Bumper was taken to the street corner with Fluffy, Dimples and Pickles. It
was a cloudy day, and the old woman limped as she walked along with her
basket on her arm. Damp weather always brought out her rheumatism, and
sometimes made her very cross.
Dimples and Fluffy began playing they were on a ship in a storm, and when
a drop of rain hit Pickles on the nose he squealed with delight, and
joined them in the game. They scampered around so lively inside that the
old woman stopped and opened the cover of the basket.
"Stop that!" she said quite angrily, "or I'll dump you all in the gutter!"
The threat was enough to send each to a corner of the basket, where they
eyed each other and tried to think up some less boisterous game. It was
beginning to rain steadily outside, and the water trickled through the top
of the basket. Every time a drop hit one, he squealed, but no one dared to
jump and run around.
Now rabbits don't sell very well on rainy days, especially white rabbits.
Their fur gets all wet and roughened up, and they look more like
half-drowned rats than pretty, fluffy bunnies. Fluffy was taken out of the
basket first, but nobody took any notice of her, and when she came back
she was all wet and shivery.
"B-r-r-r, it's awfully wet outside," she said, shaking with the cold. "I'm
glad nobody bought me, for I'd rather be in here safe and warm than in
somebody's arms."
Pickles's turn came next. He had an ingrowing toe nail, which sometimes
made him grouchy and sour, so he was dubbed Pickles. He looked and acted
like his name now. He squealed when the old woman picked him up in her
hand, and when a splash of rain landed on the back of his neck he kicked
both hind legs and wriggled his body free and fell plump back into the
basket.
The old woman was very angry. "You, Pickles," she growled, "you'll go to
bed to-night without any supper."
Somebody passed just then, a lady with an umbrella over her head, and the
woman with rabbits to sell turned to her in her most beguiling way.
"Rabbits, lady! Nice, pretty rabbits for sale!"
The lady stopped long enough to let her umbrella drip all over the basket,
and then she asked: "Are they white rabbits? I don't want any other kind."
"Yes, ma'm, pure white bunnies, with pink eyes, and long, fluffy ears--the
dearest and cutest little things you ever saw. Let me show you."
With that she made a grab in the basket. It was a blind-man's bluff grab,
for she couldn't see one of the rabbits huddling in the corners. Bumper
was the nearest, and her hand closed over him.
"That's the prettiest one I have, ma'm," she said. "He's my pet, an' I
hate to sell him, but I need the money an' you can have him."
It was raining pitchforks outside, or something like that, and, for a
moment, Bumper couldn't see anything but the big drops of water splashing
in his eyes. Then the lady held the umbrella over his head, and he looked
up into her face. She was a sweet, womanly lady, but not exactly the kind
of mistress Bumper had pictured belonging to.
"He is a dear little thing," the lady said, taking him in her arms and
rubbing his back. "And so friendly! Why, he's trying to cuddle up under my
arm."
The fact was, Bumper was trying to get in her muff away from the dripping
umbrella. He made a dive for the nearest open end, and squeezed all but
his tail through.
"How cute of him! I believe I must take him. How much is he?"
Now Bumper's heart nearly stopped beating when he heard the lady ask this
question, for had not his mother told him that he cost too much money for
most people to buy? Did this lady have plenty of money, or did she put it
all on her back and starve her stomach? She was beautifully dressed, and
her cheeks were not very plump and fat--not a bit like those of the
red-headed girl with a freckle on the end of her nose.
"Two dollars, ma'm, an' he's cheap at that! You don't find rabbits like
him once in a year."
Bumper's hopes took a sudden drop. Two dollars! Why, Jimsy had been sold
for one dollar, and Wheedles for seventy-five cents, while Topsy, who was
old and fat, brought only fifty cents. My, two dollars was an awful lot of
money!
"Two dollars!" repeated the lady, fumbling in her dress with one hand.
Then, to Bumper's surprise and delight, she added: "I think I'll take him.
I want him for my nephew. Toby's hard to suit, but I think he'll be
pleased with a rabbit. What did you say you called him?"
"Bumper, ma'm!"
"That's a queer name, but I like it."
"It was because he was always bumping his nose when he was a tiny mite,"
the old woman explained, taking the two dollars from the lady. "His mother
named him first, and then his brothers and sisters took it up, and, of
course, I had to follow 'em. Rabbits don't like to be called by two
different names, and if I was you, ma'm, I'd keep on calling him Bumper.
He wouldn't know any other name."
"I will always call him Bumper, but"--sighing--"I'm afraid Toby will want
to nickname him. He makes up the funniest names for all his pets."
"Tell him then Bumper will run away and never come back. Rabbits are more
knowing than you think, ma'm."
"I always thought they were very cute and gentle, but very stupid,"
replied the lady. "But maybe I was wrong. Bumper doesn't look stupid."
"Lordy, ma'm! he ain't no more stupid than that Toby you speak of, whoever
he may be."
"Well, Toby isn't stupid, whatever else you may say of him," smiled the
lady. "He's bright enough, but he's sometimes very thoughtless, and I fear
a little cruel."
"Cruel, ma'm!" And the old woman who sold rabbits for a living stiffened
her bent form, and frowned. She stretched forth a hand as if to reclaim
her Bumper, but the lady moved away with her purchase under her arm.
"Oh, I'll see that he isn't cruel to Bumper," she said.
While listening to all this conversation, Bumper experienced strange and
unusual emotions. He had learned more about white rabbits in a few moments
than his mother had ever taught him in all the days of his youth. They
were considered stupid, were they?--but cute and gentle. Huh! He wasn't
stupid! No, indeed! If the lady thought so he'd show her what a mistake
she'd made.
Just to prove it, Bumper began to gnaw at the lining of the muff, and
pretty soon got his whole body under it, and then he began to kick and
wriggle to get out. He felt he was being smothered alive, and he squealed
aloud. The lady finally rescued him, but not until she had torn away half
the lining from her muff.
"Oh, you stupid little Bumper!" she said, reprovingly. "You mustn't do
such things!"
Bumper felt so crestfallen at this rebuke that he remained perfectly quiet
during the rest of the walk. He snuggled up into the crook of her arm, and
peeped out once only when they reached a big house and began ascending the
steps.
So this was to be his future home! What a big place it was! Why, hundreds
and hundreds of white rabbits could live in that house and never lack for
elbow room.
Just then, when Bumper began to feel a little proud about his future home,
a great noise and clatter behind the door startled him, and it opened so
suddenly that he nearly popped out of the lady's arms. And what happened
to him behind that door of the big house might fill chapters and chapters,
but it will all be told in the next story.