# The Zankiwank and the Bletherwitch/Part 1

Part I
A Trip to Fable Land
Philip Dayre.
A Trip to Fable Land
They were all standing under the clock at Charing Cross Station when the station was closed and everybody else had departed, except the train which the Zankiwank had himself chartered. It was all so odd and strange, and the gathering was so very motley, that if it had been to-morrow morning instead of last night, Willie and Maude would certainly have said they had both been dreaming. But, of course, they were not dreaming because they were wide-awake and dressed. Besides, they remembered Charing Cross Station quite well, having started there‍ ​from with their father and mother only last summer when they went to the sea-side for their holidays—and what jolly times they had on the sands! So Maude said promptly, “It is not Night-mare or Dreams or Anything. We don’t know what it is, but we must not go to sleep, Willie, in case anything should happen.”
Willie replied that he did not want to go to sleep any more. “I believe it’s a show,” he added, “and somebody’s run away with us. How lovely! I’m glad we are lost. Let us go and ask that tall gentleman, who looks like the parlour-tongs in a bathing-suit, to give us some more buns.” For, being a boy, he could always eat buns, or an abundance of them, only I hope you won’t tell the nursery governess I told you.
It was the Zankiwank, who was doing some conjuring tricks for the benefit of the Jackarandajam and Mr Swinglebinks, to whom Willie referred, The Zankiwank was certainly a very curious person to look at. He had very long ​legs, very long arms, and a very small body, a long neck and a head like a pea-cock. He was not wearing a bathing suit as Willie imagined, because there were tails to his jacket, hanging down almost to his heels. He wore a sash round his waist, and his clothes were all speckled as though he had been peppered with the colours out of a very large kaleidoscope. The Jackarandajam was also rather tall and thin, but dressed in the very height of fashion, with a flower in his coat and a cigarette in his mouth, which he never smoked because he never lit it. He was believed by all the others—you shall know who all the others were presently—to know more things than the Man-in-the-Moon, because he nearly always said something that nobody else ever ​thought of. And the Man-in-the-Moon knows more things than the Old Woman of Mars. You have naturally heard all about Mars—at least, if you have not heard all about her, you all have heard about her, which is just the same thing, only reversed.
There was an Old Woman of Mars Who’d constantly say “Bless my stars, There’s the Sun and the Moon And the Earth in a swoon, All dying for par-tic-u-lars-u-lars! Of this planet of mine called Mars!”
Mr Swinglebinks, unlike his two companions, was short, stout, and dreadfully important. In Fable Land, where we are going as soon as we start for that happy place, he kept a grocer’s shop once upon a time. As nobody cared a fig for his sugar and currants, however, he retired from business and took to dates and the making of new almanacks, and was now travelling about for the benefit of his figures. He was very strong ​on arithmetic, and could read, write, and arithmetise before he went to school, so he never went at all.
While the Zankiwank was talking to his friends an unseen porter rang an unseen bell, and called out in an unknown tongue:—
“We must put that porter back in the bottle,” said the Jackarandajam, “we shall want some bottled porter to drink on the road.”
“Well,” said Maude, “what a ridiculous thing to say. We don’t bottle railway porters, I am sure.”
“I wish the Bletherwitch would come,” exclaimed the Zankiwank, “we shall miss the next train. She is most provoking. She promised to be here three weeks ago, and we have been waiting ever since.”
This astounding statement quite disturbed Willie, who almost swallowed a bun in his excitement. Had he and Maude been waiting there three weeks as well? What would they think at home? You see Maude and Willie, who were brother and sister, had been on a visit to their grandmama; and on their way home they had fallen asleep in the carriage, after having repeated ​to each other all the wonderful fairy tales their grandmama had related to them. How long they had slept they could not guess, but when they woke up, instead of finding themselves at home in St George’s Square, they discovered that they were at Charing Cross Station. Mary, their nurse, had disappeared, so had John the coachman, and it was the Zankiwank who had opened the door and assisted them to alight, saying at the same time most politely—
“I assist you to alight, because it is so dark.”
Then he gave them buns and chocolates, ice-creams, apples, pears, shrimps and cranberry tarts. So it stands to reason that after such a mixture they were rather perplexed. However, they did not seem very much distressed, and as they were both fond of adventures, especially in books, they were quite content to accept the Zankiwank’s offer to take them for a ride in the midnight-express to Fable Land, over which, as everybody knows, King Æsop reigns. Maudie was nine and a half and Willie was eight and a quarter. Very nice ages indeed, unless you ​happen to be younger or older, and then your own age is nicer still.
“I think,” said the Zankiwenk, “that we will start without the Bletherwitch. She knows the way and can take a balloon.”
“If she takes a balloon she will lose it. You had better let the balloon take her,” exclaimed the Jackarandajam severely.
“Take your places! Take your places!” cried the unseen porter. So everybody made a rush for the train, and they all entered a Pullman Car and sat down on the seats.
“Dear me! How very incorrectly that porter speaks. He means, of course, that the seats should take, or receive us.”
The Zankiwank only smiled, while Mr Swinglebinks commenced counting up to a hundred, but as he lost one, he could only count up to ninety-nine—so, to keep his arithmetic going, he subtracted a time-piece from his neighbour’s pocket, multiplied his foot-warmers, and divided his attention between the Wimble and the Wamble, who were both of the party, being left-handed and deaf.
​Maudie and Willie took their places in the car with all the other passengers amid a perfect babel of chattering and laughing and crying, and then, as the train began to slowly move out of the station, the Zankiwank solemnly sang the following serious song:—
Off to Fable Land.
Maudie and Willie found themselves joining lustily in the chorus when the Zankiwank pulled the cord communicating with the guard, and, ​opening the window, climbed out on to the top of the carriage calling all the time:—
So the guard turned the train round, and they went back to Charing Cross as quick as lightning.
“It’s my fault,’ moaned the Jackarandajam, “I ought to have reminded you. Never mind, we will put on another engine.”
So the Zankiwank got out and sent a telegram to the Bletherwitch, and desired her to follow on in a balloon.
Again they started, and everybody settled down until the train reached the British Channel, when it dived through a tunnel into an unin-​habited country, where the post-office clerk popped his head into the carriage window and handed in a telegram.
“Extremely thoughtful,” exclaimed everybody. But the Zankiwank wept, and explained to the sympathetic Maude that he was engaged to be married to the Bletherwitch, and he had been waiting for her for fourteen years. “Such a charming creature. I will introduce you when she comes. Fancy, she is only two feet one inch and one third high, Such a suitable height for a bride.”
“What,” expostulated Willie and Maude together, “she’s no bigger than our baby! And you are quite——”
“Eight feet and one half of an inch.”
“How disproportionate! It seems to me to be a most unequal match,” answered Maude. “What does her mother say?”
​“Oh, she hasn’t got any mother, you know. That would not do. She has been asleep for two thousand years, and has only just woke up to the fact that I am her destiny.”
“She is only joking,” declared Maude. “Two thousand years! She must be joking!”
“No,” replied the Zankiwank somewhat sadly, “she is not joking. She never jokes. She is of Scottish descent,” he added reflectively. “I hope she will keep her appointment. I am afraid she is rather giddy!——”
“Giddy! Well, if she has waited two thousand years before making up her mind to go to the dentists she must be giddy. I am afraid you are not speaking the truth.”
Before any reply could be given the Guard came to the window and said they would have to go back to Charing Cross again as he forgot to pay his rent, and he always paid his rent on Monday.
“But this is not Monday,” said Willie. “Yesterday was Monday. To-day is to-morrow you know, therefore it is Tuesday. Pay your landlady double next Monday and that will do just as well.”
​The Guard hesitated.
“Don’t vex the Guard,” they all said in chorus.
“I am not vexed,” said the Guard, touching his hat. “Do you think it would be right to pay double? You see my landlady is single. She might not like it.”
“Write ‘I. O. U.’ on a post-card and send it to her. It will do just as well, if not better,” suggested Mr Swinglebinks.
So the Guard sent the post-card; but in his agitation he told the engineer driver to go straight ahead instead of round the corner. The consequence was that they were run into by a Demon on a bicycle, and thrown out of the train down a coal mine. Luckily there were no coals in the mine so it did not matter, and they went boldly forward—that is to say, Willie and Maude did, and knocked at the front door of a handsome house that suddenly appeared before them.
Nobody opened the door, so they walked in. They looked behind them, but could not see ​the Zankiwank or any of the passengers in the train; therefore, not knowing what else to do, they went upstairs. They appeared to be walking
“Out of the way! Out of the way!” screamed a chorus of curious voices, and Maude and Willie found themselves taken by the hand by a weird-looking dwarf with a swivel eye and an elevated proboscis, and led out of danger.
The children could not help gazing upon their preserver, who was so grotesquely formed, with a humped back, twisted legs, very long arms, and such a funny little body without any neck. But his eyes atoned for everything—they sparkled and glinted in their sockets like bright brown diamonds—only there are no brown diamonds, you know, only white and pink ones.
The Dwarf did not appear to mind the wondering looks of the children at all, but patted them on the cheeks and told them not to be frightened. But whether he meant frightened of himself, or of the Birds, Beasts, and Fishes ​that were hurrying by in such confusing masses, they could not tell. One thing, however, that
“How do you like my Menagerie,” enquired the Dwarf. “Rough and ready, perhaps, but as docile as a flat-iron if you treat them properly.”
“It is just like the Zoo," declared Willie. “Or the animals in Æsop’s Fables,” suggested Maude.
This delighted the Dwarf very much, for though he looked so serious, he was full of good humour and skipped about with much agility.
“Good! Good!” he cried. “Æsop and the Zoo! Ha! Ha! He! He! Anybody can be a Zoo but only one can be Æsop, and I am he!”
“Æsop! Are you really Mr Æsop, the Phrygian Philosopher?” cried Maude.
“King Æsop, I should say,” corrected Willie. “I am glad we have met you, because now, perhaps, you will kindly tell us what a Fable really is.”
“A Fable,” said the merry Æsop, with a twinkle in his witty eyes, “is a fictitious story about ​nothing that ever happened, related by nobody that ever lived. And the moral is, that every one is quite innocent, only they must not do it again!”
“Ah! that is only your fun,” said Willie sagely, “because of the moral. Why do they give you so many morals?”
“I don’t know,” answered Æsop gravely. “But the Commentators and Editors do give a lot of applications and morals to the tales of my animals, don’t they?”
“I like a tale with a moral,” averred Maude, “it finishes everything up so satisfactorily, I think. Now, Mr Æsop, as you know so much, please tell us what a proverb is?”
“Ah!” replied Mr Æsop, “I don’t make proverbs. There are too many already, but a proverb usually seems to me to be something you always theoretically remember to practically forget.”
Neither of the children quite understood this, though Maude thought it was what her papa would call satire, and satire was such a strange ​word that she could never fully comprehend the meaning.
Willie was silent too, like his sister, and seeing them deep in thought, King Æsop waved a little wand he had in his hand, and all the Birds and Beasts and Fishes joined hands and paws, and fins and wings, and danced in a circle singing to the music of a quantity of piping birds in the trees:—
After merrily joining in this very original song, with dancing accompaniment, Maude and Willie thanked King Æsop for permitting his animals to entertain them.
“Always glad to please good little boys and ​girls, you know,” he replied pleasantly, “even in their play they furnish us with a new fable and a moral.”
“And that is?”
“All play and no work makes the world stand still.”
Before they could ask for an explanation, their attention was once more drawn to the animals,
​The Frogs were in a corner by themselves playing “Kiss in the Ring,” and crying out:—
in a very serio-comic manner. Then the Storks and the Cranes and the Geese and the Ganders were standing in a circle singing:—
It was too ridiculous; they could recognise every animal they had read about in Æsop, and they were all behaving in a manner they little dreamed could be possible, out of a Night-mare. But it certainly was not a Night-mare, though they could distinguish several horses and ponies.
Not a sound was to be heard, and darkness gradually fell around them. They held each other by the hand, and determined to go forward, but to their dismay they could not move! They were glued to the earth. They tried to speak, but their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths, and they were in great distress. “Where, Oh where was the Zankiwank?” they wondered in their thoughts. And a buzzing in their ears took up the refrain:—
“A telegram, did you say? For me, of course, what an age you have been. How is my blushing bride? Let me see—
‘From the Bletherwitch, Nonsuch Street,
To the Zankiwank, Nodland.
    Forgot my new shoes, and the housemaid’s killed the parrot. Put the kettle on.’ ”
Then the children heard some sobbing sound soughing through the silence and they knew that they were saved. Also that the Zankiwank was weeping. So with a strong effort Maude managed to call out consolingly, “Zankiwanky, dear! don’t cry, come and let me comfort you.”
But the Zankiwank refused to be comforted. However, he came forward muttering an incanta​tion of some sort, and Maude and Willie finding themselves free, rushed forward and greeted him.
“Hush, my dears, the Nargalnannacus is afloat on the wild, wild main. We must be careful and depart, or he will turn us into something unpleasant—the last century or may be the next, as it is close at hand, and inexpensive. Follow me to the ship that is waiting in the Bay Window, and we will go and get some Floranges.”
Carefully Maudie and Willie followed the Zankiwank, each holding on by the tails of his coat, glad enough to go anywhere out of the Blackness of the Dark.
Soon they found themselves in Window Bay, and climbing up the sides of a mighty ship with five funnels and a red-haired captain.
“Quick,” called the Captain, “the Nargalnannacus is on the lee scuppers just off the jibboom brace. Make all sail for the Straights of Ballambangjan, and mind the garden gate.”
Then the Zankiwank became the man at the wheel, and the vessel scudded before the wind as the two children went off into a trance.