168
The Zankiwank
For Nobody’s Nothing to Nobody,
And yet he is something too;
Though No-body’s No-Body it yet is so odd he
Always finds nothing to do!
And yet he is something too;
Though No-body’s No-Body it yet is so odd he
Always finds nothing to do!
Just as the song was finished, the Zankiwank cried out in alarm—
“There’s Somebody coming.”
And Nobody disappeared at once, for the children saw Nobody go!
“And now,” said the Zankiwank, “we may expect the Griffin from Temple Bar and the Phœnix from Arabia.”
A dark shadow enveloped the square in which they were standing; then there was a weird perfume of damp fireworks and saltpetre, and before any one could say Guy Fawkes, the Phœnix rose from his own funeral pyre of faded frankincense, mildewed myrrh, and similar luxuries, and flapped his wings vigorously, just as the Griffin jumped off his pedestal, which he had brought with him, and piped out—
“Here we are again!”
