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Updated: June 26, 2025
"I meant to take off my dimples entirely," said Sara, her lip beginning to tremble again. "Never mind, dear," said the Plynck. "It will be all right now. I see Schlorge coming with his forceps." And sure enough, in a moment Schlorge came panting up, with his forceps in his hair, as usual.
The Greatest Common Divisor, however, merely gave him a savage and contemptuous glance over his tear-mug, as much as to say that he would annihilate him when it was quite convenient. In a few moments they were again entirely absorbed in their drinking and carousing, and then Pirlaps cautiously touched Schlorge on the arm.
"Let's have a council of war," he said, in a very low voice, drawing him a little to one side. "I have an idea. Where shall we go?" "Better come down to the Smithy," said Schlorge. "They haven't discovered it yet."
Sara had never heard him object before to wearing the Baby's long dress; but he was evidently looking forward to a race and did not wish to be handicapped. So Sara sat down on the blue plush grass, and undressed the Billiken while they waited for Schlorge.
"We'd never in Zeelup be able to get the pieces of the dimple to Schlorge without first anaesthetizing the Snimmy." Sara jumpled: that awful word again! Who was Schlorge, for example? And how was she to get anything to anybody without getting up? And "anaesthetize"? She hated to disturb the Teacup; she was knitting so placidly, and murmuring over and over to herself, "Never in Zeelup."
And these rocks certainly looked as hard as any pavement. And even as Sara worried, the worst happened: she heard a dreadful cracking sound, followed by a shrill clamor from the dolls and a hoarse cry from Schlorge, and the grim, excited voice of the Snimmy's wife.
She had come this time especially to see Avrillia. "Do you know where she lives?" she asked Schlorge. "Avrillia? I should say so. Everybody knows Avrillia. At least I know her to speak to. As to what goes on inside of her, I can't say. She's queer. She writes poetry, you know." "But she's nice?" asked Sara anxiously. "Oh, she's pleasant-spoken," said Schlorge, "and pretty.
That leaves Schlorge, Sara, Mr. Snimmy and myself. Four pairs of bellows how fortunate!" He then explained to the Gunki that they were to march straight to Avrillia's balcony and form an unbroken line from there to the Snimmy's wife's coffee-mill, on the front porch of the prose-bush; and that they were to pass the scuttles full of loaded rose-leaves in a steady stream, as fast as they could.
Schlorge was doubly cordial to Avrillia because he felt that he had underestimated her; and for the same reason Pirlaps was particularly delighted with the Teacup and the Snimmy's wife whom, to tell the truth, he had always considered very ordinary women.
"It was for you as we done it, ma'am," Schlorge assured her, looking up into her tree with his shoe in his hand; and the poor Snimmy was so overcome by emotion that he was compelled to lie down at the foot of the Gugollaph-tree, with his debilitating nose on his little cold paws, and sniffle frankly. "But how will they get back the lovely grass and flowers?" asked Sara of Pirlaps, softly.
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