The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles (16 page)

"Most of them, Your Majesty. We've had some amazing success with frogs."

The Whangdoodle glowed pink with delight. "Well, then. This is all very clear to me. I don't see what all the fuss is about. If you have been smart enough to find the secret of life and it works on a frog, for heaven's sake, why not a Whangdoodle? I am a willing subject for research. All you have to do is get your thinking organized and I am certain that you will come up with the solution."

The professor gave an exasperated sigh. "Your Majesty, how can I convince you that you are asking for the impossible? I hate to disappoint you, but the work in genetics is really just beginning. I've devoted most of my life to research and yet I only have a few answers. How could I possibly know enough to create a Whangdoodle?"

The Whangdoodle stared at the professor and slowly turned a very pale blue. He looked terribly dejected and slumped back on his throne. After a moment he said, "Bother. That's very sad. I had such high hopes. I was so certain that your presence here meant that something special was going to happen. I must have been wrong. It's too disappointing for words."

The Prock said gently, "Your Majesty . . ."

"No, no." The Whangdoodle held up a hoof. "I'd rather not discuss it any more. I think I'd like to be by myself for a while."

He got up and walked towards the tapestry. As he did so, he began to disappear until only his eyes and antlers remained. Eventually they also vanished. His voice was the last thing to go. "It's really depressing. I never wanted anything so much in my whole life. Silly of me to suppose it might be possible."

A large, shiny tear rolled down the tapestry.

There was a long silence in the room after he had gone.

Lindy said, "That's awful, Professor. He was crying."

"What a shame," Tom said with feeling. "I wish we could have done something."

"I cannot make a Whangdoodle," the professor stated.

The Prock cleared his throat. He spoke slowly and was obviously having difficulty in saying what he felt. "Couldn't you just try? His Majesty wants another Whangdoodle more than anything else in the world. You know how he feels. You wanted to get to Whangdoodleland more than anything in the world. The King was gracious enough to meet with you. Won't you return the favor and try this for him?"

The children had never heard the Prock speak with such feeling.

The professor shut his eyes. "I would
love
to help. I don't
like
to see the Whangdoodle upset any more than you do. But I can't see how it's possible. . . ."

Lindy interrupted. "You know what, Professor? Ever since we met, you've been saying to us
you can, you can, you can . . .
but lately, all I've heard is
I can't, I can't, I can't!"

Ben said quickly, "You once said that whatever man can imagine, he can do."

Lindy clapped her hands. "You said that you couldn't cross the bridge. But you did."

"Oh, Professor," cried Tom, "give it a chance. How do you know you can't make a Whangdoodle until you've tried?"

The children
clustered around him. The Prock
said, "Professor, I know you are a man of great strength. When you choose to believe in something, you are unshakable. Won't you believe now that this experiment is possible?"

The professor looked at the four of them. Four pairs of eyes, staring at him, unblinking . . . waiting for his reply. He mumbled, "I would need equipment. It's liable to take a long time."

"Tell me what you need," said the Prock. "I will see that you get it."

The professor held his forehead in concentration. "I would need a dissecting microscope, possibly a laser beam, ultrafine dissecting equipment. Saline solution, flasks, culture tubes . . ."

His words were drowned by the cheer that came from the children. They danced around the professor, hugging him, patting him, kissing him, laughing with happiness. Even the Prock smiled broadly.

SEVEN

The Great Hall of the palace had been turned into a laboratory.

By some incredible means the Prock had managed to obtain all the thin
gs the professor asked for. The
professor was stunned when he entered the hall for the first time.

Thes vast, normally empty room was now filled with the most modern scientific equipment, plus benches, chairs, blackboards, bottles and tubes of every description.

"But where did you get all this? How could you possibly manage it?"

The Prock looked a little smug. "I borrowed it."

"You
borrowed
it?"

"From your laboratory at the University."

"What!"

"Don't worry, don't worry. I'll put it all back. You do your job. I'll do mine."

The palace was bustling with excitement. Everyone had been advised of the remarkable experiment that was being conducted. As a result the professor was given the utmost respect and attention.

He began to work.

The children wisely left him alone, but towards the end of the first day, they did peek in on him just to make sure that he was all right.

They found him seated on a high stool, his head in his hands. Sheets of paper were scattered all over the floor. A wastepaper bin was full to overflowing. The blackboard was covered with formulas.

Lindy touched the professor's arm. "Everything all right?" she whispered.

"Mm? Oh, my dears. I'd quite forgotten about you." He seemed very distracted and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I just don't seem to be able to get anywhere," he sighed. "It will take a miracle."

"It's a miracle that we're here," Tom reminded him.

"Yes. Remember what you said about that," added Ben. "You said that miracles only happen after a lot of endeavor. A mind has to be ready and open before a miracle can happen."

"But that's just it," the professor replied desperately. "That's the problem. Right now my mind isn't open. I've been sitting here, thinking so hard. I realize now why I was unable to cross the bridge—why I couldn't see it. I was torn between two worlds. I was preoccupied with my forthcoming journey to Washington, and I was worried about finishing my paper. I always worry if my work is not completed. So the real world was fighting with the world of my imagination. My concentration was hopelessly ruined."

"Well, if you realize all that, can't you make it right?" Ben said simply.

The professor was annoyed. "Do you have
any
idea of the magnitude of this miracle you're asking for? I couldn't see the bridge, yet you're asking me to make a Whangdoodle."

"I know what you need," Lindy said in her practical voice. "You need a scrappy cap."

"That's it!" cried Tom. "It would help you to concentrate."

"Great idea. Come on . . . we'll go and ask the Prock about it," said Ben.

They rushed towards the door. "No, children, wait . . ." the professor called after them. But they had gone.

A short time later the Prock arrived. He placed Lindy's bonnet on the workbench. "Having a few problems?"

"A few! That's a m
asterpiece .of understatement."

"Well,
try the bonnet. It might work."

"Oh, come on, my good fellow." The professor looked impatient. "You know as well as I do that those hats mean nothing. They're not magic at all."

"They're not?"

"Of course not. They are just a device . . . something for the children to believe in . . . to help them bridge the gap."

The Prock gave a small smile. "Well, they obviously work very well for them. I wouldn't underestimate those hats if I were you."

"I don't follow."

"It's quite simple. You say the hats are not magic, yet the fact is that without them the children would never have believed enough to get to Whangdoodleland. As you pointed out, by wearing the hats they were able to bridge the gap. Obviously you're having a lot of problems right now. You're trying to bridge a gap too. It would seem to me that Miss Lindy has a sensible idea. Try the hat. What have you got to lose?"

The professor banged his fist on the table. "But I'm telling you, the hats are just a contrivance. There's nothing special about them."

"If you say so." The Prock was irritatingly calm. He eased himself to the door with his long, gliding walk. "See you later."

"Prock! What if this experiment is a failure? Supposing I don't succeed?"

The Prock opened the door. "I suggest we wait and see how you get on."

"If I don't make another Whangdoodle, you're not going to give us the hats, are you? You intend to keep us here. You're not going to let us go at all."

"But how can I possibly keep you here?" the Prock replied, innocently. "You just said that the hats mean nothing. I couldn't stop you from leaving."

"Yes, but . . . you know the children believe . . ."

"Right now, the children are having a grand time and couldn't care less about going home. I suggest you stop worrying about them and concentrate on making a Whangdoodle for His Majesty. Plenty of time later to talk of going home." He quietly left the room.

The professor stared after him and thought for the umpteenth time that the Prock was a maddening fellow. He sighed deeply and looked at Lindy's hat on the workbench.

He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. In the olden days, people really believed that magic emanated from the hat. They believed in the hat just as much as they believed in the Whangdoodle. Ben and Tom and Lindy certainly believed that the hats were the reason for their success. Was it possible? Could he have underestimated the scrappy caps? Were they magic, after all?

The professor considered the possibility and, very slowly, put the bonnet on his head and tied the ribbons beneath his chin. He sat still and waited.

There was an uncanny light in the Great Hall, but he was used to that. His years of practice had taught him that any period of sustained concentration brought with it a feeling of bright strong light. The children had discovered that also.

He looked around
the laboratory at the familiar
equipment and at his notes and equations. He rested his chin on his hands and thought about the Whangdoodle.

Quite suddenly, it happened. A strange sensation crept over him. There was a feeling of lightness, as if a great weight were being lifted from his shoulders. He forgot about the children and the Prock.

Thoughts and ideas flooded into his mind like the water that raced down the hillsides to join the Golden River. The professor reached for a pad and pencil and began to write as fast as he could.

Hours later, the big double doors to the Great Hall opened. The Whangdoodle peeped into the room.

"Hi there," he said with a shy grin. "I just couldn't keep away any longer. How's it all going?"

The professor was wildly busy. Clouds of steam billowed from a pan at one end of the room. Several flasks containing colored liquids were bubbling noisily. The professor's spectacles were on the very tip of his nose. He was scribbling furiously on the blackboard.

The Whangdoodle crept forward and peered over his shoulder. He made noises of appreciation. "My word. You huma
ns have come a long way since I
was around. I confess, I haven't the slightest idea what you're doing."

The professor grabbed a towel and rubbed the board frantically. "I sometimes wonder myself, Your Majesty. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."

"Oh, this is all so exciting," the Whangdoodle lisped happily. "I can't tell you how I appreciate this effort. So much seems to be happening. Have you seen my slippers?"

He lifted a foot to show the professor. "I lost the pink ones just a while ago, and look what's growing already. Aren't they sensational? Silver and gold, with bells on. I've never grown bells before. I can only surmise that it is due to the anticipation."

The professor put both hands to his head. "Your Majesty, I really do have to concentrate. . ."

"Yes, yes, of course you do. Oh, goodness. I hope you will succeed. I can't eat, you know. I just can't. I must confess that even in the old days, when there were more of us, I seldom had the company of a lady Whangdoodle. The humans kept us so busy, you see. At one time they loved us very much and we loved them. I'll tell you a secret. I miss them a great deal. It's been very lonely these past five hundred years. You can understand my anxiety about the experiment?"

"I can, Your Majesty. But there won't be an experiment if I don't have a little peace and quiet."

"Ah. Yes. I was just going. Is there anything I can do?"

"Just try to keep everyone away from the Great Hall for a while."

"I will. I will."

"Sire . . . please don't get too excited. This may not work. I'm on to something. But it could fail," the professor cautioned.

"Come, come. A little perseverance." The Whangdoodle slapped the professor on the back. "Keep up the good work. I just know you can do it. You're a splendid fellow. Splendid."

He bounced to the door. "You will send for me the moment something happens?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You're really on to something?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Oooh. I can't stand it. I may suffocate with excitement. I will leave you now.
Pax amor et lepos in iocando.
Goodbye."

"Goodbye." The professor turned away.

The Whangdoodle popped his head around the door again. "Oh, one more thing . . ."

The professor sighed with exasperation.

"That silly hat looks simply stunning on you." The Whangdoodle grinned and disappeared.

The entire palace became a place of hushed expectation. The inhabitants crept around, speaking in whispers, not daring to make a sound in case it disturbed the professor.

The children spent a lot of time exploring. The Prock showed them the Whangdoodle's private apartments and the fabulous royal kitchens. There was a special pantry for wodge making.

"Is wodge the only thing the Whangdoodle eats?" Lindy asked.

"Good heavens, no," replied the Prock. "He adores olives. He'll eat them by the ton. Once in a while he'll take a piece of broccoli as well."

"Broccoli! How gross." Lindy grimaced.

The children discovered that the head chef in the kitchen was none other than the Oinck. They watched him making a fresh batch of wodge. He looked very efficient in his tall chef's hat, but he sang mournfully: