Chapter XV

A great storm of the far-flung astronomical elements arose without cause. The like of it had never been before nor since and it disobeyed all laws, both known and unknown, natural and unnatural. Gud was sore puzzled because the storm was without cause but not without effect. He ran hither and here and darted thither and yon, and in the turmoil he was separated from Fidu, his faithful Underdog.

The impalpable ether that fills all space became palpable and vibrated and palpated with incommensurate waves; and the non-popitent nether which is beyond all space became popitent and gyrated and popitated with calculatious ostenulations.

Throughout the abysmal reaches of indefinite dimension the far-flung, flaming suns were exploding with blinding flashes and deafening roars, and their molten fragments were spewing and spilling this way and that, knocking constellations asunder and painting cold, dead worlds with liquid fire and blazing splendor.

Comets fell, dragging their tails behind them, twisting and writhing as if in pain. And the stars were falling, too. Meteors pattered as rain upon the roof of heaven. Broken nebulae whipped along as snow-flakes driven of the northwest wind. Pleiades smashed like hail through the windows of space. Vile smelling gasses blew about all the interstellar void and vastness. Tornadoes and mighty cyclones and vortices torned and cycled vorted.

All this frightened Gud, so that he sought for shelter from the storm. Just then a little world came rolling by, and it wabbled as it rolled. It did not look very safe, but it was solid underfoot. Gud boarded it and found himself before a tiny cabin on the wabbling world. The cabin was built of old cracker boxes and looked frail as a ten-cent toy; but there was no other cover at hand, so Gud knocked on the cabin door to ask for shelter.

When no one answered, Gud entered and closed the door behind him. There before him sat a dear little widow knitting a bellyband for someone else's baby. She was so deaf she could not hear quinine, and so blind she could not see a house afire, and had catarrah so badly that she could not smell a herring; but for all that she was a very good cook.

Gud addressed her in telepathy, saying: "I wonder if you would make me a cake?"

And the woman replied by thought transference and answered: "Alas, I cannot make you a cake today, for I have but one hen and she has already laid her one egg this morning, and I have eaten it for my breakfast."

Then Gud said: "If you will show me the hen, perhaps I can persuade her to lay another egg."

So the woman called to the hen in the language of beasts and birds, and the hen came out from under the bed where she had been looking for insects. Gud saw that the hen had false teeth and was getting old, for her comb was pale as roses in the night. So he flattered the vanity of the hen by commenting on the beauty of her scarlet comb. Whereupon she laid another egg, whilst without the cottage the astronomical storm raged on.

The widow picked up the egg and found that it was as fresh as home grown lettuce. She made a curtsy to Gud and said: "I perceive that you are a wise magician, for who ever heard of a stupid one that could make a hen lay two fresh eggs in one day? And now I will make a little cake, which will be big enough for one to eat."

"Make it for two," said Gud, "for I would not like to eat alone."

"But," said the widow, "how can I unless I have another egg, and the hen has already laid two eggs in one day. How can she lay another?"

"I do not know," said Gud, "but I will find out."

So he called to the little hen again and gave her a homily on the evils of race suicide. The hen became as moral as a tombstone and grievously wrought up over the way her sisters were neglecting their duty, so that she laid yet another egg.

The widow picked up this egg and shook it also, and saw that it was even fresher than the other one, and she made another curtsy to Gud and said: "I perceive that you are a great fakir, but you are very clever, and so I will make a cake for two and we shall eat it together, and perhaps have a cup of tea, if there is any sugar in the house."

At last the cake was put into the oven. The fire of the oven waxed hot and the cake began to rise nicely. And when it had risen above the top of the pan and almost to the top of the oven, the dear little widow opened the oven door ever so softly. As she peeked in, a nearby constellation broke asunder; the crash of the breaking shook the wobbling world like a great earthquake, the cottage jarred as with a blow from the hand of wrath, and the cake fell and was ruined utterly.

Then the dear little widow began to weep because her cake had fallen, and she was very angry through her tears and said: "What is the matter and what happened and what ruined my cake?"

"I fear me, it is the storm outside," replied Gud.

"Then I think you ought to go out and stop it."

"I will," agreed Gud.

And he went out and stopped the storm, and while he was out he destroyed the major portion of the local law of gravitation.

When he came back into the cottage, the moral little hen was all a-cackling and the dear little widow was all a-smiling, for behold, the hen was looking at the widow, who in her hand held the lightest cake she had ever lifted.

After he had had his cake and eaten it, too, Gud returned to the Impossible Curve, and as he reached it, Fidu came romping forth to meet him.