Tootlers, Beware!

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 26, 29 December 1906, Page 47

Tootlers, Beware!

“What man has done, that man ean do.” That is what Hildebrand Schwartz wrote in his copy-book. he wrote it first in big round hand, and then ne wrote it in text-hand, and then he wrote it in small hand, and then—he made a blot!

For this carelessness lie had to stay in after school hours and write out the copy a hundred times, which he thought rather a senseless punishment.

No wonder that the words stuck in his memory: “What man has done, about it, he somehow connected it with about it, he somehow eanneeted it with the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the skilful musician who first charmed the rats and afterwards the children.

He said to himself, “What a grand thing it would be if J, Hildebrand Schwartz, could pipe like that! What a sensation it would make! Wouldn't father and mother, and little sister be proud? And wouldn’t old Domine Samson stare?”

So Hildebrand began to practice tootling on the French horn! He tootled before the early worm was up, he tootled at dewy eve, in fact he tootled in season and out of. season, until his relatives felt it their painful duty to say to him kindly, yet firmly: “Hildebrand dear, your noise give o’er, We cannot stand it any more! Go ’neath the spacious firmament, There tootle to your heart’s content!” “Not a bad idea,” replied Hildebrand. “I believe that is just what the old wandering minstrels did. ‘Gaily the troubadour touched his guitar,’ don’t you know? He happened to have a guitar, but to all intents and purposes it might just as well have been a French horn. There would have been one drawback, perhaps, for he couldn’t have tootled and sung very well and at one and the same time. He would have capered, of course! Aye, and so will I. ‘On the light fantastic toe, dance and tootle as I go’” “But Hildebrand,” said his father, "will not that course of action be incompatible with your scholastic engagements?” “I venture to think not,” replied Hildebrand; “Wednesday and Saturday are half-holidays, those afternoons I will devote to sleep and the night to music.” “Be it so,” said his father, “but take care of your constitution, my boy, arid protect your chest from the night air.” “Not a bad idea!” answered Hildebrand. “Lambs’ wool—eh, father? and plenty of it.” Now beneath the lofty battlements of the old city wall was a winding pathway. “What better place for my purpose could I possibly find?” said Hildebrand. “There will I wake the echoes, and rouse the night owl with my melodious horn.” So the very next Wednesday afternoon he devoted to sleep. When night fell, Hildebrand partook of some light yet strengthening refreshment —a newlaid egg beaten up in milk. He put on two pairs of thick worsted stockings and a chest protector. Round his neck he wound a woollen comforter, the long ends of which hung down gracefully. One his head was a cap lined with flannel. His shoes were given him by his thoughtful father, who remarked: "Here is a pair of patent sanitary shoes With soles impervious to the damp for you to use.” “Ah, not a bad idea!” said Hildebrand. “Believe me, I value the gift, and the motive which prompted it” Then taking life’ horn he went forth into the night. Now the good people of the town followed the golden precept of “Early to bed, early to rise,” and so the place •was wrapped in slumber. But, hark! What did Hildebrand hear? A plaintive melancholy sound. “Mi-aou!” He listened. Said he, “Some domestic cats are giving a concert on the roofs of the houses.” And so it was, “mi-aou. mi-aou-aou!” Hildebrand began to tootle.

The concert suddenly ceased as if by magic; there was a hurried scrambling and scampering. ’ “What! ” said Hildebrand, “can it he that I have charriied the animals already? Hurrah! ” But, no! A procession of cats came and gazed with scared faces at the musician, and then fled at the very top of their speed. Hildebrand was alone!

" Strange,” he said, “ but at least the playing was effective! ” And he recommenced his tootling. Shortly after there came along an owl and hovered in the air above the performer. “At any rate,” said Hildebrand to himself, “ it would seem that I have charmed the birds. I have roused the night owl with my minstrelsy. See —it listens with rapt attention.” He paused a moment to take a deep breath, and the owl seized the opportunity. “ Excuse me,” it said politely, “ but would you have the kindness to tootle somewhere a little farther off? My wife is feeling a bit poorly, and so much noise makes her head ache! ”

“ Oh, you are quite mistaken, I assure you,” said Hildebrand; “it must have been those horrid cats.”

“ Ah, no! ” replied the owl, with an expansive smile, “ the cat concert quite chirped her up. Of course,” added the owl apologetically, “ the eats are accomplished musicians. But we all have to learn, and there is no royal road to success, even in tootling on a French-horn.” “Strange!” thought Hildebrand. “Still, as I thought to myself before, the playing is effective!” To oblige the owl he moved farther on, and wandered capering and tootling by the moat. By-and-by he saw something sparkling in the water; it was the king of the fishes, and the moonlight was reflected from his scales. Then another fish appeared, and anotlier, until Hildebrand removed his horn for a moment to exclaim :

“ What a fulfilment of my wishes, My skill has power to charm the fishes! ” But directly he paused the king of the fishes said, “ Excuse me, Hildebrand, but your tootling sets all our scales on edge —it does, indeed. It is bad enough for us poor grown-ups, but the children need, and indeed must have, their natural rest. Now go away, there’s a good fellow, and tootle somewhere else.” “ Strange! " tlrougnt Hildebrand. “ I suppose the times have altered since the Pied Piper played, and people have now ceased to appreciate sweet sounds.” He hurried sadly away, and in time wandered into a darksome wood. “ Here can I dance and tootle to my heart's content,” he said to himself. But in the midst of the perforrtnnee a band of robbers rushed all of a sudden from the cave where they hid, shotting: “Who makes this terrible to do? Cateh him, beat him black and blue.” And they were as good as their word. They seized the unfortunate youth by his woollen comforter and nearly choked the breath out of liis body, then, with his beloved French-horn, they belaboured him 'until he was black and blue and senseless. Whereupon they carried him into the town, and laid him on his father’s doorstep, with a label pinned to his chest-proteetor:

“ If you dare tootle any more, We’ll serve you as we’ve.done before! As sure as one and one makes two, What man has done, that man can do.”

And later on, as his father judiciously applied wet brown paper and stickingplaster and ointment to Hildebrand's thousand and one bruises, the old gentleman sadly observed: “I fear, my son, that you do not understand the art of tootling.”