The original author on this is listed as "by the author of Helen's Babies". Apparently that work was well-known to the St. Nicholas audience. The original story has a young bachelor staying for a time with his sister Helen and her "babies," a pair of young imps. Budge, the narrator, is one of the two "babies" of the title, and the "Toddie" who he is writing to is his younger brother. Many Biblical and mythology references abound. The "big engine in Machinery Hall" he speaks of powered all the Centennial machinery; it was a Corliss engine made in Providence, Rhode Island.Oh, Toddie,-- where do you think I 've been? I 've been to the Centennial! Papa woke me up when it was all dark, and we rode in railroad-cars and horse-cars before it was light; that's the way men do, Tod, an' it 's lots of fun. My! did n't I do lots of railroad-riding before I got to the Centennial! An' all along the road I saw piles of big sticks laid crosswise ever so nice, so they looked just like the picture in the big Bible of the altar that Abraham put Isaac on, you know, and I thought they was altars, an' after I thought about what lots of little boys there must be going to be burned up in that country, and asked papa about it, he said they was n't altars at all, but only just piles of railroad ties—was n't it too bad ! And I crossed the Delaware at Trenton, too, just like George Washington, but 't was n't a bit like the pictures in the history-book that papa reads out of, and nobody there had on hats a bit like Washington's.
But I tell you the Centennial was nice ; every little while we 'd come right up to a place where they sold pop-corn balls, and they made 'em as easy—why, a little thing went down, an' a little thing came up, and there was a pop-corn ball all in a second. An' then they made people pay five cents for 'em ! I think 't was real mean; I work a hundred times that much for a penny when I keep my clothes clean all day.
But, oh, if you only could see the big engine in Machinery Hall! I don't see how the Lord could do more than that engine; it turns all sorts of wheels and machines, an' don't make a bit of noise about it, an' it don't ever get tired. An' the water—my! if we lived in Machinery Hall I guess papa would n't ever scold us for leaving faucets open an' wastin' water, for there 's dozens of great big pipes that don't do anything but spout out water. An' there was a whole lot of locomotives, but they had n't any men in 'em, so you could walk around 'em an' look at 'em without anybody sizzin' steam out at you.
An' do you know, papa says all the steam-engines and locomotives in the world began by a little Watts boy playing with the tea-kettle on his mamma's stove; he saw that when there got to be a lot of steam inside of the kettle, it pushed the top up, an' that little boy thought to himself, Why could n't steam push up something that was useful? But if we was to go in the kitchen an' see what the teakettle would do, then Bridget would say, "Ah, go 'way an' don't ye be meddlin' wid fings." I guess the world was a nicer place for boys when that little Watts boy was alive.
I was awful disappointed at the Centennial, though; I thought there 'd be lots of color there, cos my centennial garters is all color,—red, an' white, an' blue, an' nothin' else but Inja-rubber, but the houses was most all just the color of mud-pies, except Aggerycultural Hall, an' the top of that was only green, an' I don't think that 's a very pretty color. It was nicer inside of the houses, though ; there was one of them that papa said had more than twenty-two miles of walks in it; I guess there was, cos we was in it more than an hour, an' such funny things! You ought to see a mummy. Tod,—I guess you would n't ever want to die after that, but papa said their spirits was n't in 'em any more,—I should n't think they would be, if they wanted to look nice. You know mamma's opal ring?—well, papa lifted me up and showed me the biggest opal in the world, and 't was nearly as pretty as the inside of our big sea-shell.
I know what you 'd have liked,—there was a picture of Goliath, an' David had chopped his head off an' he was a-holdin' it up,—I think he ought to have had his head chopped off if he looked as horrid as that. An' I saw Circe, and the pigs all squealing to her to turn 'em back into men again, —I really believe I heard 'em squeal,—an' Circe just sat there lookin' like Bridget does when she won 't give us more cake. It made me feel dreadful to think there was men inside of those pigs.
But what bothered me was, every once in a while we would come to a place where they sold cakes, an' then papa would hurry right past; I kept showing him the cakes, but he would go along, and he did just the same thing at the places where they made candy, only he stopped at one place where they was making chocolate candy, an' grindin' the chocolate all up so that it looked like mud, an' he said, "Isn't that disgustin'?" Well, it didn't look very nice.
There was a whole lot of things from Egypt, where Joseph and Moses lived, you know, and all around the wall was pictures of houses in Egypt, an' I asked papa which of 'em Pharaoh lived in, an' then two or three people close to us looked at me an' laughed out loud, an' I asked papa what they laughed for, an' he said he guessed it was because I talked so loud; I do think little boys have an awful lot of bothers in this world, an' big people are real ugly to 'em; but papa took me away from them, an' I got some candy at last, an' I think 't was about time.
Then we saw lots of animals, an' birds, an' fishes, only they was n't alive, an' I was walkin' along thinkin' that I wished we could see somebody we knew, when all of a sudden I saw a turtle, just like ours. I just screamed right out, an' I liked to have cried, I was so glad. That was in the Gov'ment Building, I believe papa called it; an' I saw all the kinds of things they kill people with in wars, an' a man on a horse that was just like papa was when he was a soldier,—I guess you would n't want to run up to him an' ask him what he'd brought you, he looked so awful. An' just outside the door of that house was a big god like the heathens make an' pray to. I should think they would keep him out-of-doors, he was so awful ugly—why, I would n't say my prayers to him if I did n't ever get anything. I asked papa if the god was standin' there while he made a heaven for himself, an' papa said I 'd have to ask Mr. Huxley about that; I don't know any Mr. Huxley, do you ?
Then we saw the Japanese things,—I knew them right away, cos they always look like things that you don't ever see anywhere else. One of the things was a man sittin' on a cow, an' papa read a card hangin' on it—" Shoki, punisher of imps and bad boys," an' then he said, "You 'd better behave yourself. Budge, for that old chap is looking for you." I did n't think he looked shockey a bit, an' I just told papa so, and then a lady laughed an' said I was a smart boy, as if it was anything very smart not to be afraid of a little old iron man on an iron cow!
You just ought to see how people looks inside of 'em; I saw some people that was cutted open, only they wasn't real people, but just made of mortar. You 'd just get tired to see what lots of funny places bread an' butter an' apples have to go in us before they turn into little boy, and how there 's four little boxes in our hearts that keep openin' an' shuttin' lots of times every minute without the hinges ever comin' loose an' lettin' the covers drop off, like they do in our toy-boxes.
You never saw such lots of pictures; there was rooms, an' rooms, an' rooms, an' each one of them was as lovely as Mr. Brown's barn was when the circus pictures was all over it. There was one big picture that papa said was all about a lady named Cornaro, that was stole away from her home, and the people that stole her tried to make her happy by givin' her nice things, but the picture looked so much like a lovely big rug that I wanted to get up there an' lie down an' roll on it. An' then there was the awfullest picture of a whole lot of little boys—not so very little, either—that was crucified to keep the Lord from bein' angry. I tell you, I just said a little prayer right away, an' told the Lord that I was glad I was n't a little boy then, if that was the kind of things they done to 'em. I guess I know what people mean now, when they say they 've got the blues, cos that dreadful picture was blue all over.
I think comin' home was about as nice as anything, though, cos boys kept comin' through the cars with bananas, an' figs, an' peanuts, an' apples, an' cakes, an' papa bought me everything I wanted, an' a lovely lady sat in the seat with us an' told about a picture of Columbus's sailors kneelin' down an' beggin' him to forgive 'em for bein' so bad, just like mamma reads to us out of the history-book. An' then another lady sat in the seat with us, but she was n't so nice, cos she said " Sontonnial,"—I think big folks ought to know how to talk plainer than that. An' papa said he 'd go out a minute or two, an' I was thinkin' what a great traveler I was gettin' to be, an' how I knew most everything now I 'd been to the Centennial, an' how I was smart enough to be a big man right away, an' what lots of things I 'd do, and how I 'd have every thing nice I wanted to, like big men do, when all at once I got afraid we 'd gone off an' left papa, an' then I got to be a little boy right away again, an' I cried, an' when papa got back I just jumped in his lap an' thought I 'd rather stay a little boy.
I 'm awful sorry you was n't there, too, Tod, but papa said such a little boy as you could n't do so much walkin'. An' I asked papa when there 'd be one that you 'd be big enough to go to, and he said, "Not for a hundred years." Gracious Peter! I knew you 'd be dead before then. But you 'll see a centennial even if you die, cos the Lord has everything nice in heaven, an' centennials are nice, so there 'll be lots of 'em there, an' you wont get tired a bit lookin' at 'em, an' I don't believe the angels 'll laugh at you when you say things, an' you wont be dragged past all the cake and candy places, so I guess you 'll have a good time, even if you was n't with us.
No comments:
Post a Comment