Davy and the Goblin/Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII. Sindbad the Sailor’s House. “You had no right to tell those birds my name was Gloopitch!” said Davy, angrily. “That’s the second time you’ve got it wrong.”

“Well, it’s of no consequence,” said the Hole-keeper, complacently. “I’ll make it something else the next time. I suppose you know they’ve caught Gobobbles?”

“I’m glad of it!” said Davy, heartily. “He’s worse than the Cockalorum, ten times over. What did they do with him?”

“Cooked him,” said the Hole-keeper,—“roasted him, fried him, pickled him, and boiled him.”

“Gracious!” exclaimed Davy; “I shouldn’t think he’d be good for much after all that.”

“He isn’t,” replied the Hole-keeper, calmly. “They’re going to keep him to rub out pencil-marks with.”

This was such a ridiculous idea that Davy threw back his head, and laughed long and loud.

“Do that again,” said the Hole-keeper, stopping short in his walk and gazing at him earnestly; and Davy burst into another fit of laughter.

“Do it again,” persisted the Hole-keeper, staring at him still more solemnly.

This was somewhat tiresome; and, after a rather feeble attempt at a third laugh, Davy said, “I don’t feel like it any more.”

“If I could do that,” said the Hole-keeper, earnestly, “I’d never stop. The fact is,” he continued, gravely shaking his head, “I’ve never laughed in my life. Does it hurt much?”

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” said Davy, beginning to laugh again.

“Well, there, there!” said the Hole-keeper, peevishly, resuming his walk again; “don’t keep it up forever. By the way, you’re not the postman, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” said Davy.

“I’m glad of that,” said the Hole-keeper; “postmen are always so dreadfully busy. Would you mind delivering a letter for me?” he added, lowering his voice confidentially.

“Oh, no,” answered Davy, rather reluctantly; “not if it will be in my way.”

“It’s sure to be in your way, because it’s so big,” said the Hole-keeper; and, taking the letter out of his pocket, he handed it to Davy. It certainly was a very large letter, curiously folded, like a dinner-napkin, and sealed in a great many places with red and white peppermint drops, and Davy was much pleased to see that it was addressed:—

“What does B.G. stand for?” said Davy.

“Baldergong’s Geography, of course,” said the Hole-keeper.

“But why do you put that on the letter?” inquired Davy.

“Because you can’t find Jeran Feranderperandamam anywhere else, stupid,” said the Hole-keeper, impatiently. “But I can’t stop to argue about it now;” and, saying this, he turned into a side path, and disappeared in the wood.

As Davy walked mournfully along, turning the big letter over and over in his hands, and feeling very confused by the Hole-keeper’s last remark, he presently saw, lying on the walk before him, a small book, beautifully bound in crimson morocco, and, picking it up, he saw that it was marked on the cover:—

“Perhaps this will tell me where to go,” he thought as he opened it; but it proved to be far more confusing than the Hole-keeper himself had been. In fact it was altogether the most ridiculous and provoking book Davy had ever seen.

The first page was headed, in large capital letters:—

And it seemed to Davy that this ought to be something about cooking sausages; but all he found below the heading was:—

Never frill ’em: snuggle ’em always.

And this seemed so perfectly silly that he merely said, “Oh, bosh!” and turned impatiently to the next page. This, however, was no better. The heading was:—

And under this was—

One way:— Frumple your crumbles with rumbles.

The other way:— Frumple your crumbles: then add two grumbles of tumbles and stir rapidly.

Davy read this over two or three times, in the greatest perplexity, and then gave it up in despair.

“It’s nothing at all except a jumbly way of cooking something tumbly,” he said to himself, and then turned sadly to the third page. Alas! this was a great deal worse, being headed:—

and poor Davy began to feel as if he were taking leave of his senses. He was just about to throw the book down in disgust, when it was suddenly snatched out of his hands; and, turning hastily, he saw a savage glaring at him from the bushes.

Now Davy knew perfectly well, as all little boys should know, that when you meet a savage in the woods you must get behind a tree as quickly as possible; but he did this in such haste that he found, to his dismay, that he and the savage had chosen the same tree, and in the next instant the savage was after him. The tree was a very large one, and Davy, in his fright, went around it a number of times, so rapidly that he presently caught sight of the back of the savage, and he was surprised to see that he was no bigger than a large monkey; and, moreover, that he was gorgeously dressed, in a beautiful blue coat, with brass buttons on the tail of it, and pink striped trousers. He had hardly made this discovery when the savage vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, and the next moment Davy came suddenly upon a high paling of logs, that began at the tree and extended in a straight line far out into the forest.

It was very puzzling to Davy when it occurred to him that, although he had been around the tree at least a dozen times, he had never seen this paling before, and a door that was in it also bothered him; for, though it was quite an ordinary-looking door, it had no knob nor latch, nor, indeed, any way of being opened that he could perceive. On one side of it, in the paling, was a row of bell-pulls, marked:— and on the door itself was a large knocker, marked:—

After examining all these Davy decided that, as he had a letter in charge, he was more of a postman than anything else, and he therefore raised the knocker and rapped loudly. Immediately all the bell-pulls began flying in and out of their own accord, with a deafening clangor of bells behind the paling; and then the door swung slowly back upon its hinges.

Davy walked through the door-way and found himself in the oddest-looking little country place that could possibly be imagined. There was a little lawn laid out, on which a sort of soft fur was growing instead of grass, and here and there about the lawn, in the place of flower-beds, little footstools, neatly covered with carpet, were growing out of the fur. The trees were simply large feather-dusters, with varnished handles; but they seemed, nevertheless, to be growing in a very thriving manner, and on a little mound at the back of the lawn stood a small house, built entirely of big conch-shells, with their pink mouths turned outward. This gave the house a very cheerful appearance, as if it were constantly on a broad grin.

To Davy’s dismay, however, the savage was sitting in the shade of one of the dusters, complacently reading the little red book, and he was just wondering whether or not he would be able to get out of the place without being seen, when the little creature looked up at him with a tremendous smile on his face, and Davy saw, to his astonishment, that he was the Goblin, dressed up like an Ethiopian serenader.

The savage was sitting in the shade of one of the dusters.

“Oh! you dear, delicious old Goblin!” cried Davy, in an ecstasy of joy at again finding his travelling-companion. “And were you the savage that was chasing me just now?”

The Goblin nodded his head, and, exclaiming “My, how you did cut and run!” rolled over and over, kicking his heels about in a delirium of enjoyment.

“Goblin,” said Davy, gravely, “I think we could have just as good a time without any such doings as that.”

“I couldn’t,” said the Goblin, sitting up again and speaking very positively; “it’s about all the fun I have.”

“Well, then,” said Davy, “I wish you wouldn’t be disappearing all the time. I think that is a very disagreeable habit.”

“Rubbish!” said the Goblin, with a chuckle. “That’s only my way of getting a vacation.”

“And where do you go?” inquired Davy; but this proved to be a very unfortunate question, for the Goblin immediately began fading away in such an alarming manner that he would certainly have gone entirely out of sight if Davy had not caught him by the coat-collar and pulled him into view again with a gentle shake.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” said Davy, who was greatly alarmed by this narrow escape. “I really don’t care to know about that; I only want to know what place this is.”

The Goblin stared about him in a dazed manner for a moment, and then said, “Sindbad the Sailor’s house.”

“Really and truly?” said the delighted Davy.

“Really and treally truly,” said the Goblin. “And here he comes now!”

Davy looked around and saw an old man coming toward them across the lawn. He was dressed in a Turkish costume, and wore a large turban and red morocco slippers turned up at the toes like skates; and his white beard was so long that at every fourth step he trod upon it and fell flat on his face. He took no notice whatever of either Davy or the Goblin, and, after falling down a number of times, took his seat upon one of the little carpet footstools, and taking off his turban began stirring about in it with a large wooden spoon. As he took off his turban Davy saw that his head, which was perfectly bald, was neatly laid out in black and white squares like a chess-board.

“This here Turk is the most reckless old story-teller that ever was born,” said the Goblin, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at Sindbad. “You can’t believe half he tells you.”

“I’d like to hear one of his stories, for all that,” said Davy.

“All right!” said the Goblin, promptly; “just come along with me, and he’ll give us a whopper.”

As they started off to join Sindbad, Davy was much surprised to see that the Goblin was much taller than he had been; in fact, he was now almost up to Davy’s shoulder.

“Why, I verily believe you’ve been growing!” exclaimed Davy, staring at him in amazement.

“I have,” said the Goblin, calmly. “But I only did it to fit these clothes. It’s much handier, you see, than having a suit made to order.”

“But, suppose the clothes had been too small?” argued Davy.

“Then I’d have grown the other way,” replied the Goblin, with an immense smile. “It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me which way I grow. Anything to be comfortable is my rule;” and as he said this they came to where Sindbad was sitting, busily stirring with his great spoon.

As Davy and the Goblin sat down beside him, Sindbad hastily put on his turban, and, after scowling at Davy for a moment, said to the Goblin, “It’s no use telling him anything; he’s as deaf as a trunk.”

“Then tell it to me,” said the Goblin, with great presence of mind.

“All right,” said Sindbad, “I’ll give you a nautical one.”

Here he rose for a moment, hitched up his big trousers like a sailor, cocked his turban on one side of his head, and, sitting down again, began:—

 He played hop-scotch with the starboard watch.

A capital ship for an ocean trip

Was “The Walloping Window-blind;”

No gale that blew dismayed her crew

Or troubled the captain’s mind.

The man at the wheel was taught to feel

Contempt for the wildest blow,

And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,

That he’d been in his bunk below.

The boatswain’s mate was very sedate,

Yet fond of amusement, too;

And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch

While the captain tickled the crew.

And the gunner we had was apparently mad,

For he sat on the after-rail,

And fired salutes with the captain’s boots,

In the teeth of the booming gale.

The captain sat in a commodore’s hat,

And dined, in a royal way,

On toasted pigs and pickles and figs

And gummery bread, each day.

But the cook was Dutch, and behaved as such;

For the food that he gave the crew

Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns,

Chopped up with sugar and glue.

And we all felt ill as mariners will,

On a diet that’s cheap and rude;

And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook

In a tub of his gluesome food.

Then nautical pride we laid aside,

And we cast the vessel ashore

On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,

And the Anagazanders roar.

Composed of sand was that favored land,

And trimmed with cinnamon straws;

And pink and blue was the pleasing hue

Of the Tickletoeteaser’s claws.

And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge

And shot at the whistling bee;

And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats

As they danced in the sounding sea.

On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark,

We fed, till we all had grown

Uncommonly shrunk,—when a Chinese junk

Came by from the torriby zone.

She was stubby and square, but we didn’t much care,

And we cheerily put to sea;

And we left the crew of the junk to chew

The bark of the rubagub tree.

Here Sindbad stopped, and gazed solemnly at Davy and the Goblin.

“If you please, sir,” said Davy, respectfully, “what is gummery bread?”

“It’s bread stuffed with molasses,” said Sindbad; “but I never saw it anywhere except aboard of ‘The Prodigal Pig.’”

“But,” said Davy, in great surprise, “you said the name of your ship was”—

“So I did, and so it was,” interrupted Sindbad, testily. “The name of a ship sticks to it like wax to a wig. You can’t change it.”

“Who gave it that name?” said the Goblin.

“What name?” said Sindbad, looking very much astonished.

“Why, ‘The Cantering Soup-tureen,’“ said the Goblin, winking at Davy.

“Oh, that name,” said Sindbad,—“that was given to her by the Alamagoozelum of Popjaw. But speaking of soup-tureens, let’s go and have some pie;” and, rising to his feet, he gave one hand to Davy and the other to the Goblin, and they all walked off in a row toward the little shell house. This, however, proved to be a very troublesome arrangement, for Sindbad was constantly stepping on his long beard and falling down; and as he kept a firm hold of his companions’ hands they all went down in a heap together a great many times. At last Sindbad’s turban fell off, and as he sat up on the grass, and began stirring in it again with his wooden spoon, Davy saw that it was full of broken chessmen.

He gave one hand to Davy and the other to the goblin.

“It’s a great improvement, isn’t it?” said Sindbad.

“What is?” said Davy, very much puzzled.

“Why, this way of playing the game,” said Sindbad, looking up at him complacently. “You see, you make all the moves at once.”

“It must be a very easy way,” said Davy.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Sindbad, sharply. “There are more moves in one of my games than in twenty ordinary games;” and here he stirred up the chessmen furiously for a moment, and then triumphantly calling out “Check!” clapped the turban on his head.

As they set out again for the little house Davy saw that it was slowly moving around the edge of the lawn, as if it were on a circular railway, and Sindbad followed it around, dragging Davy and the Goblin with him, but never getting any nearer to the house.

“Don’t you think,” said Davy, after a while, “that it would be a good plan to stand still and wait until the house came around to us?”

“Here, drop that!” exclaimed Sindbad, excitedly; “that’s my idea. I was just about proposing it myself.”

“So was I,” said the Goblin to Sindbad. “Just leave my ideas alone, will you?”

“Your ideas!” retorted Sindbad, scornfully. “I didn’t know you’d brought any with you.”

“I had to,” replied the Goblin, with great contempt, “otherwise there wouldn’t have been any on the premises.”

“Oh! come, I say!” cried Sindbad; “that’s my sneer, you know. Don’t go to putting the point of it the wrong way.”

“Take it back, if it’s the only one you have,” retorted the Goblin, with another wink at Davy.

“Thank you, I believe I will,” replied Sindbad, meekly; and, as the little house came along just then, they all stepped in at the door as it went by. As they did so, to Davy’s amazement, Sindbad and the Goblin quietly vanished, and Davy, instead of being inside the house, found himself standing in a dusty road, quite alone.