THREATENED WITH LOCKJAW
You know how time flies between the moment you open your sleepy eyes at
six o’clock and the warning the first school bell gives at eight, which
finds you just up from the breakfast table, with school togs yet to don
and hair to give a final smoothing? Well, the minutes had fluttered
by just as rapidly as that for Billy on this eventful morning. To be
sure, he had spent needless time in prosecuting the search for Toppy.
And before that, he had dallied long enough over his encounter with the
lank lad he had left in such a muddy, muddy plight.
It was eight o’clock and after before he was aware, and booths were
being opened by their owners, and their stock in trade arranged to
best possible advantage to increase the sales of the day. Fakirs were
already in evidence, choosing shady spots from which to hawk their
wares.
Guards were on duty even this early, but now gathered in little social
groups for a bit of gossip before their more arduous tasks of handling
the great crowds should begin in real earnest.
Billy fully realized the risk he was running in being abroad on
the nearly deserted grounds, for it made his presence uncomfortably
conspicuous--and men are not disposed to view a goat with any too much
favor. They know far too well the mischief of which they are capable.
[Illustration]
“It will be by far the wisest thing for me to do to lay low,” cogitated
Billy. “But I shall take care to find a more comfortable place than
that low coop I occupied yesterday afternoon. Ugh!” and he fetched a
shiver at the recollection, “I can feel the splinters pulling my coat
even now.”
Shaking himself vigorously and pricking up his ears, he chose his way
with care, proceeding down the street lined with exhibition halls,
tents and booths.
“Appears to me I smell pop-corn! Just freshly popped, and with lots of
sweet, rich butter, too! I can fairly taste it. Pop-corn! How I do like
the snowy kernels!”
Following the appetizing odor, he soon found himself in front of a tiny
booth, all gay with red and white bunting and flaunting flags at its
four corners. Just outside stood the popper, the escaping steam singing
its merry little song.
Billy eyed it a moment, sniffed the air, and then circled about the
building to spy out the situation carefully.
“Abandoned, as I had hoped. The keeper must be away at breakfast, and
while he is gone, I’ll have mine. At least, just the finishing bites. I
began my breakfast a couple of hours ago, but that rude boy interrupted
the operation. I know I should starve without anything until noon.”
Billy hesitated no longer, but marched boldly in and back of the
counter.
Have you ever wished you could be in that wonderful place--back of the
counter in a candy store? Back where all the cases are standing open
inviting you to come and take and eat to your heart’s content, instead
of in front where the glass is between you and all the goodies so
temptingly spread out? There were piles of chocolate creams, peppermint
chews, peanut brittle, caramels, shining jars of sunshine sticks, and
pan upon pan heaped high with taffy, that favorite confection of all
fair-goers.
All this sweet array was spread there before Billy’s greedy gaze, and
when he realized the feast that was before him, he closed one eye with
that provoking wink all his own, licked his chops with a peculiar
circular motion of the tongue that was one of his very naughtiest
tricks, according to his good mother’s judgment, and paraded up and
down, wondering just where to begin.
Did he like chocolates better than butterscotch? Or was the crisp
brittle his favorite? There was the pinch.
Passing along the counter in this undecided state, he chanced to peep
underneath, and there, luck of all lucks! was a great pail heaping full
of pop-corn, with a generous coating of molasses, all waiting to be
packed into the small cartons that later in the day every boy and every
girl would be holding and declaring with each generous mouthful that
“Chew ’em” was by all odds quite the best pop-corn confection ever made
and sold over the counter.
Billy had never lost his youthful liking for corn, and now wasted not
another minute debating where he should begin--he _knew_. Nothing could
possibly tempt him from the spot until he was fully satisfied.
I am sorry to say it, but I must if I wish to be honest, Billy forgot
his manners, and in his eagerness, got into the pail with his feet! He
gulped the corn down so fast and buried his nose so deep that he lost
his breath, and one stubborn kernel scooted down his Sunday throat.
Billy choked, and with one mighty cough up came the offending thing.
Never an animal with a great amount of patience, Billy grew angry at
even this very brief interruption, though it was not a minute until his
head was down as deep as ever.
The nearer he approached the bottom, the stickier grew the corn, and
the better Billy liked it. Evidently the molasses had been poured over
the corn not long before Billy’s entrance, and the whole pailful left
to harden and crystallize. That on top had been just right for packing,
but down in the pail, where the air could not get in its work, the
syrup was thick and still warm.
Billy gorged himself, with never a thought of the possible ruin it
would work to his stomach, but, fortunately, goats’ stomachs are not
the delicate organs that boys and girls have to take care of, and he
had never been taught how wrong it is to eat too much of rich things
that injure the busy, hard working servant that gives us strength.
Down, down went his nose, and then, with a sigh that the very last of
the brown, sweet stuff had disappeared, he stepped back, and took a
deep breath of satisfaction.
“’Tis the richest meal I’ve had since--since--well, that I’ve ever had.
I can’t begin to remember anything half so good in all my lifetime.
But I wish that corn would drop off my whiskers and neck! It’s
uncomfortable, though I did not notice it while I was eating. I’ll take
a little of that pure white taffy all spread out on that enormous pan,
and then be off to greener pastures.”
Putting the thought into action, he hopped up on the counter and walked
along until that particular taffy tray was reached. He opened his
mouth, took one generous bite, and began to chew.
What was the trouble? What had he done? Would it ever end? He’d starve
to death if it didn’t, starve slowly, yet surely growing thinner and
thinner, hungrier and hungrier minute by minute, hour by hour, day by
day, and week by week. Perhaps he would live months and _years_ and
never be able to munch the sweet grass and fragrant clover again.
[Illustration]
These were Billy’s sombre thoughts as he worked in vain to open his
jaws. No use. They were held as in a vise, and no effort on his part
would loosen the hold of the vile stuff on his teeth. It made his jaws
ache, and his eyes began to bulge with a strange fear as his struggles
proved so futile.
Thinking to flee from the danger that threatened him, he bounded out of
the booth and sped on and on, quite without thought of his destination,
his one aim being to rid himself of the terror. On and ever on he ran,
taking long, easy leaps, until he brought up short at a high fence
which bordered the grounds. This served to bring his flight to an end,
and he disconsolately huddled down in the long grass.
“I’ve but one friend on the grounds, outside of the over-proud Duke,
and I’d die before I’d show myself to him in this plight. Toppy must
help me out, and I believe I can rely on her,” and no sooner had the
thought popped into his head than he was up and off like a streak to
hunt up the little hen.
It was no trouble at all to locate her particular box this time, and
though it was not the haughty goat that had presented himself before
her but a short two hours ago, he hastened along.
“Oh, Billy, Bill-_ee_!” with the accent strong on the last syllable,
she cackled with much concern, for Toppy had been crouching down close
to the screen ever since Billy had walked off in such high disdain.
“Billy!” she repeated, “Whatever is the matter?”
No reply.
Billy merely came up close, held up his head and wagged it to show he
could not make answer.
“You’re all over pop-corn, and you’re a perfect sight! Let me out of
this cage, and I’ll pick it off for you,” she bribed.
Remembering that she believed herself locked in, Billy reached up and
pretended to turn the button, and, satisfied now that it was open, she
gave a gentle push, back swung the wire door, and down she fluttered
once more, but, cautious creature that she was, she curbed her delight
and did not give so much as one victorious cackle at her release.
“Come along with me,” she commanded, assuming the leadership and
strutting down the aisle. Billy, meek as a lamb, followed, and they
brought up at the rear of the barn, otherwise known as the Poultry Show.
[Illustration]
“Stand just here, Billy,” she ordered, “and I will hop up on this hay
stack so that I’ll be more on your level.”
She found a secure foothold, while Billy, now ready to do anything to
rid himself of the stick-tights in his whiskers, patiently stood near
by.
Toppy proceeded to tidy the goat, picking off the corn with a right
good will, and enjoying it as she did so, for it furnished a toothsome
meal for her.
“This is really the first time I’ve dared to peck him,” she mused,
“and now that I have so good an opportunity, I shall repay him for a
few things he’s done to my kith and kin. He mustn’t think he can go
scot-free for all his naughtiness. Don’t I remember the chase he used
to give my poor mother and her flock of little downy children, and
how tired our poor wobbly legs would be ere we could gain the shelter
under the barn? All that saved us then was the fact that it was so
low he could not crawl underneath. This is the first time I’ve ever
really enjoyed my friendship with him, and I mean to make up for lost
time,”--Toppy meditated.
“Here, you imp,” thought Billy, for she was giving him a peck here
and a vicious dab there, and the henpecked goat was really getting
much the worst of the bargain, for he could not make protest--his jaws
were still out of commission. So he perforce swallowed his wrath and
submitted meekly to the process.
“Billy,” commenced Toppy, “you are always and forever getting into some
mix-up like this, and always appealing to your friends for aid. But
you are such a close-mouthed creature no one ever knows the real truth
about your mischief making. I think in slight return for this service
of mine you really owe it to me to tell how this happened.”
Instead of replying, he shook his head, though not so much from a
desire to keep his adventure a state secret as from the fact that that
dreadful stuff wouldn’t let him speak. He hung his head, the while
Toppy was busily engaged in cleaning his coat.
“I’m not quite so close-mouthed as some people think. If only I could
talk, I’d surely do so, though there have been occasions when I’d not
breathe a word of an escapade like this.”
He gave one appealing look at Toppy, and in his surprise to see her
eating away as she worked, he gave a gasp and then a bigger one for to
his inexpressible joy and relief he could open his mouth! The taffy had
slowly but surely melted, and he was able to eat and talk and laugh
once more.