Land of Unreason Read Free Page B

said
gravely: "Marry, 'tis no small problem with so lusty a babe. A very
Wayland or Brian of Born when a gets growth, I'll warrant. Yet stay, friends;
this is a wise, intelligent brat that talks like a lawyer, that is, never but
to his own profit. He merely protests that we put the clout on over his
breeches when it should go under. Come, once more!"
     
                She gave a little leap,
flapping her wings in excitement, and was bounced a dozen yards into the air by
the effort. Barber gaped, following her with his eyes, and felt his pajamas
seized by hands eager to tear them off him. He clutched, turned, swung his arms
in good, angry embarrassment, then broke loose—even the largest of them did not
seem very strong—and backed a few steps against one of the trees, a torn
pajama-leg dangling about his feet. Half a dozen of those with wings were in
the air. He could hear the whisper of their flight behind the tree, and a
chilly hand, small like a child's, plucked from behind at the neck of his
too-light upper garment.
     
                "Listen!" he
cried. "Unless this is one of those nightmares where you go down Fifth
Avenue without your clothes, my name's Fred Barber, and I'll keep my pants,
please. You can trust me not to disgrace them. Now, will somebody tell me what
this is all about, and why you want to put that thing on me?"
     
                He pointed to the enormous
diaper, which had slipped from the hand of its holder and lay spread and
tousled on the grass. There was a momentary silence, through which one or two
of the aerial creatures planed lightly to the ground, spilling the air from
their wings like pigeons. Through it the observant part of Barber's mind
shouted to him that in dreams one does not speak but communicate, thought to
thought; nor do the fantasies born of head injury follow from step to step.
This must, then—
     
                The brownie with the wall
eyes had stepped forward, pulled off a striped stocking-cap and was bowing to
the ground. "Worshipful babe," he said, in a high, squeaky voice,
"you do speak in terms rank reasonable; which, since all reason is folly
and I am the court's chief fool, to wit, its philosopher, I give myself to
answer in the same terms. As to your first premise, that you dream, why, that's
in nature a thing unknowable; for if it were true, the dream itself would
furnish the only evidence by which it could be judged. You will agree,
worshipful babe, that it's not good law, nor sense either, that one should be
at once judge, jury, prosecutor and condemned in his own case. Therefore—"
     
                He was thrust aside in
mid-speech by the little winged creature, who cried: "Oh, la! Never speak
reasonably to a philosopher, Master Barber; it leads to much words and little
wit. What this learned dunce would say in an hour or two is that you find
yourself at the court of King Oberon—"
     
                "As mortals have
before," chorused half a dozen of them, singing the words like a refrain.
     
                "—About to be made a
present of to His Radiance—"
     
                "Do you mean this is
really Fairyland?" Barber's voice was incredulous. There was a great burst
of laughter from the queer little people all round him, some holding their
sides, some slapping knees, others rolling on the ground with mirth till they
bumped into each other. Inconsequentially, they turned the movement into a
series of acrobatic somersaults and games of leapfrog, laughing all the while.
     
                "Where thought you
else?" demanded the winged lady.
     
                "I didn't. But look
here—I'm not sure that I want to be a present to King Oberon, like a—like
a—" His mind fumbled for the impressive simile, all the time busy with the
thought that, in spite of its sequence and vividness, this must be some special
kind of hallucination. "—Like an object," he finished