Chapter IV: Part 4

“And I’ve lost a ‘second’; I’ve lost the ‘second week,’” said the little boy. “There’s not much left; I’ve lost ‘time,’ and let me see—yes, I ought to have a ‘flogging.’”

“Perhaps you will be able to find your treasures,” said the little man, “if you will go back over the road again; your antique and your week and your second; as for the flogging, I suppose I _could_ accommodate you with that if you really feel so—”

“You needn’t trouble,” said the little boy. “What is your name?”

“Say it.”

“I don’t know it,” said the little boy.

“Every one knows it,” roared the little man.

“_I_ am not every one,” shouted the little boy.

“I will tell you before you can say it,” yelled the little man.

“I suppose you will,” said the little boy, “for I don’t know it.”

“You must learn to say it quick,” said the little man. “It’s Jack Robinson; you’ve heard of me, I guess. People do things faster than they can say my name, you know.”

The little boy studied him very carefully, and then said,

“Are you any relation to Boo?”

“He’s my brother. Listen.

“No matter what the thing may be
That you have planned to do,
You’ll do it quicker if you say,
‘Jack Robinson’—or ‘Boo’!”

“I’ve often heard of doing things quicker than one can say Boo,” said the little boy, “and I think I’ve heard of you too,—but more especially of your brother.”

“He’s home—sick,” said the little man, who talked very rapidly.

“Oh, that is too bad! What is the matter with him?”

“He was struck—struck with a thought. He was coming through Calendar Row and it struck him in the brain. He fainted before he could say his own name.”

“He is not in any danger, is he?” asked the little boy, seriously.

“Well, that’s hard to say,” answered Jack Robinson. “They can’t seem to get the thought out of his brain; it stayed there, you know. And then he’s so impatient—expects to get well quicker than he can say his name.”

The little boy took several stimulating whiffs of the magical air, for he was becoming a little puzzled.

“Do either you or your brother know the famous Duke Procrastinate?”

“No, he has no use for us—says our names are too short, especially my brother’s; he never used our names. I’m on my way to the palace now to see if the King wants me. He might want to go after the Duke quicker than he could say ‘Jack Robinson,’ you know, and he’d like to have me on the spot. I always encourage haste, you know. Ha, ha, ha!”

“I guess your brother is better for making people act quickly than you are; he has such a _very_ short name,” said the little boy.

“Yes, he had it made to order—it just suits the purpose. He wanted one that could be said quickly, and that had a nice, soft sound. So he offered a prize for the best suggestion and the Duke of Limabean sent in ‘Boo,’ and my brother accepted it before he could say it; he didn’t know what it was until afterwards.”

“Is the Duke of Limabean an hour?”

“Well, not exactly, he’s an association of hours, you know; he’s a day. All the hours from one day got together and said, ‘Let’s organize and _be_ somebody.’ So they did, and he’s the result.”

“Why do they call him the Duke of Limabean?”

“Because he stalks about so. Did you see the Queen?”

“No,” said the little boy.

“She’s ill, you know,” ran on the little man.

“Seriously ill?”

“Well, rather—yes. She was standing on ceremonies, fell off, and broke her word and one of her resolutions.”

“Her word?” said the little boy. “Could one do that by falling?”

“Well, that would depend on how one fell and what one fell into.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the little boy, thoughtfully. “What did the queen fall into?”

“She fell into a deep sleep; a hundred yards deep, I think it was, and when they fished her out, her word was broken. They said she would have fallen right to the bottom, but she reached a conclusion about half way down and clung to it. When they got her out, she let the resolution go, but kept her broken word.”

“Kept her word after she broke it? Wasn’t it droll about her breaking her word that way—just a little odd?”

“No,” said the little man, rapidly. “Didn’t _you_ drop some words? Of course, you did, and some of them may be broken. I must be off now. Good-bye.” And he was gone before the little boy could say Jack Robinson.

“Do you know who he reminds me of?” said the little boy to himself. He asked the question several times without receiving an answer (he was still a little dizzy from his run), and then realizing how impolite it was not to reply to a perfectly civil question, he said,

“No, who does he remind you of?”

“Why, he reminds me just a little of Mr. Three O’clock,” he answered. And then recollecting his errand he walked quickly out of the great gateway of the Palace Park, saying Jack Robinson and Boo as he ran along in order to encourage himself to speed as rapidly as possible.

THE MIGHTY DUKE PROCRASTINATE

Through the beautiful, yellow, custard streets,
On the edge of the pie-crusts, brown,
The little boy made his lonely way
From the palace of the Crown,
Till he came to a tower, tall and grim
On the outskirts of the town.

And he sat on a rock to rest a while,
And he noted the tower’s height,
When, near its summit, he plainly saw
A spot that was large and bright,
Like a target fixed to the shiny wall,
Or a window, round and white.

“Now I wonder what,” said the little boy,
“This curious tower is for;
It must be used to protect the town
In case of a sudden war,
And perhaps it is filled with soldier hours
Of the Land of Tockerlore.

“Yes, I know it is, for I hear a sound
From that towering wall so thick,
As if they were drilling in it now,
And all of them marching quick;
Yes, I’m sure that it’s full of soldier hours,
For _now_ I can hear them tick!”

And his eyes turned back to the threatened town,
Which he’d promised to help defend,
And he said, “I really, truly wish
That this war was at an end,
For I’m very lonely in Tockerlore
And I haven’t got a friend.

“I was fond of that Continental Imp,
Except for his terrible boast,
And I liked that little Three O’clock,
But the one I liked the most—
And I only wish I could see him now—
Was my special friend, the host.”

But he bent his steps o’er the winding road
And farther and farther away
Along the path of the Wollerp’s neck,
Till he saw with great dismay
The actual camp of the dawdling Duke
And his indolent array.

It was pitched in a most delightful nook,
As the little boy might have guessed,
With modern improvements all about,
And you simply can’t suggest
A convenience the Duke had not secured,
Conducive to perfect rest!

For beneath the spreading and graceful trees
He could see, through the soft, gray air,
A number of rockers strewn about
With a hammock here and there,
And the indolent Duke, himself, reposed
In a gorgeous Morris chair.

And up from the midst of this pleasing camp
Rose a pole with a hanging rag
On which were the words, “More haste—less speed;”
’Twas Procrastination’s flag;
And it gave no heed to the cheering breeze,
But could only droop and sag.

And the leaves, they rustled; the boughs, they bent,
And the breezes, they blew away,
But the drooping rag upon its pole
Hung lifeless, as if to say,
“Oh, breezes, don’t bother me, please, just now,
I’ll see you some other day.”

And the miserable hours from sleepy Snooze,—
All fallen from grace, you know,—
Who had played their parts within the world
(In clocks that were always slow),
Who had lost their sense of self-respect
A number of years ago,

Were lying about in the old Duke’s camp
Quite as pleasantly as you please,
And some of them lolled in steamer chairs,
And all of them took their ease
(It was probably all they meant to take,
Excepting the cooling breeze).

And the mighty Duke in his Morris chair,
Was delivering quite a speech
To the faithful hours that moped about
(He was quite a hand to preach),
And the little boy heard these precepts, wise,
And he made a note of each:

“Do not march without a reason,
Decked in martial style,
Fight no battles out of season;
Wait a while!

“When they say the future’s coming
(Claimed, I think, by some),
Simply answer, gayly humming,
‘Let it come!’

“When you’re told the days are fleeting,
Don’t be indiscreet,
Simply say to such a greeting,
‘Let them fleet!’

“Let them call us idle traitors
From the town of Snooze,
Let them call us dawdlers, waiters,
If they choose.

“Do not heed their loud reviling,
Made in flippant style,
When they say we’re time-beguiling,
Simply smile.

“When they say we are not steady,
Ask us when we go,
Tell them, ‘When we’re good and ready,’
Then they’ll know.

“When they claim the King is waiting,
Tell us we are late,
Say that while we are debating,
He must wait.

“Let them say we are not zealous,
That delays are bad,
And no matter what they tell us,
Don’t be mad!”

The little boy had been standing behind a tree not far away from the camp listening to these bits of advice. But suddenly realizing that, as a representative of old Father Time, he should allow not a single precious moment to escape, he advanced from his place of concealment and walked toward the spot where the Duke and his army were resting.

“It is rather funny,” said he, as he walked along. “I don’t know just what to do when I get there. They will see at once that I’m not an Imp-hour and, of course, they’ll wonder who I am. I don’t just like to tell them I’m a spy; it might annoy them. Perhaps they’ll hang me like Nathan Hale; I wish I could meet the hour that saw them hang Nathan Hale!”

By this time he had almost reached the camp. There was no fragrance in the breeze now, for he was quite a distance from the city, and he began to wonder a little whether the old Duke, himself, were some disreputable hour with a questionable record. Things began to seem a little odd again. “But I am glad,” thought he, “that Mr. Three O’clock is not here to explain things, for he would only make them worse.”

He was now close enough to see the Hour-imps very plainly, and he walked bravely toward the camp resolved to get the information that Father Time had sent him for and to carry it back to the King, even if he were killed while at the Duke’s camp. Then he realized that he couldn’t exactly do _that_. “But anyway,” thought he, “if they decide to kill me they might not be in a hurry about it. They might put it off from day to day and I could escape.”

So he came nearer and nearer, until finally he found himself pushing through the tall grass amid which the Army of Procrastination was gathered. He marched boldly past hammocks and steamer chairs, from which the Hour-imps stared at him, until he reached the beautiful, soft-cushioned Morris chair in which the mighty Duke was reclining. The renowned leader of the Army of Procrastination had on a spotless nightcap, and carried a polished, brass warming-pan in his belt. His feet were raised, in order that he might recline with the greater comfort, and rested upon an hour-glass which had no sand in it. He was, perhaps, a trifle larger than the hours who made up his loyal following, but otherwise he was a perfect Hour-imp in appearance, with a face like the face of a clock, his two little twinkling eyes representing the two holes in which the key is placed to wind the clock.

“How do you do?” said the little boy.

“I’m very well, thank you,” said the Duke of Procrastination.

“I suppose you wonder who I am,” said the little boy.

“I haven’t had time to wonder,” drawled the Duke. “Could you wait a little?”

“Certainly,” said the little boy, “but I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Not at all,” replied the Duke. “I’m in no hurry. Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you,” said the little boy. “I _am_ just a little tired from walking through the long grass.”

“Yes,” said the Duke, smiling. “We always let the grass grow under our feet, you know. Now, I believe I am beginning to wonder just a little who you are—suppose you tell me. Or would you rather wait until later?”

By this time a number of curious imps had left their resting places and came yawning and straggling toward the Duke’s chair for a better inspection of the strange visitor. Some of them sat down in the long grass, others leaned against trees, and all listened, as the little fellow said,

“I am a little boy from the World—from Tickerleen, and I’d like to know when you’re coming to attack the city, if you wouldn’t mind telling me.”

“You represent one of the Tickerleen papers, I suppose,” said the Duke, eying him critically.

“No, I don’t; I’m just visiting Tickerleen from the World, if you must know; and His Majesty sent me here to find out what you are going to do. I hope you are not displeased. You know, Father Time is fond of little boys.”

“Oh, yes, but he’ll go back on you some day—when you need him most. He never thinks of any one but himself,” replied the Duke. “But I’m not displeased with _you_; oh, dear, no, not at all; you’re welcome.”

“Well, then,” said the little fellow, “would you mind telling me—”

“No, not to-day,” said the duke. “To-morrow morning, if all goes well, I will issue a statement, and you are welcome to stay here and make yourself at home until then.”

There was nothing for the little boy to do but to wait, for he saw that the Duke was inflexible. So he spent the rest of the day chatting pleasantly with the Duke’s hours, and asking them what they had seen in the World. Nearly every one of them said that nothing whatever of interest had happened during his time of duty in the World. A good many of them came from the Dark Ages when nothing had taken place to amount to anything, anyway. Altogether, they were an uninteresting and tedious set compared with the hours of Minutel, and the little boy was very glad when the next day came and he was told that the Duke was about to deliver his proclamation before the entire army. It was quite late in the afternoon when the proclamation was actually read by the Duke, for he had put off the reading eleven times during the day. At last, he appeared before his assembled troops, and the little boy, who had secured a very good position in front, listened with great attention to the proclamation, which was as follows:

“I really don’t see the occasion
For suddenly starting away;
A thing like a city’s invasion
Will certainly keep for a day.

“This life in the woods is delicious,
And surely it’s none of _our_ fault
That the weather is hardly propitious
For making a sudden assault.

“Then what is the need of advancing,
With heavens beclouded and drear?
Our camp is secure and entrancing—
We’ll wait till the weather is clear.”

“_Then let us not fidget and flurry,
Nor think of the future and worry,_
_And let us not be in a hurry,
But wait till the weather is clear!_”

The last words which the Duke uttered before he sat down were the words, “We’ll wait till the weather is clear,” the remainder being a response from his trusty followers who always cheered him and nodded approvingly when he spoke, frequently to the extent of voicing their sentiments whenever the Duke paused for a moment.

THE REASON WHY

When the reading of the proclamation was finished, the hours betook themselves to their various resting places, where they gathered in little groups to talk over the proclamation and to praise the wisdom and thoughtfulness of the great Duke. But the little boy was very much disappointed, and bewildered withal, for it had seemed to him that the weather was almost ideal.

“I think I had better stay,” he said to himself, “for a day or two, at least, and see what they will do.” So he busied himself in talking with the various hours and in trying to find an hour who had seen some great historical event, but the only one he met who was at all interesting was a drowsy looking imp who said he had seen Rip Van Winkle go to sleep—or some one that looked very much like Rip Van Winkle, at any rate.

One day went by—two days went by—three days went by—but the army did not move. Finally at the end of seven days, it was rumored about that the Duke intended to deliver another and very important proclamation on the following day. There was a great deal of whispering among the hours who were in close touch with the Duke, and the little boy noticed that many of the imps were getting their belongings together as if preparing to start away. No one seemed to know what the proclamation was going to be, but there was a general expectation that it would be in connection with some important move. When the next day came, the entire army, including the little boy, gathered in the usual place to hear the Duke, but the renowned head of the army did not appear. The next day at the same time they assembled again, and this time it was given out that the Duke was very sorry but that the importance of what he had to say made it necessary for him to give more time to its preparation. The troops were ordered to make ready to start at two or three hours’ notice and to assemble the following morning to hear the proclamation. The little boy began to feel very nervous, for he knew, of course, that they were going to march against the King at last, and he did not know whether he ought to hasten at once to Tickerleen or to wait for the proclamation and make sure of his information. He decided that he would wait.

On the following morning there was great excitement in the camp. Every imp which came to join the throng that waited outside the Duke’s headquarters was armed with a warming-pan and seemed ready to start right away. And so the crowd increased and waited for the mighty Duke Procrastinate to appear. The little boy was in a fever of excitement. Finally, after much waiting, the great leader, with his warming-pan highly polished and his nightcap freshly laundered and highly starched, appeared upon the platform amid deafening cheers. He had a gallant, soldierly air about him as he glanced around at his faithful followers, as if he had accomplished wonderful deeds and thought the applause was no more than his due. The little boy was so nervous as he stood waiting that he could hardly keep still. He thought it a little strange that the Duke should be willing for him to hear the proclamation and then go and tell the King. “But I suppose,” said he to himself, “that he doesn’t really believe I’ll get there first.”

When the shouting began to die away, the renowned Duke raised his hand to command perfect silence, and stepping forward with a martial air, he said impressively,

“My brave and loyal followers,

“When coming from my castle grand,
And from my downy bed,
You will recall, my noble band,
I most distinctly said

“That when the fighting should be o’er,
Unquestionably, I,
In case we failed to win the war,
Would know the reason why!”

“_As nearly as we recollect,
Your memory is quite correct,
And then you heard us cry,_

“_As, doubtless, noble lord, you know,
That if we fled before the foe,
We’d know the reason why!_”

“Yes, yes, I heard you all comply
That if our course was checked
We’d surely know the reason why—
Or words to that effect.

“The din of war has now been stilled,
And, let us hope, for good.
The prophesy has been fulfilled,
Just as I said it would.

“We cannot say we’ve won the day
Nor conquered any hours,
Yet let the bands of music play,
For victory is ours!”

“_We’ll let them play, of course, my lord,
And cheer them as with one accord,
With all our feeble powers,_

“_But hope we do not make too free
In stating that we cannot see
How victory is ours!_”

“To that remark, my loyal host,
I’ll cheerfully reply,
Though martial spoils we cannot boast,
_We know the reason why_!”

“_And surely, all we hours ought
To take some comfort in the thought,
As years go fleeting by,_

“_And justly claim for evermore,
We failed in taking Tockerlore,
Because we didn’t try!_”

“And is it not a triumph grand,
And worthy of applause,
When we have failed to take a land,
We really know the cause?

“So let us yawn our loud hurrahs,
Until the forest rings,
With gapes of joy and long huzzas,
And several other things!”

“_Indeed, my lord, we’ll do our best
To gape and yawn, as you suggest.
And sing huzzas and things,_

“_Although our memories will not let
A single one of us forget,
The land is still the King’s!_

“_For though, in all our recent wars,
We finish up with wild applause,
To strangers it is odd because,
The land is still the King’s!_”

THE CLOCK STRIKES EIGHT

“What are they going to do?” asked the little boy, in great surprise, of the imp who stood nearest him.

“Do!” answered the imp. “Why, we’re going home to Snooze! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

“Hurrah! Hu-u-rra-ah!” yawned several other imps, throwing their night-caps into the air. “The King has the land, but we have the reason! Hurrah! Hurrah!” And in less than a minute the camp was all bustle and confusion.

But the little boy did not wait. He had seen enough precious moments wasted already, and he stalked out of the camp and bent his steps toward the capital city. He was old enough to know that _people_ who put things off from day to day end by never doing them at all. “And I suppose,” thought he, “that it is the same with imps that have once been hours in the world; it is the same everywhere.” He was beginning to see now how foolish it is to endeavour to get the best of old Father Time, and he wondered as he went along why so many sensible people really try to do it.

“I shall tell the King,” said he, as he trudged along the path where the poor little Wollerperleck had once wandered in search of himself, “I shall tell the King that those who are always putting things off and waiting, who are always _going_ to do things, really never do them at all; that is what I shall tell him! Then I will hunt up my three friends, and as soon as they have been mustered out, I will go back with them to Minutel and then start home on the first swinger.”

So he trudged boldly on, like the sturdy little fellow that he was, until he saw far ahead of him the tower on the outskirts of the city where he had paused to rest. On he trudged, keeping his big eyes on the tower as he came closer and closer to it, and hurrying as fast as he could.

“There are probably soldiers in it,” said he, “and I will stop there and tell them the news, and then go straight on to Tickerleen.”

On, on he trudged, until finally he stopped short and looked quite perplexed.

“It is a very funny thing,” said he, “that the nearer I get to that tower, the smaller it grows; ’most always it’s the other way. Yet I can see it plainer all the time. I can see something moving in that round, white window up at the top. I guess it’s the soldiers.”

So he marched straight along until finally he was very near to the tower.

“I didn’t notice it before,” he thought, “but it’s just like all the other buildings and houses here. It’s in the shape of a clock, I do believe!”

He stalked boldly toward the door and tripped over something and gave it a kick in his anxiety to enter and see the soldiers. It went tumbling away to one side of him and left his path clear. Then going straight up to the door, he began to knock and, receiving no answer, he banged and kicked on the space beside it, calling,

“Come down! Come down! I have wonderful news! I’m going to Tickerleen. Stop drilling up there and come down! The old Duke has gone back to Snooze—he made a speech. Come down! I’m going to tell the King. I can’t wait here!”

He was still calling and trying to get in, when suddenly he heard a door open. But it was not the one which he was trying to enter.

“Gracious me!” said a pleasant and familiar voice. “What are you trying to do to the clock, little man? Stop the pendulum?”

The little boy rubbed his sleepy eyes; then he looked around, and stood staring.

For it was only the governess!

And there was the clock in his father’s hall,
With its swinger of shiny brass,
Still swinging steadily to and fro
In its little cell of glass,
And everything just as it was before,
When he watched the hours pass.

And the carved design on his father’s chair,
In which he was wont to rock,
Smiled wide at the little waking boy
And gave him a sudden shock,
For it seemed to be in the very shape
Of Mr. Three O’clock!

And the fitful blaze, as it flickered low
From the logs in the big hall grate,
Was the only light within the hall,
So he knew it must be late—
When, hark! And his wandering eyes looked up,
For the clock was striking eight!

_Seated in our easy chair,
When the rainy day is o’er,
See, the sunset’s lurid glare
Says to-morrow will be fair;
That’s an end of fairy lore._

_Charmless, then, each mystic tale;
How they seem to fade away!
How each whimsical detail,
Sadly rivalled, seems to pale
In the sunlight’s magic ray!_

_Go, and seek out pleasures new,
Think no more of nonsense rhyme,
And before my dreaming’s through
I will ask for all of you
Blessings from old Father Time._

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. ● Enclosed line-through font in +plus signs+. ● Enclosed bold or blackletter font in =equals=.