"Whatta da namea dissa cit?" asked the Unwiseman in his best Italian as the party arrived at Genoa, whence they were to set sail for home the next day.

"This is Genoa," said Mollie.

"What's it good for?" demanded the old gentleman, gazing around him in a highly critical fashion.

"It's where Christopher Columbus was born," said Mollie. "Didn't you know that?"

"You don't mean the gentleman who discovered the United States, do you?" asked the Unwiseman, his face brightening with interest.

"The very same," said Mollie. "He was born right here in this town."

"Humph!" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "Queer place for a fellow like that to be born in. You'd think a man who was going to discover America would have been born a little nearer the United States than this. Up in Canada for instance, or down around Cuba, so's he wouldn't have so far to travel."

"Canada and Cuba weren't discovered either at that time," explained Mollie, smiling broadly at the Unwiseman's ignorance.

"Really?" said the Unwiseman. "Well that accounts for it. I always wondered why the United States wasn't discovered by somebody nearer home, like a Canadian or a Cuban, or some fellow down around where the Panama hats come from, but of course if there wasn't any Canadians or Cubans or Panama hatters around to do it, it's as clear as pie." The old gentleman paused a moment, and then he went on: "So this is the place that would have been our native land if Columbus hadn't gone to sea, is it? I think I'll take home a bottle of it to keep on the mantel-piece alongside of my bottle of United States and label 'em' My Native Land, Before and After.'"

"That's a very good idea," said Mollie. "Then you'll have a complete set."

"I wonder," said the Unwiseman, rubbing his forehead reflectively, "I wonder if he's alive yet."

"What, Christopher Columbus?" laughed Mollie.

"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't seen much in the papers about him lately, but that don't prove he's dead."

"Why he discovered America in 1492," said Mollie.

"Well—let's see—how long ago was that? More'n forty years, wasn't it?" said the Unwiseman.

"I guess it was more than forty years ago," giggled Mollie.

"Well—say fifty then," said the Unwiseman. "I'm pretty nearly that old myself. I was born in 1839, or 1843, or some such year, and as I remember it we'd been discovered then—but that wouldn't make him so awfully old you know. A man can be eighty and still live. Look at old Methoosalum—he was nine hundred."

"Oh well," said Mollie, "there isn't any use of talking about it. Columbus has been dead a long time——"

"All I can say is that I'm very sorry," interrupted the Unwiseman, with a sad little shake of his head. "I should very much like to have gone over and called on him just to thank him for dishcovering the United States. Just think, Mollie, of what would have happened if he hadn't! You and I and old Fizzledinkie here would have had to be Eye-talians, or Switzers, and live over here all the time if it hadn't been for him, and our own beautiful native land would have been left way across the sea all alone by itself and we'd never have known anything about it."

"We certainly ought to be very much obliged to Mr. Columbus for all he did for us," said Mollie.

"I-guess-somebuddyelse-wudda-donit," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They cuddn'-ta-helptit-with-all-these-socean steamers-going-over-there every-day."

"That's true enough," said the Unwiseman, "but we ought to be thankful to Columbus just the same. Other people might have done it, but the fact remains that he did do it, so I'm much obliged to him. I'd sort of like to do something to show my gratitude."

"Better write to his family," grinned Whistlebinkie.

"For a rubber doll with a squeak instead of brain in his head that's a first rate idea, Fizzledinkie," said the old gentleman. "I'll do it."

And so he did. The evening mail from the Unwiseman's hotel carried with it a souvenir postal card addressed to Christopher Columbus, Jr., upon which the sender had written as follows:

Genoa, Aug. 23, 19—.

Dear Christopher:

As an American citizen I want to thank you for your Papa's very great kindness in dishcovering the United States. When I think that if he hadn't I might have been born a Switzer or a French John Darm it gives me a chill. I would have called on you to say this in person if I'd had time, but we are going to sail tomorrow for home and we're pretty busy packing up our carpet-bags and eating our last meals on shore. If you ever feel like dishcovering us on your own account and cross over the briny deep yourself, don't fail to call on me at my home where I have a fine kitching stove and an umbrella which will always be at your disposal.

Yours trooly,
The Unwiseman, U.S.A.

Later in the evening to the same address was despatched another postal reading:

P.S. If you happen to have an extra photograph of your Papa lying around the house that you don't want with his ortygraph on it I shall be glad to have you send it to me. I will have it framed and hung up in the parlor alongside of General Washington and President Roosevelt who have also been fathers of their country from time to time.

Yours trooly,
The Unwiseman, U.S.A.

"I'm glad I did that," said the Unwiseman when he told Mollie of his two messages to Christopher, Jr. "I don't think people as a rule are careful enough these days to show their thanks to other people who do things for them. It don't do any harm to be polite in matters of that kind and some time it may do a lot of good. Good manners ain't never out of place anywhere anyhow."

In which praiseworthy sentiment I am happy to say both Mollie and Whistlebinkie agreed.

The following day the travellers embarked on the steamer bound for New York. This time, weary of his experience as a stowaway on the trip over, the Unwiseman contented himself with travelling in his carpet-bag and not until after the ship had passed along the Mediterranean and out through the straits of Gibraltar, did he appear before his companions. His first appearance upon deck was just as the coast of Africa was fading away upon the horizon. He peered at this long and earnestly through a small blue bottle he held in his hand, and then when the last vestige of the scene sank slowly behind the horizon line into the sea, he corked the bottle up tightly, put it into his pocket and turned to Mollie and Whistlebinkie.

"Well," he said, "that's done—and I'm glad of it. I've enjoyed this trip very much, but after all I'm glad I'm going home. Be it ever so bumble there's no place like home, as the Bee said, and I'll be glad to be back again where I can sleep comfortably on my kitchen-stove, with my beloved umbrella standing guard alongside of me, and my trusty leak looking down upon me from the ceiling while I rest."

"You missed a wonderful sight," said Mollie. "That Rock of Gibraltar was perfectly magnificent."

"I didn't miss it," said the Unwiseman. "I peeked at it through the port-hole and I quite agree with you. It is the cutest piece of rock I've seen in a long time. It seemed almost as big to me as the boulder in my back yard must seem to an ant, but I prefer my boulder just the same. Gibrallyper's too big to do anything with and it spoils the view, whereas my boulder can be rolled around the place without any trouble and doesn't spoil anything. I suppose they keep it there to keep Spain from sliding down into the sea, so it's useful in a way, but after all I'm just as glad it's here instead of out on my lawn somewhere."

"What have you been doing all these days?" asked Mollie.

"O just keeping quiet," said the Unwiseman. "I've been reading up on Christopher Columbus and—er—writing a few poems about him. He was a wonderful man, Columbus was. He proved the earth was round when everybody else thought it was flat—and how do you suppose he did it?"

"By sailin' around it," said Whistlebinkie.

"That was after he proved it," observed the Unwiseman, with the superior air of one who knows more than somebody else. "He proved it by making an egg stand up on its hind legs."

"What?" cried Mollie.

"I didn't know eggs had hind legs," said Whistlebinkie.

"Ever see a chicken?" asked the Unwiseman.

"Yes," said Whistlebinkie.

"Well, a chicken's only an advanced egg," said the Unwiseman.

"That's true," said Mollie.

"And chickens haven't got anything but hind legs, have they?" demanded the old gentleman.

"Thass-a-fact," whistled Whistlebinkie.

"And Columbus proved it by making the egg stand up?" asked Mollie.

"That's what history tells us," said the Unwiseman. "All the Harvard and Yale professors of the day said the earth was flat, but Columbus knew better, so he just took an egg and proved it. That's one of the things I've put in a poem. Want to hear it?"

"Indeed I do," said Mollie. "It must be interesting."

"It is—it's the longest poem I ever wrote," said the Unwiseman, and seeking out a retired nook on the steamer's deck the droll old fellow seated himself on a coil of rope and read the following poem to Mollie and Whistlebinkie.

COLUMBUS AND THE EGG.

"Columbus was a gentleman
Who sailed the briny sea.
He was a bright young Genoan
In sunny Italy
Who once discovered just the plan
To find Amerikee."

"Splendid!" cried Mollie, clapping her hands with glee.

"Perfly-bully!" chortled Whistlebinkie, with a joyous squeak.

"I'm glad you like it," said the Unwiseman, with a smile of pleasure. "But just you wait. The best part of it's to come yet."

And the old gentleman resumed his poem:

"He sought the wise-men of his time,
And when the same were found,
He went and whispered to them, 'I'm
Convinced the Earth is round,
Just like an orange or a lime—
I'll bet you half a pound!'
"Each wise-man then just shook his head—
Each one within his hat.
'Go to, Columbus, child,' they said.
'We know the Earth is flat.
Go home, my son, and go to bed
And don't talk stuff like that.'
"But Christopher could not be hushed
By fellows such as they.
His spirit never could be crushed
In such an easy way,
And with his heart and soul unsquushed
He plunged into the fray."

"What's a fray?" asked Whistlebinkie.

"A fight, row, dispute, argyment," said the Unwiseman. "Don't interrupt. We're coming to the exciting part."

And he went on:

"'I'll prove the world is round,' said he
'For you next Tuesday night,
If you will gather formally
And listen to the right.'
And all the wise-men did agree
Because they loved a fight.
"And so the wise-men gathered there
To hear Columbus talk,
And some were white as to the hair
And some could hardly walk,
And one looked like a Polar Bear
And one looked like an Auk."

"How-dju-know-that?" asked Whistlebinkie. "Does the history say all that?"

"No," said the Unwiseman. "The history doesn't say anything about their looks, but there's a picture of the whole party in the book, and it was just as I say especially the Polar Bear and the Auk. Anyhow, they were all there and the poem goes on to tell about it.

"Now when about the room they sat
Columbus he came in;
Took off his rubbers and his hat,
Likewise his tarpaulin.
He cleared his throat and stroked the cat
And thuswise did begin."

"There wasn't any cat in the picture," explained the Unwiseman, "but I introduced him to get a rhyme for hat and sat. Sometimes you have to do things like that in poetry and according to the rules if you have a license you can do it."

"Have you got a license?" asked Whistlebinkie.

"Not to write poetry, but I've got a dog-license," said the Unwiseman, "and I guess if a man pays three dollars to keep a dog and doesn't keep the dog he's got a right to use the license for something else. I'll risk it anyhow. So just keep still and listen.

"'You see this egg?' Columbus led.
'Now watch me, sirs, I begs.
I'll make it stand upon its head
Or else upon its legs.'
And instantly 'twas as he said
As sure as eggs is eggs.
"For whether 'twas an Egg from school
Or in a circus taught,
Or whether it was just a cool
Egg of unusual sort,
That egg stood up just like a spool
According to report."

"I bet he smashed in the end of it," said Whistlebinkie.

"Maybe it was a scrambled egg, maybe he stuck a pin in an end of it. Maybe he didn't. Anyhow, he made it stand up," said the Unwiseman, "and I wish you'd stop squeakyrupting when I'm reading."

"Go ahead," said Whistlebinkie meekly. "It's a perfly spulendid piece o' potery and I can't help showing my yadmiration for it."

"Well keep your yadmiration for the yend of it," retorted the Unwiseman. "We'll be in New York before I get it finished at this rate."

Whistlebinkie promised not to squeak again and the Unwiseman resumed.

"'O wonderful!' the wise-men cried.
'O marvellous,' said they.
And then Columbus up and tried
The egg the other way,
And still it stood up full of pride
Or so the histories say.
"Again the wise-men cried aloud,
'O wizard, marvellous!
Of all the scientific crowd
This is the man for us—
O Christopher we're mighty proud
Of you, you little cuss!'"

"That wasn't very polite," began Whistlebinkie.

"Now Squeaky," said the Unwiseman.

"'Scuse!" gasped Whistlebinkie.

And the Unwiseman went on:

"'For men who make an omlette
We really do not care;
To poach an egg already yet
Is easy everywhere;
But he who'll teach it etiquette—
He is a genius rare.
"'So if you say the Earth is round
We think it must be so.
Your reasoning's so very sound,
Columbus don't you know.
Come wizard, take your half-a-pound
Before you homeward go.'"

Whistlebinkie began to fidget again and his breath came in little short squeaks.

"But I don't see," he began. "It didn't prove——"

"Wait!" said the Unwiseman. "Don't you try to get in ahead of the finish. Here's the last verse, and it covers your ground.

"And thus it was, O children dear,
Who gather at my knee,
Columbus showed the Earth the sphere
It since has proved to be;
Though how the Egg trick made it clear,
I'm blest if I can see."

"Well I'm glad you put that last voyse in," said Whistlebinkie, "because I don't see either."

"Oh—I guess they thought a man who could train an egg to stand up was a pretty smart man," said Mollie, "and they didn't want to dispute with him."

"I shouldn't be surprised if that was it," said the Unwiseman. "I noticed too in the picture that Columbus was about twice as big as any of the wise-men, and maybe that had something to do with it too. Anyhow, he was pretty smart."

"Is that all you wrote?" asked Whistlebinkie.

"No," said the Unwiseman. "I did another little one called 'I Wonder.' There are a lot of things the histories don't tell you anything about, so I've put 'em all in a rhyme as a sort of hint to people who are going to write about him in the future. It goes like this:

"When Christopher Columbus came ashore,
The day he landed in Americor
I wonder what he said when first he tried
Down in the subway trains to take a ride?
"When Christopher Columbus went up town
And looked the country over, up and down,
I wonder what he thought when first his eye
Was caught by the sky-scrapers in the sky?
"When Christopher put up at his hotel
And first pushed in the button of his bell
And upward came the boy who orders takes,
I wonder if he ordered buckwheat cakes?
"When Christopher went down to Washington
To pay his call the President upon
I wonder if the President felt queer
To know that his discoverer was here?
"I wonder when his slow-poke caravels
Were tossed about by heavy winds and swells,
If he was not put out and mad to spy
The ocean steamers prancing swiftly by?"

"I don't know about other people," said the Unwiseman, "but little things like that always interest me about as much as anything else, but there's nary a word about it in the papers, and as far as my memory is concerned when he first came I was too young to know much about what was going on. I do remember a big parade in his honor, but I think that was some years after the discovery."

"I guess it was," said Mollie, with a laugh. "There wasn't anything but Indians there when he arrived."

"Really? How unfortunate—how very unfortunate," said the Unwiseman. "To think that on the few occasions that he came here he should meet only Indians. Mercy! What a queer idea of the citizens of the United States he must have got. Really, Mollie, I don't wonder that instead of settling down in New York, or Boston, or Chicago, he went back home again to live. Nothing but Indians! Well, well, well!"

And the Unwiseman wandered moodily back to his carpet-bag.

"With so many nice people living in America," he sighed, "it does seem too bad that he should meet only Indians who, while they may be very good Indians indeed, are not noted for the quality of their manners."

And so the little party passed over the sea, and I did not meet with them again until I reached the pier at New York and discovered the Unwiseman struggling with the Custom House Inspectors.