyster-stew,
I love a patent-leather boot,
But after all, ’twixt me and you,
The fish-ball is my favourite fruit.’”
“Hoh” jeered9 Diavolo, who, attracted by the allusion10 to a kind of bird of which he had never heard before, had given up the quest for a paper ball and returned to Mr. Munchausen’s side, “I don’t think that was a very intelligent answer. It didn’t answer the question at all.”
“That’s true, and that is why it was intelligent,” said Mr. Munchausen. “It was noncommittal. Some day when you are older and know less than you do now, you will realise, my dear Diavolo, how valuable a thing is the reply that answereth not.”
Mr. Munchausen paused long enough to let the lesson sink in and then he resumed.
“The Gillyhooly bird is a perfect owl11 for wisdom of that sort,” he said. “It never lets anybody know what it thinks; it never makes promises, and rarely speaks except to mystify people. It probably has just as decided12 an opinion concerning giraffes as you or I have, but it never lets anybody into the secret.”
“What is a Gillyhooly bird, anyhow?” asked Diavolo.
“He’s a bird that never sings for fear of straining his voice; never flies for fear of wearying his wings; never eats for fear of spoiling his digestion13; never stands up for fear of bandying his legs and never lies down for fear of injuring his spine,” said Mr. Munchausen. “He has no feathers, because, as he says, if he had, people would pull them out to trim hats with, which would be painful, and he never goes into debt because, as he observes himself, he has no hope of paying the bill with which nature has endowed him, so why run up others?”
“I shouldn’t think he’d live long if he doesn’t eat?” suggested Angelica.
“That’s the great trouble,” said Mr. Munchausen. “He doesn’t live long. Nothing so ineffably14 wise as the Gillyhooly bird ever does live long. I don’t believe a Gillyhooly bird ever lived more than a day, and that, connected with the fact that he is very ugly and keeps himself out of sight, is possibly why no one has ever seen one. He is known only by hearsay15, and as a matter of fact, besides ourselves, I doubt if any one has ever heard of him.”
Diavolo eyed Mr. Munchausen narrowly.
“Speaking of Gillyhooly birds, however, and to be serious for a moment,” Mr. Munchausen continued flinching16 nervously17 under Diavolo’s unyielding gaze; “I never told you about the poetic18 June-bug that worked the typewriter, did I?”
“Never heard of such a thing,” cried Diavolo. “The idea of a June-bug working a typewriter.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Angelica, “he hasn’t got any fingers.”
“That shows all you know about it,” retorted Mr. Munchausen. &ldquo............