Half-Hours With Jimmieboy Part 18

It was not so, however, with Jimmieboy, who grew more and more indignant as he thought of that great lumbering ice-man, Jack Frost, coming along and biting his dear little brother in that cruel fashion. It was simply cowardly, he thought. Of course Jimmieboy could understand how any one might wish to take a bite of something that was as sweet as little Russ was, and when mosquitoes did it he was not disposed to quarrel with them, because it was courageous in a minute insect like a mosquito to risk his life for his sweetmeats, but with Jack Frost it was different.

Why didn't he take a man of his size like papa, for instance, or the grocer man? He was afraid to--that was it--and so he fastened upon a poor, helpless little man like Russ, only eleven months old.

"He ought to be hitted on the head," said Jimmieboy.

"That wouldn't do any good," said papa. "It wouldn't hurt him a bit. You couldn't kill him with a hundred ice-picks, and I don't believe even a steam-drill would lay him up more than a week. What he's afraid of is heat--only heat, and nothing else. That cracks him all up and melts him, so that he can't bite anything."

Then Jimmieboy had his supper and began playing with his toys until bedtime should come, but all the time his mind was on that cruel Jack Frost. Something else in the room was thinking about it, too, only Jimmieboy didn't know it. The little gas-stove that stood guard over by the fire-place was quite as angry about Jack's behavior as anybody, but he kept very still until along about eight o'clock when he began to sputter.

Jimmieboy stopped pushing his iron engine over the floor, and looked with heavy eyes at the gas-stove. This was extraordinary behavior for the stove, and Jimmieboy wondered what was the matter.

"Say!" whispered the stove, as Jimmieboy looked at him. "Let's get after that Frost fellow and make him wish he never was born."

Jimmieboy said nothing to this. He was too much surprised to say anything--the idea of a gas-stove speaking to him was so absurd. He only gazed steadfastly at the extraordinary thing in the fire-place, and then let his head droop down on his arms as he lay on the floor, and in a moment would have been asleep had not the stove again sputtered.

"Hi! Jimmieboy!" it cried. "Don't go to sleep. I know where Jack Frost lives, and we'll get after him and punish him for what he did to little Russ."

"How?" asked Jimmieboy, crawling across the room on his hands and knees, and looking earnestly at this strange gas-stove.

"Never mind how," returned the Stove. "I'll tell you that later. The point is, will you go? If you will say the word I'll make all the arrangements, and we'll set off after everybody has gone to bed. It is a beautiful moonlight night. Everything is just right for a successful trip. There's enough snow on the ground for the sleigh to move, and the river's all frozen over except in the middle. We can skate as far as the ice goes, and then, if there is no boat, we can put on your papa's arctics, and walk across the water to the other side. From there it's only a forty-minute skate to Jack's home. He'll come in about twelve o'clock, and we'll have him just where we want him. What do you say?"

"I'll be in bed by the time you want to start," said Jimmieboy. "I'd like to do it very much, but I don't know how to dress myself, and----"

"Never mind that," returned the Gas Stove. "Go as you are."

"In my night-gown? On a cold night like this?" queried the little fellow, more than ever astonished at the Gas Stove's peculiarities.

"Why, certainly. I'll see that you are kept warm," returned the stove.

"I've got warmth enough for twenty-six as it is, and if there's only two of us--why, you see how it'll be. It'll be too warm for two of us."

"That's so," said Jimmieboy. "I never thought of it that way. I might sit on your lap if I couldn't keep warm any other way, eh?"

"I've got a better way than that," said the Stove, dancing a little jig on the tiles. "I'll get you a pair of gas gloves, some gas ear-tabs, a patent nose furnace, an overcoat lined with gas-jets that can be lit so as to keep you warm without burning you, and leggings, shoes, hats, and everything you need to make you feel as happy and warm as a poached egg on toast."

"That'll be splendid," said Jimmieboy. "I'll go, and we'll fix Jack so that he won't bite any of our people any more, eh?"

"Yes," said the Gas Stove, delighted at the prospect.

"Shall we muzzle him?" asked Jimmieboy. But the Gas Stove only winked, for just then mamma came up stairs from dinner, and as it was Jimmieboy's nurse's night out, his mamma undressed the little fellow, and put him in his crib, where he shortly dropped off to sleep.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GAS-STOVE TAPPED HIM LIGHTLY ON THE SHOULDER.]

In a little while everybody in the house had gone to bed, and when the last light had been extinguished the door of the room in which Jimmieboy slept was slowly opened, and the Gas Stove, all his lights turned down so that n.o.body could see him in the darkness, tip-toed in, and climbing upon the side of Jimmieboy's crib tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"All ready?" he said, in a low whisper.

"Yes," answered Jimmieboy, softly, as he arose and got down on the floor. "How do we go? Down the stairs?"

"No," replied the Gas Stove. "We'll take the toy balloon up the chimney."

Which they at once proceeded to do.

XIV.

IN WHICH JIMMIEBOY AND THE GAS STOVE MAKE A START.

"Now jump into the sleigh just as quickly as you can, Jimmieboy," said the Stove, as they issued forth into the cold night air. "Put on that fur cap and the overcoat, shoes, and gloves, and I'll light 'em up."

"They won't burn, for sure?" queried Jimmieboy, nervously, for the idea of wearing clothes heated by gas was a little bit terrifying.

"Not a bit," said the Stove in reply. "I wouldn't give 'em to you if they would. Thanks," he added, turning and throwing a ten-cent piece to a gas boy, who handed him the reins by which the horses were controlled.

"We'll be back about sunrise."

"Very well," said the boy. "Do you want me turned on all night, sir?"

"No," answered the Stove. "Gas is expensive these days. You can turn yourself out right away. Have you fed the horses?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy. "They've each had four thousand feet by the meter for supper."

"Fuel or illuminating?" queried the Stove.

"Illuminating," replied the boy.

"Good," said the Stove. "That ought to make them bright. Good-by. Get up!"

With this the horses made a spring forward--fiery steeds in very truth, their outlines in jets, each burning a small flame, standing out like lines of stars in the sky.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THIS IS PRETTY FINE, EH?" SAID THE GAS-STOVE.]

"This is pretty fine, eh?" said the Gas Stove, with a smile, which, had any one looked, must have been visible for miles, so light and cheerful was it.

"Lovely!" cried Jimmieboy, almost gasping in ecstasy. "I'm just as warm and comfortable as can be. I didn't know you had a team like this."

"Ah, my boy," returned the Stove, "there's lots you don't know. For instance:

"You don't know why a fire will burn On hot days merrily; And when the cold days come, will turn As cold as I-C-E!

"You don't know why the puppies bark, Or why snap-turtles snap; Or why a horse runs round the park, Because you say, 'git-ap.'

"You don't know why a peach has fuzz Upon its pinky cheek; Or what the poor Dumb-Crambo does When he desires to speak.

"Do you?"

"No, I don't," said Jimmieboy. "But I should like to very much."

"So should I," said the Stove. "We're very much alike in a great many respects, and particularly in those in which we resemble each other."