When the tale was ended the little girl took out her handkerchief and
wiped her eyes.
"Come, this won't do," said the little Marionette. "I should not have
told you the story if I had thought you were going to take it so much to
heart."
"I am very sorry for the poor Little Dancer," she replied sadly; "I wish
that the Bicycle-man had not been so unkind."
"Well, well, it is all over now. Wipe your eyes; you can't do any good
by crying, and I don't like seeing tears," said her friend.
"Never mind; I rather like feeling sad," Molly answered politely, though
tearfully.
"Still, a little sadness goes a long way," remarked the Marionette.
"There is no doubt of that. I think I had better tell you something to
amuse you now." She thought a moment and then she laughed.
"What are you laughing at?" asked the little girl with curiosity.
"At the remembrance of the Hansom-driver," she answered. "I never can
think of him without laughing. Shall I tell you his story? I shall have
time to do so this evening, for it is short, like the one I have just
finished." And she began the story of: "The Hansom-driver."
THE HANSOM DRIVER
The Hansom-driver was indeed very plain, but he fancied himself very
beautiful. 'Tis thus that we are liable to make errors of judgment;
especially respecting ourselves.
His cheeks were crimson and his nose was the same hue, yet he was quite
convinced that all the young lady dolls envied him his complexion. His
eyes were dull as lead, but in his boundless conceit he always compared
them to sparkling diamonds.
In a word, his appearance was terribly against him, yet his constant
complaint was that he attracted so much attention, and won so much
admiration wherever he went, that he could almost find it in his heart
to wish he had been born ugly.
His own looks were his constant topic of conversation, till at length
the other Toys quaked when he opened his mouth, knowing very well how
they were going to suffer.
Amongst those who suffered the most from his talk were the Butcher, the
Baker, and the Clown. They lived at the opposite side of the counter,
where he drove every morning to give his orders for bread and meat. He
never thought of driving away at once when he had done this, but always
stopped to make remarks upon his own appearance; till at length, in
common with the rest of the world, they became wearied to death of the
subject. The Butcher and Baker tried to put a stop to it by making
uncivil remarks, and the clown by making rude jests. But the conceit of
the Hansom-driver still remained.
One day when he was talking to his three acquaintances, the Butcher
happened to remark on the beauty of the sunset-glow the previous
evening.
"Some people," said the Hansom-driver at once, "admire the beautiful
glow of the sunset sky, some the beautiful glow of the healthy
countenance. By the by, a chap I met yesterday told me my face was
simply glowing with health."
"Especially your nose, my pretty fellow," remarked the Clown.
"From my brow to my chin, I am, I believe, suffused with the glow of a
pretty color," replied the Hansom-driver. "Naturally it does not skip my
nose. And very glad I am it does not; I should not like any feature to
feel neglected or left out in the cold."
"He becomes quite unbearable," whispered one lady doll to another.
"Quite," she replied in the same tone.
The Hansom-driver smiled as he saw them whisper. He did not doubt but
that they were making some flattering remarks about himself.
"Speak out, ladies," he said.
But they turned away in silent anger.
Most people would have been annoyed at this behavior. Not so the
Hansom-driver. In his great vanity he completely misread their silence.
"A compliment about me," he laughed. "Doubtless too great a one to be
said aloud."
"You needn't fancy _that_," said the Butcher rudely. "You hear a good
many compliments, I don't deny, but they all come from the same
source--your own block of a head. When you are absent you get few
enough, that I know for a positive fact."
"Not that there is anything surprising in it," the Baker said to the
Hansom-driver in quite as rude a manner as the Butcher. "I am not yet
aware that you are a subject for compliments."
"'My face is my fortune, sir, he said'," misquoted the Hansom-driver
with great conceit; "and a very handsome fortune, too," he added.
"Your face!" exclaimed the Butcher. "Why, a sheep's face is more to be
admired than yours."
"I beg to differ," the Hansom-driver said, shaking his head. "I've never
yet seen a really good-looking face amongst a flock of sheep."
"So you actually think yours is good-looking?" sneered the Baker. "Why,
I could make a better-looking one out of a piece of dough."
"I defy you to," the Hansom-driver replied. "A face like mine is not
easily copied. Nor am I the only person of that opinion. All the ladies
think that I am beautiful. And of course I go by what they think."
"And who," he asked, with a bow towards a little group of lady dolls,
"who can be better judges of the matter?"
"Do you think they consider you good-looking?" inquired the Clown. "Get
along, you dreamer!"
"I do not think it, I know it," he replied.
"We don't," said the Butcher and the Baker. "Put it to the proof. We
challenge you. Let the ladies vote upon the matter and they will prove
you mistaken."
"Very well," answered the Hansom-driver. "The result will be favorable
to me. Of that I have no doubt."
"All right! To business," said the Butcher. "What about the ladies'
decision as to this fellow's claim of beauty?"
"Ay; when shall it be given?" inquired the Hansom-driver, anxious to
lose no time.
"In a fortnight at the earliest," said the Clown. "The making up of
ladies' minds, as of Christmas puddings, requires plenty of thought and
preparation."
"Good!" said the Hansom-driver. Then he got up upon the seat of his
hansom, whipped up his horse, and drove off.
Now, during the fortnight he was, if possible, more conceited than ever.
He never ceased making vain speeches respecting his looks, and could
indeed be induced to speak of nothing else.
"I have not the slightest fear as to the ladies' decision," he
boastfully remarked.
"When I look in the glass I see how impossible it is that they should
have anything but one opinion. By the by, a most curious little incident
occurred last night. I was sauntering about my end of the counter, when
the white Polar Bear walked right up against me. 'Hulloa!' I said, 'look
out where you are going.' 'I beg your pardon, I'm sure,' said he; 'It
was a little mistake. I was trying to find my way home, and catching
sight of your right eye, mistook it for the Polar Star and guided myself
by its light.' 'Very flattering,' I said, 'but I'd prefer you not to
tread on my toes.' Strange, wasn't it?"
"Most strange!" the Butcher jeered. "The Polar Bear has never been able
to see clearly since the shopwoman's baby poked out both his eyes. Your
story is a little far-fetched, my good chap."
"Oh, what a surprise!" laughed the Clown, as the Hansom-driver, unable
to avoid looking a little silly, turned his head aside and pretended to
sneeze.
"I've a piece of news for you," said the Baker; "another surprise. The
ladies have made up their minds already. Instead of a fortnight they
have only taken a week to decide. They have but one opinion, and the
Clown has been instructed to deliver it to you to-morrow morning when
you come to give your orders. I may warn you that you will find a great
crowd of Toys waiting to hear it."
"Let come who will," vaunted the Hansom-driver. "_I_ fear no crowd. The
more Toys to witness my moment of triumph, the better."
And it was in this frame of mind that, on the following morning, he
drove to the Butcher's shop, outside of which a large crowd was
gathered.
"Well," he said with a smile to the Clown who headed the crowd; "well,
and what is the ladies' opinion about my beauty?"
"The ladies have decided," said the Clown, nodding his head and speaking
very rapidly, "the ladies have all decided--mind you, _all_
decided--that you _are_ a hansom man. And so say I."
The Hansom-driver climbed down from his seat.
"Shake hands," he said. "One doesn't find a fellow of sense like you
every day."
The Clown shook hands, then turned a somersault and grinned from ear to
ear.
"Handsome," he said slowly, "but _without_ the _d_ and the _e_. Mark
that, my child. No _beauty, but a hansom man_. Ho-la! What's the time
of day? Time to go away?"
For the Hansom-driver had mounted to his seat, and, whipping up his
horse, was driving off as fast as he could.