Mollie and the Unwiseman Abroad

"Here he comes!" cried Whistlebinkie, jubilantly, and sure enough down the canal seated on a small raft and paddling his way cautiously along with his hands came the Unwiseman, singing the popular Italian ballad "Margherita" at the top of his lungs.

"Gander ahoy!" he cried, as he neared the hotel steps. "Sheer off there, Captain, and let me into Port."

The gondolier made room for him and the Unwiseman alighted.

"Where have you been?" asked Mollie, throwing her arms about his neck.

"Up the canal a little way," he answered unconcernedly. "I wanted to mail a letter to the Doggie in the Lion's Mouth."

"What about?" asked Mollie.

"Watertown, otherwise Venice," said the Unwiseman. "I had some suggestions for its improvement and I didn't want to go way without making them. There's a copy of my letter if you want to see it," he added, handing Mollie a piece of paper upon which he had written as follows:

29 Grand Canal St., Venice, It.

Ancient & Honorable Bow-wows:

I have enjoyed my visit to your beautiful but wet old town very much and would respectfully advise you that there are several things you can do to keep it unspiled. These are as follows to wit viz:

I. Bale it out once in a while and see that the barrel hoops in your Grand Canal are sifted out of it. They're a mighty poor stubstishoot for shad.

II. Get a few trained whales in commission so that when a feller wants to go driving he won't have to go paddling.

III. Stock your streets with trout, or flounders, or perch or even sardines in order that us Americans who feel like fishing won't have to be satisfied with a poor quality of straw hat.

IV. During the fishing season compel artists returning from their work to wear beaver hats or something else that a fish-hook baited with macaroni won't catch into thus making a lot of trouble.

V. Get together on your language. I speak the very best variety of banana-stand Italian and twenty-three out of twenty-four people to which I have made remarks in it have not been able to grasp my meaning.

VI. Pigeons are very nice to have but they grow monotonous. Would suggest a half dozen first class American hens as an ornament to your piazza.

VII. Stop calling yourself Doggies. It makes people laugh.

With kind regards to the various Mrs. Ds, believe me to be with mucho da respecto,

    Yoursa da trool,
    Da Unadawisamann.

P.S. If you ever go sailing abroad in your old town point her nose towards my country. We'll all be glad to see you over there and can supply you with all the water you need.

    Y da T,
    Mister Me.

It was with these recommendations to the Doges that the Unwiseman left Venice. Whether they were ever received or not I have never heard, but if they were I am quite sure they made the "Doggies" yelp with delight.

XIII

GENOA, GIBRALTAR, AND COLUMBUS

"Whatta da namea dissa cit?" asked the Unwiseman in his best Italian as the party arrived at Genoa, whence they were to set sail for home the next day.

"This is Genoa," said Mollie.

"What's it good for?" demanded the old gentleman, gazing around him in a highly critical fashion.

"It's where Christopher Columbus was born," said Mollie. "Didn't you know that?"

"You don't mean the gentleman who discovered the United States, do you?" asked the Unwiseman, his face brightening with interest.

"The very same," said Mollie. "He was born right here in this town."

"Humph!" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "Queer place for a fellow like that to be born in. You'd think a man who was going to discover America would have been born a little nearer the United States than this. Up in Canada for instance, or down around Cuba, so's he wouldn't have so far to travel."

"Canada and Cuba weren't discovered either at that time," explained Mollie, smiling broadly at the Unwiseman's ignorance.

"Really?" said the Unwiseman. "Well that accounts for it. I always wondered why the United States wasn't discovered by somebody nearer home, like a Canadian or a Cuban, or some fellow down around where the Panama hats come from, but of course if there wasn't any Canadians or Cubans or Panama hatters around to do it, it's as clear as pie." The old gentleman paused a moment, and then he went on: "So this is the place that would have been our native land if Columbus hadn't gone to sea, is it? I think I'll take home a bottle of it to keep on the mantel-piece alongside of my bottle of United States and label 'em' My Native Land, Before and After.'"

"That's a very good idea," said Mollie. "Then you'll have a complete set."

"I wonder," said the Unwiseman, rubbing his forehead reflectively, "I wonder if he's alive yet."

"What, Christopher Columbus?" laughed Mollie.

"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't seen much in the papers about him lately, but that don't prove he's dead."

"Why he discovered America in 1492," said Mollie.

"Well – let's see – how long ago was that? More'n forty years, wasn't it?" said the Unwiseman.

"I guess it was more than forty years ago," giggled Mollie.

"Well – say fifty then," said the Unwiseman. "I'm pretty nearly that old myself. I was born in 1839, or 1843, or some such year, and as I remember it we'd been discovered then – but that wouldn't make him so awfully old you know. A man can be eighty and still live. Look at old Methoosalum – he was nine hundred."

"Oh well," said Mollie, "there isn't any use of talking about it. Columbus has been dead a long time – "

"All I can say is that I'm very sorry," interrupted the Unwiseman, with a sad little shake of his head. "I should very much like to have gone over and called on him just to thank him for dishcovering the United States. Just think, Mollie, of what would have happened if he hadn't! You and I and old Fizzledinkie here would have had to be Eye-talians, or Switzers, and live over here all the time if it hadn't been for him, and our own beautiful native land would have been left way across the sea all alone by itself and we'd never have known anything about it."

"We certainly ought to be very much obliged to Mr. Columbus for all he did for us," said Mollie.

"I-guess-somebuddyelse-wudda-donit," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They cuddn'-ta-helptit-with-all-these-socean steamers-going-over-there every-day."

"That's true enough," said the Unwiseman, "but we ought to be thankful to Columbus just the same. Other people might have done it, but the fact remains that he did do it, so I'm much obliged to him. I'd sort of like to do something to show my gratitude."

"Better write to his family," grinned Whistlebinkie.

"For a rubber doll with a squeak instead of brain in his head that's a first rate idea, Fizzledinkie," said the old gentleman. "I'll do it."

And so he did. The evening mail from the Unwiseman's hotel carried with it a souvenir postal card addressed to Christopher Columbus, Jr., upon which the sender had written as follows: