The Woggle-Bug Book | Page 9

the weather was somewhat sultry. Before the
hip was a table covered with a blue cloth, and upon the cloth was
embroidered the words: "Professor Hipmus, Fortune Teller."
"Want your fortune told?" asked Miss Chim.
"I don't mind," replied the Woggle-Bug.
"I'll read your hand," said the Professor, with a yawn that startled the
insect. "To my notion palmistry is the best means of finding out what
nobody knows or cares to know."
He took the upper-right hand of the Woggle-Bug, and after adjusting
his spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom.
"You have been in love," announced the Professor; "but you got it in
the neck."
"True!" murmured the astonished Insect, putting up his left lower hand
to feel of the beloved necktie.
"You think you have won," continued the Hip; "but there are others
who have 1, 2. You have many heart throbs before you, during your
future life. Afterward I see no heart throbs whatever. Forty cents,
please."
"Isn't he just wonderful?" asked Miss Chim, with enthusiasm. "He's the
greatest fortune teller in the jungle."
"On account of his size, I suppose," returned the Woggle-Bug, as they
walked on.

Soon they came to the Royal Palace, which was a beautiful bower
formed of vines upon which grew many brilliant-hued forest flowers.
The entrance was guarded by a Zebra, who barred admission until Miss
Chim whispered the password in his ear. Then he permitted them to
enter, and the Chimpanzee immediately ushered the Woggle-Bug into
the presence of King Weasel.
This monarch lay coiled upon a purple silk cushion, half asleep and yet
wakeful enough to be smoking a big cigar. Beside him crouched two
prairie-dogs who were combing his hair very carefully, while a red
squirrel perched near his head and fanned him with her bushy tail.
"Dear me, what have we here?" exclaimed the King of the Jungle, in a
querulous tone, "Is it an over-grown pinch-bug, or is it a kissing-bug?"
"I have the honor to be a Woggle-Bug, your Majesty!" replied our hero,
proudly.
"Sav, cut out that Majesty," snapped the King, with a scowl. "If you
can find anything majestic about me, I'd like to know what it is."
"Don't treat him with any respect," whispered Miss Chim to the Insect,
"or you'll get him riled. Sneer at him, and slap his face if you get a
chance."
The Woggle-Bug took the hint.
"Really," he told the King. "I have never seen a more despicable
creature than you. The admirable perspicacity inherent in your tribe
seems to have deteriorated in you to a hyperbolated insousancy." Then
he reached out his arms and slapped the king four times, twice on one
side of his face and twice on the other.
"Thanks, my dear June-Bug," said the monarch; "I now recognize you
to be a person of some importance."
"Sire, I am a Woggle-Bug, highly magnified and thoroughly educated.
It is no exaggeration to say I am the greatest Woggle-Bug on earth."

"I fully believe it, so pray do not play any more foursomes on my jaw. I
am sufficiently humiliated at this moment to recognize you as a
Sullivanthauros, should you claim to be a member of that extinct race."
Then two little weasels--a boy weasel and a girl weasel--came into the
bower and threw their school-books at the squirrel so cleverly that one
hit the King upon the nose and smashed his cigar and the other caught
him fairly in the pit of his stomach.
At first the monarch howled a bit; then he wiped the tears from his face
and said:
"Ah, what delightful children I have! What do you wish, my darlings?"
"I want a cent for chewing gum," said the Girl Weasel.
"Get it from the Guinea-Pig; you have my assent. And what does my
dear boy want?"
"Pop," went the Weasel, "our billy-goat has swallowed the hare you
gave me to play with."
"Dear me," sighed the King, "how often I find a hair in the butter!
Whenever I reign people carry umbrellas; and my son, although quite
polished, indulges only in monkey-shines! Uneasy lies the head that
wears a crown! but if one is scalped, the loss of the crown renders the
head still more uneasy."
"Couldn't they find a better king than you?" enquired the Woggle-Bug,
curiously, as the children left the bower.
"Yes; but no worse," answered the Weasel; "and here in the jungle
honors are conferred only upon the unworthy. For if a truly great
animal is honored he gets a swelled head, and that renders him
unbearable. They now regard the King of the Jungle with contempt, and
that makes all my subjects self-respecting."
"There is wisdom in that," declared the Woggle-Bug, approvingly; "a

single glance at you makes me content with being so