Free Parnassus on Wheels by Christopher Morley Page A

pine for some o'
that feller Shakespeare my father used to talk about so much, but
Perfessor always 'lowed it was over my head!"
    It gave me quite a thrill to hear all this about Mifflin. I
could readily imagine the masterful little man captivating the
simple-hearted Pratts with his eloquence and earnestness. And the
story of the mill pond had its meaning, too. Little Redbeard was no
mere wandering crank—he was a real man, cool and steady of brain,
with the earmarks of a hero. I felt a sudden gush of warmth as I
recalled his comical ways.
    Mrs. Pratt lit a fire in her Franklin stove and I racked my head
wondering how I could tread worthily in the Professor's footsteps.
Finally I fetched the "Jungle Book" from Parnassus and read them
the story of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. There was a long pause when I had
finished.
    "Say, Pa," said Dick shyly, "that mongoose was rather like
Professor, wasn't he!"
    Plainly the Professor was the traditional hero of this family,
and I began to feel rather like an impostor!
    I suppose it was foolish of me, but I had already made up my mind
to push on to Woodbridge that night. It could not be more than four
miles, and the time was not much after eight. I felt a little twinge
of quite unworthy annoyance because I was still treading in the
glamour of the Professor's influence. The Pratts would talk of
nothing else, and I wanted to get somewhere where I would be
estimated at my own value, not merely as his disciple. "Darn the
Redbeard," I said to myself, "I think he has bewitched these
people!" And in spite of their protests and invitations to stay the
night, I insisted on having Peg hitched up. I gave them the copy
of the "Jungle Book" as a small return for their hospitality,
and finally sold Mr. Pratt a little copy of "Lamb's Tales from
Shakespeare" which I thought he could read without brain fever. Then
I lit my lantern and after a chorus of good-byes Parnassus rolled
away. "Well," I said to myself as I turned into the high road once
more, "drat the gingersnap, he seems to hypnotize everybody... he
must be nearly in Brooklyn by this time!"
    It was very quiet along the road, also very dark, for the sky had
clouded over and I could see neither moon nor stars. As it was a
direct road I should have had no difficulty, and I suppose I must
have fallen into a doze during which Peg took a wrong turning. At
any rate, I realized about half-past nine that Parnassus was on a
much rougher road than the highway had any right to be, and there
were no telephone poles to be seen. I knew that they stretched
all along the main road, so plainly I had made a mistake. I was
reluctant for a moment to admit that I could be wrong, and just
then Peg stumbled heavily and stood still. She paid no heed to my
exhortations, and when I got out and carried my lantern to see
whether anything was in the way, I found that she had cast a shoe
and her foot was bleeding. The shoe must have dropped off some way
back and she had picked up a nail or something in the quick. I saw
no alternative but to stay where I was for the night.
    This was not very pleasant, but the adventures of the day had put
me into a stoical frame of mind, and I saw no good in repining. I
unhitched Peg, sponged her foot, and tied her to a tree. I would
have made more careful explorations to determine just where I was,
but a sharp patter of rain began to fall. So I climbed into my
Parnassus, took Bock in with me, and lit the swinging lamp. By this
time it was nearly ten o'clock. There was nothing to do but turn in,
so I took off my boots and lay down in the bunk. Bock lay quite
comfortably on the floor of the van. I meant to read for a while,
and so did not turn out the light, but I fell asleep almost
immediately.
    I woke up at half-past eleven and turned out the lamp, which had
made the van very warm. I opened the little windows front and back,
and would have opened the door, but I feared Bock might slip away.
It was still raining a little. To my annoyance I felt very