JUST SO STORIES

By Rudyard Kipling

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT
HOW THE CAMEL GOT HIS HUMP
HOW THE RHINOCEROS GOT HIS SKIN
HOW THE LEOPARD GOT HIS SPOTS
THE ELEPHANT'S CHILD
THE SING-SONG OF OLD MAN KANGAROO
THE BEGINNING OF THE ARMADILLOS
HOW THE FIRST LETTER WAS WRITTEN
HOW THE ALPHABET WAS MADE
THE CRAB THAT PLAYED WITH THE SEA
THE CAT THAT WALKED BY HIMSELF
THE BUTTERFLY THAT STAMPED

HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT

Once upon a time, in the sea, O my Best Beloved, there lived a Whale who ate fish. He ate the starfish and the garfish, the crab and the dab, the plaice and the dace, the skate and his mate, the mackerel and the pickerel, and the truly twisty, twirly eel. He gobbled up every fish he could find in the whole sea—just like that! Finally, only one small fish was left in the entire ocean. This clever little fish—we'll call him the 'Stute Fish, since "'stute" is short for astute, meaning clever—swam just behind the Whale's right ear, where he'd be safe.

Then the Whale stood up on his tail and announced, "I'm hungry."

The small 'Stute Fish answered in his clever little voice, "Noble and generous Whale, have you ever tasted Man?"

"No," said the Whale. "What's that like?"

"Delicious," said the 'Stute Fish. "Tasty, but a little lumpy going down."

"Then bring me some," said the Whale, thrashing the sea into froth with his tail.

"One is plenty," said the 'Stute Fish. "If you swim to a spot called latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (these are directions used to find exact places on the ocean, and finding this particular spot is a kind of magic), you'll discover a shipwrecked sailor sitting on a raft in the middle of the sea. He'll be wearing nothing but blue canvas trousers, a pair of suspenders (don't forget the suspenders, Best Beloved!), and carrying a jack-knife. I should warn you—this sailor is a man of endless cleverness and quick thinking."

So the Whale swam and swam as fast as he could to that very spot. And there, sitting on a raft in the middle of the sea, wearing nothing but blue canvas trousers, suspenders (remember them!), and holding a jack-knife, was one lone, shipwrecked sailor, dangling his toes in the water. (He had his mother's permission to paddle there, or he never would have done it, since he was a man of endless cleverness and quick thinking.)

The Whale opened his mouth wider and wider, back and back, until it nearly touched his own tail, and swallowed the sailor whole—raft, blue trousers, suspenders (don't forget them!), jack-knife and all—down into his warm, dark insides. Then he smacked his lips and spun around three times on his tail, quite pleased with himself.

But the moment the clever sailor found himself inside the Whale's warm, dark belly, he began to stomp and jump, thump and bump, prance and dance, bang and clang, hit and bite, leap and creep, prowl and howl, hop and drop, cry and sigh, crawl and bawl—he even danced jigs where he really shouldn't have. The Whale felt utterly miserable. (Have you forgotten the suspenders yet? Don't.)

So the Whale said to the 'Stute Fish, "This man is much too lumpy, and worse, he's giving me hiccups. What should I do?"

"Tell him to come out," said the 'Stute Fish.

So the Whale called down his own throat, "Come out and behave yourself! I've got the hiccups."

"No, indeed not!" replied the sailor. "Quite the opposite. Carry me to my home shore, to the white cliffs of my homeland, and then I'll think about it." And he danced more wildly than ever.

"You'd better take him home," the 'Stute Fish told the Whale. "I should have mentioned—he's a man of endless cleverness and quick thinking."

So the Whale swam and swam and swam, using both flippers and his tail, hiccupping the whole way, until at last he spotted the sailor's home shore and its white cliffs. He rushed halfway up the beach and opened his mouth wide, wide, wide, announcing, "Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and all stops on the Fitchburg train line!" Just as he said "Fitch," the sailor calmly walked out of his mouth.

But here's what had happened while the Whale was swimming: the sailor—being, as we know, a man of endless cleverness—had taken his jack-knife and cut the raft into a small square grate, crisscrossed like a lattice, and tied it tightly together using his suspenders. (Now you understand why you weren't to forget the suspenders!) He wedged this grate firmly into the Whale's throat, where it stuck fast. Then he recited this little rhyme, which I will now share with you:

By means of a grating
I have stopped your eating.

The sailor, you see, was also quite Irish, and fond of clever wordplay. He stepped out onto the beach and went home to his mother, who had given him permission to dangle his toes in the water that day. He married and lived happily ever after. So did the Whale—except that from that day forward, the grate stuck in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, meant he could only eat very, very small fish. And that is why whales today never eat men, or boys, or little girls.

The small 'Stute Fish swam off and hid in the mud beneath the equator, worried that the Whale might still be angry with him.

The sailor kept the jack-knife and took it home. He was still wearing his blue canvas trousers when he stepped onto the beach. The suspenders, though, stayed behind—tied to the grate, as you'll recall—and that is the end of that tale.

When the cabin portholes turn dark and green
Because of the stormy seas outside;
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And the steward tumbles into the soup tureen,
And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies in a heap on the floor,
And Mummy says to let her sleep some more,
And you aren't washed or dressed or fed—
Well, then you'll know, even if it's unsaid,
You're "Fifty North and Forty West!"

HOW THE CAMEL GOT HIS HUMP

Now here is the next tale, all about how the Camel got his big hump.

Long ago, when the world was still new, and the Animals had just begun working for Man, there lived a Camel. He made his home in the middle of a Howling Desert because he refused to work—and besides, he was quite a howler himself. He spent his days eating sticks, thorns, tamarisk bushes, milkweed, and prickly plants, being unbearably lazy. Whenever anyone spoke to him, he simply grunted, "Humph!" Just that, and nothing more.

On Monday morning, the Horse came trotting up, wearing a saddle and a bit in his mouth, and said, "Camel, oh Camel, come out and trot along with the rest of us."

"Humph!" said the Camel, and the Horse walked off to tell the Man.

Next came the Dog, carrying a stick in his mouth. "Camel, oh Camel, come help fetch and carry like the rest of us."

"Humph!" said the Camel, and the Dog went off to tell the Man.

Then came the Ox, wearing his yoke. "Camel, oh Camel, come plough the fields like the rest of us."

"Humph!" said the Camel, and the Ox went off to tell the Man.

At the end of the day, the Man gathered the Horse, the Dog, and the Ox together and said, "I'm truly sorry, you three—especially with the world still so new—but that Humph-creature out in the Desert clearly can't work, or he'd be here by now. I'm going to leave him be, which means you three must work double to make up for it."

This made the Three very angry indeed. They held a meeting—call it a council, a conference, whatever you like—right at the edge of the Desert. The Camel wandered over, chewing milkweed, unbearably lazy as always, and laughed at them. Then he said "Humph!" and wandered off again.

Soon after, the Djinn in charge of All Deserts came rolling by in a cloud of dust (Djinns always travel this way—it's magic), and he stopped to chat with the Three.

"Djinn of All Deserts," said the Horse, "is it right for anyone to sit around doing nothing, especially with the world so new?"

"Certainly not," said the Djinn.

"Well," said the Horse, "there's a creature living in the middle of your Howling Desert—a howler himself—with a long neck and long legs, and he hasn't lifted a hoof since Monday morning. He won't trot."

"Whew!" whistled the Djinn. "That's my Camel, for all the gold in Arabia! What does he say about it?"

"He says 'Humph!'" said the Dog, "and refuses to fetch or carry."

"Does he say anything else?"

"Only 'Humph!'—and he won't plough," said the Ox.

"Very well," said the Djinn. "I'll humph him properly, if you'll just wait a moment."

The Djinn wrapped himself in his cloak of dust and headed straight across the desert, where he found the Camel being unbearably lazy, admiring his own reflection in a pool of water.

"My long-necked, bubbly friend," said the Djinn, "what's this I hear about you refusing to work, with the world still so new?"

"Humph!" said the Camel.

The Djinn sat down, chin resting in his hand, and began thinking up a powerful piece of magic, while the Camel kept admiring his reflection.

"You've made the Three do extra work ever since Monday morning, all because of your terrible laziness," said the Djinn, still thinking his magic thoughts, chin in hand.

"Humph!" said the Camel.

"I wouldn't say that again if I were you," warned the Djinn. "You might say it once too often. Bubbles, I want you to get to work."

The Camel said "Humph!" once more—but no sooner had the word left his mouth than he noticed his back, the very back he'd always been so proud of, swelling up and up into one enormous, lopsided hump.

"Do you see that?" said the Djinn. "That's your very own hump, and you brought it on yourself through your own laziness. Today is Thursday, and you haven't worked since Monday, when work first began. Now you're going to work."

"How can I," complained the Camel, "with this hump on my back?"

"It was made on purpose," said the Djinn, "precisely