FullReads

“You funny–funny children,” she said. “What is it you want to know? The Most Beautiful Smell in the whole wide world,–is that it?–The Most Beautiful Smell in the whole wide world?” She looked back over her shoulder. She wrote very fast. Her cheeks looked pink. She banged the book together just the first second she had finished. She pulled my ear. “I’m–I’m sorry,” she said.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I assured her. “We’ll be round and write the rest of the book some other day!”

The Man with the Cross Mustache kept right on hunting all around.

When the Hotel Proprietor came running and saw who we were he gave us two oranges instead, and a left-over roll of wall-paper with parrots on it, and all the old calendars that were in his desk.

We had to race home across the railroad trestle to get there in time. It wasn’t till we reached the Blacksmith Shop that we had a chance to stop and see what the Lady had written in our book. There was a Smoke Tree just outside the Blacksmith Shop. It was all in smoke. We sat down under it and opened our book.

This is what the Lady had written in our book.

The most beautiful smell in the world is the smell of an old
tattered baseball glove–that’s been lying in the damp
grass–by the side of a brook–in June Time.

I looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. We felt surprised. It wasn’t exactly what you would have expected. Carol rolled over on his stomach. He clapped his heels in the air. He pounded his fists in the grass.

We forgot all about going home. We went into the Blacksmith’s Shop instead. It was a very earthy place. But nothing grew there. Not grass. Not flowers. Not even vines. Just Junk!

The Blacksmith’s name was Jason. He looked something like a Stove that could be doubled up in its stomach and carried round to all four corners of a horse for the horse to put his foot on. He was making shoes for a very stout black horse. The horse’s name was Ezra. There were a great many sparks around! And iron noises! And flames! And smouches! Ezra’s hoofs seemed to be burning! It smelt so funny we didn’t think it would be polite to ask Jason what he’d rather smell like instead! So we decided to begin the other way about. But whatever way you decided you had to scream it.

“Jason,” I screamed. “If you were a Beautiful Sound instead of a Beautiful Blacksmith, what Beautiful Sound in the whole wide world would you choose to be?”

“Eh?” screamed Jason. He stopped hammering. He stopped thumping. He stopped boiling poor Ezra’s hoof with a red hot poker. “Eh?” he said all over again. “Well, that’s a new one on me! What’s the Big Idea?”

“Well–I want to know,” said Jason. He sat down on a great block of wood. He wiped his sleeve on his face. It made his sleeve all black. “If I was a Sound–?” he said. “Instead of a Man?–Instead of a man?” It seemed to puzzle him a good deal. “Not to be a man–any more you mean? No arms? Legs? Stomach? Eyes?–To get all worn out and busted stayin’ on forever in one place? And then thrung away?–But to be just a–just a Sound?–Just a Sound? Well, of all the comical ideas! Of all the—-” Then quite suddenly he whacked his hand down in a great black smouch on his knee and clanged his feet like dungeon chains across a clutter of horseshoes. “I’ve got it!” he cried. “I’ve got it!–If I was a Sound instead of a man I’d choose to be a Song!–Not great loud band-tunes, I mean, that nobody could play unless he was hired! And charged tickets! But some nice–pretty little Song–floatin’ round all soft and easy on ladies’ lips and in men’s hearts. Or tinklin’ out as pleasant as you please on moonlight nights from mandolin strings and young folks sparkin’. Or turnin’ up just as likely as not in some old guy’s whistle on the top of one of these ‘ere omnibuses in London Town. Or travellin’ even in a phonograph through the wonders of the great Sahara Desert. Something all simple–I mean that you could hum without even botherin’ with the words. Something people would know who you was even if there wasn’t any words!–Something all sweet and low—-‘Sweet and Low,’ that’s it! My Mother used to sing it! I hain’t thought of it for forty years! That’s the one I mean!”