Andiron Tales Part 14

CHAPTER X.

Home Again

"And now," said the Lefthandiron as the Flamingo flew off and left them to themselves, "it strikes me that it is time we set about having some supper. I'm getting hungry, what with the excitement of that ride, and the fact I haven't eaten anything but a bowlful of kindling wood since yesterday morning."

"I'm with you there," said Tom. "I've been hungry ever since we started and that snow on the moon whetted my appet.i.te."

"Never knew a boy who wasn't hungry on all occasions," puffed the Bellows.

"Fact is, a boy wouldn't be a real boy unless he was hungry. Did you ever know a boy that would confess he'd had enough to eat, Pokey?"

"Once," said Poker, "I wrote a poem about him, but I never could get it published. Want to hear it?"

"Very much," said Tom.

"Well, here goes," said the Poker anxiously, and he recited the following lines:

THE WONDROUS STRIKE OF SAMMY DIKE.

Young Sammy Dike was a likely boy Who lived somewhere in Illinois, His father was a blacksmith, and His Ma made pies for all the land.

The pies were all so very fine That folks who sought them stood in line Before the shop of Dike & Co., 'Mid pa.s.sing rain, in drifting snow, For fear they'd lose the tasty prize Of "Dike's new patent home-made pies."

One day, alas, poor Mrs. Dike, Who with her pies had made the strike, By overwork fell very ill, And all her orders could not fill.

So ill was she she could not bake One-half the pastry folks would take; And so her loving husband said He'd take her place and cook, instead Of making horse-shoes. Kindly Joe, To help his wife in time of woe!

He worked by night, he worked by day-- Yet worked, alas, in his own way And made such pies, I've understood, As but a simple blacksmith could.

He made them hard as iron bars; He made them tough as trolley cars.

He seemed to think a pie's estate Was to be used as armor plate.

And not a pie would he let go That had not stood the sledge's blow Upon the anvil in his sanctum, Whence naught went out until he'd spanked 'em.

Result? With many alas and 'lack The pies Joe made they all came back.

From folks who claimed they could not go The latest pies of Dike & Co.

And here it was that Sammy came To help his parents in the game.

"Can't eat 'em?" cried indignant Joe.

"Can't eat 'em? Well, I want to know!

Here, Sammy, show these people here How most unjust their plaint, my dear.

Come, lad, and eat the luscious pies That I have made and they despise."

Poor loyal Sammy then began Upon those stodgy pies--the plan Was very pleasing in his eyes, For Sammy loved his mother's pies.

He nibbled one, he bit another, And then began to think of mother.

He chewed and gnawed, he munched and bit, But no--he could not swallow it; And then, poor child, it was so tough He had to say he'd had enough, Though never in the world before Was lad who had not wanted more.

And what became of Sammy's Ma?

And what became of Sammy's Pa?

Their profits gone, how could they eke A living good from week to week?

They took the recipe for pies That mother made and--Oh, so wise-- Let Father make them in his way In form elliptical, they say.

And when the football season came Won fortune great, and wondrous fame, Beyond the wildest hope of dreams, By selling these to football teams.

And those by whom this game is played Called them the finest ever made.

"The Shuregood football" made of mince, Has never quite been equaled since; And few who kick them with their feet, Know they're the pies Sam couldn't eat-- The only pies upon this...o...b..A healthy boy could not absorb.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "UPON THE ANVIL IN HIS SANCTUM."]

"Great poem that, eh?" said the Bellows, poking Tom in the ribs, and grinning broadly.

"Splendid," said Tom. "New use for pies, that."

"It's beautifully long," said Lefty.

"But why couldn't it be published?" asked Righty. "Wasn't it long enough?"

"The editor said it wasn't true," sighed the Poker. "He had three boys of his own, you know, and he said there never was a boy who couldn't eat a pie even if it was made of crowbars and rubber, as long as it was pie."

"I guess he was right," observed Righty. "I knew a boy once who ate soft coal just because somebody told him it was rock-candy."

"Did he like it?" asked Tom.

"I don't think he did," replied Righty, "but he never let on that he didn't."

"Well, anyhow," put in Lefty, "it's time we had something to eat and we'd better set out for the Lobster shop or the Candydike--I don't care which."

"Or the what?" asked Tom.

"The Candydike?" said the Lefthandiron. "Didn't you ever hear of the Candydike?"

"Never," responded Tom. "What is it?"

"It's a candy Klondike," explained the Lefthandiron. "There are Gumdrop Mines and Marshmallow Lodes and Deposits of Chocolate Creams beyond the dreams of avarice. Remember 'em, Righty?"

"Oom, mh, mh!" murmured Righty, smacking his lips with joy. "Do I remember them! O, my! Don't I just. Why, I never wanted to come back from there. I had to be pulled out of the Peppermint mine with a derrick. And the river--O, the river. Was there anything ever like it?"

Tom's mouth began to water, he knew not why.

"What about the river?" he asked.

"Soda water flowing from Mountain to the Sea," returned the Righthandiron, smacking his lips again ecstatically. "Just imagine it, Tom. A great stream of Soda Water fed by little rivulets of Vanilla and Strawberry and Chocolate syrup, with here and there a Cream brook feeding the combination, until all you had to do to get a gla.s.s of the finest nectar ever mixed was to dip your cup into the river and there you were."

Tom closed his eyes with very joy at the mere idea.

"O--where is this river?" he cried, when he was able to find words to speak.

"In the Candydike, of course. Where else?" said the Poker. "But of course we can go to the Lobster shop if you prefer."

"Not I," said Tom. "I don't care for any Lobster shop with a Candydike in sight."

"Don't be rash," said the Bellows, who apparently had a strong liking for the Lobster shop. "Of course we all love the Candydike because it is so sweet, but for real pleasure the Lobster shop is not to be despised. I don't think you ought to make up your mind as to where you'll go next in too much of a hurry."

"What's the fun in the Lobster shop?" asked Tom.

"Purely intellectual, if you know what that means," said the Bellows. "You get your mind filled there instead of your stomach. You meet the wittiest oysters, and the most poetic clams, and the most literary lobsters at the Lobster shop you ever saw. For my part I love the Lobster shop. I can get something to eat anywhere. I can get a stake at any lumber yard in town. I can get a chop at any ax factory in the country, and if I want sweets I can find a Cakery--"

"Bakery, you mean?" said Tom.