A RICH MAN
“Get ready down there! I’m coming!” called the Rubber Clown to the
Woolly Dog. “Is your back strong enough to hold me if I jump?”
“Indeed it is,” answered the Dog. “And I’ll give you a fine ride around
the show window.”
If you have read some of the other books in these Make Believe Stories
you know that the toys told about could pretend to come to life, move
about and play among themselves, as well as talk. But of course all
this must be done when no human eyes see them.
And as Mrs. Clark had gone to bed, and as her son Jimmie, the sailor
lad, was far away at sea, there was no one to spy on the Woolly Dog,
the Rubber Clown, or the other playthings. They could do as they
pleased during the night.
“Well, here I come!” cried the Rubber Clown. He was fat, jolly and
good-natured even though he was a poor toy, selling for only five
cents. And, though he had a tin whistle in his back, he was not at all
proud.
The Rubber Clown moved over to the edge of the shelf on which he had
been standing for several weeks, as no one seemed to care to buy him.
Below him was the platform—or floor—of the show window, where, at this
time, the Woolly Dog was the only toy.
“Wait a minute,” barked the Woolly Dog, as he looked up at the Clown,
who was about to jump.
“What’s the matter?” the Rubber Clown wanted to know.
“I want to move over a little closer to you,” went on the Dog. “You
might not land on my back where I am.”
The Dog, who had fat little stuffed legs, moved them slowly to and fro,
and walked over just beneath the end of the toy shelf.
“One,” began the Clown, counting before he leaped. “Two——”
“Wait a minute!” barked the Woolly Dog again.
“What’s the matter now?” the Clown asked.
“Mind the needles and pins,” warned the Dog. “If you land on them
you’ll be stuck.”
“I intend to land on your soft, woolly back,” laughed the Clown.
“Three!” he cried, finishing his count. “Here I come!”
With that he toppled off the shelf, turning two somersaults as he went
down, for he was quite an acrobat, was this Clown.
“Oh, isn’t that perfectly wonderful?” gasped one Calico-Dressed Doll
to another.
“Gorgeous!” was the reply. “It’s as good as going to a circus. I didn’t
know the Rubber Clown could turn somersaults.”
“Pooh! You ought to see _me_ somersault!” boasted one of the cheap
Jumping Jacks. “If I could get rid of this stick and the strings that
jiggle my legs I’d show you some somersaulting!”
The Jumping Jack was afraid lest the Calico-Dressed Dolls think too
much of the Rubber Clown. The Jumping Jack was a bit jealous, I’m
thinking.
Down, down, down, went the Clown, turning over and over as he aimed to
land on the Woolly Dog’s back to get a ride.
“Hi! Yi!” yelled the Rubber Clown, in toy language of course. “Here I
come!”
“He’s a great trickster,” said a little Penny China Doll.
Then the Rubber Clown did a trick he had not counted on. He missed
landing on the Woolly Dog’s back and hit the floor of the show window
with both feet. And, being made of rubber, the Clown did just what I
think you have guessed he did—he bounced high up in the air. Up he
bounded!
“Hold on there! I say! what are you doing?” cried the Woolly Dog. “I
thought you were going to ride on my back!”
“I—thought—so—too!” gasped the Clown. He had to speak in jerks because
his breath was bounced out of him.
The Rubber Clown bounded nearly as high as the shelf from which he had
turned a somersault and then down to the floor of the window he went
again.
“Come on—get up on my back!” barked the Dog.
The Clown tried, but he could not. Up in the air he sprang again, like
a rubber ball.
“Oh, isn’t this exciting!” cried the Penny China Doll.
“I should say it was!” agreed the Jumping Jack. “It’s the best fun I’ve
seen in a long while.”
“It may be—fun for—you,” gasped the Clown. “But it—isn’t any—fun
for—me!”
Up and down he bounced, a little less and a little slower each time
until at last he bounded only as high as the Woolly Dog’s back.
“Now’s your chance. I’ll run under you and you can sit on me!” barked
the fluffy toy.
And that’s just what he did. When the Clown was up in the air the
Woolly Dog moved over a bit and stood squarely beneath the Clown. Down
came the rubber toy, landing safely on the Dog’s back. He bounced up
a little, but not much, for you know rubber will not rebound from
anything soft, like a bed. And the Dog’s back was even softer than a
hair mattress.
“Now I’m all right,” laughed the Clown. “I thought I’d never get here,
though. But here I am! Start off, if you please, Woolly Dog. But wait a
minute! I’ll blow my whistle!”
The Rubber Clown made a low bow, compressing the air inside his hollow
body just as if he had been squeezed. Out through the tin hole in his
back rushed the air, making a whistling sound. The other toys laughed
and the Woolly Dog barked, and then he trotted around and gave the
Rubber Clown a fine ride in the show window.
Light came in from a street lamp through a crack in the window curtain,
so the toys could see to play about. And fine fun they had! After the
Clown had been given a ride, the Dog kindly let some of the Dolls get
up on his back and, much to their delight, he paraded them around.
The Jumping Jacks did some tricks and the Animals from the Noah’s Ark
marched around like a circus procession.
But at last the Clown cried:
“Daylight is coming! To your places, all of you!”
For the coming of daylight meant that Mrs. Clark would open the store
for the day’s business, and then the toys could neither speak nor move,
for human eyes would see them.
Up to his shelf leaped the Rubber Clown, the Calico-Dressed Dolls laid
themselves out straight in their boxes. The Penny China Doll took her
place near the Tops and the Woolly Dog walked to the middle of the show
window where he had been put so passersby would best notice him.
The store became lighter. The street lamps were put out one by one, and
the sun began to shine.
“Another day has begun,” said Mrs. Clark, as she entered her store to
raise the curtain. “I certainly hope I do more business to-day than I
did yesterday. Rent time is coming very near and I need three dollars!
If I could only sell the Woolly Dog!”
She put her tiny stock of toys and goods in order, got her breakfast
and then sat down to wait for two things. One was the postman who, she
hoped, would bring her a letter from her sailor son. The other was for
customers, especially a customer who would buy the Woolly Dog.
It was almost noon when a man passed through the street on which Mrs.
Clark’s store stood. This man wore very good clothes, and he carried a
cane with a gold head. He looked to be a very rich man, and he was.
“But I don’t see why a rich man is walking through our poor street,”
said Lizzie to Sammie.
“Maybe he’s looking for a washerwoman for his wife,” suggested Sammie.
Many came to the street for that purpose.
However, Mr. Theodore Blakeley, for that was his name, had not come
to Hoyt Street to look for a laundress. He had never been in that
street before—in fact, he hardly knew its name or that there was such a
street—and his coming to it was a sort of accident.
That morning he had started out in his automobile to go down town to
business. He did not like to travel in trolley cars, and as for a
jitney, he had never ridden in one in his life!
But even rich men, in autos, have their troubles, and the trouble that
came to Mr. Blakeley was that, half way to his office, something made a
hole in one of the tires. It was punctured near Hoyt Street, where Mrs.
Clark had her shop.
“I shall have to change a tire, sir,” said the chauffeur, touching his
hat to Mr. Blakeley.
“Hum! That means delay, I suppose. I think I’ll walk on. It isn’t far,
is it, James?”
“No, sir, not if you take the short cut through Hoyt Street.”
“All right, I’ll do it. Come for me this evening, as usual.”
“Yes, sir.”
So the rich Mr. Blakeley alighted from his automobile and started to
walk through Hoyt Street—a place where, as far as he could remember, he
had never before been. It was not often that rich and well-dressed men
were seen there.
And, as it happened, Mr. Blakeley passed Mrs. Clark’s poor little
store. And just then the sun shone on the Woolly Dog—on his clean,
white, curling coat of lamb’s wool.
“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Blakeley, for he was rather an old-fashioned
gentleman. “Bless me! There’s the very thing for Donald’s birthday! It
will save me going down town.”
Donald Cressey was the son of Mr. Blakeley’s sister, and the boy was a
great favorite of his uncle. Mr. Blakeley’s sister was not as rich as
was he, and she could not afford to buy expensive presents. But Mr.
Blakeley always saw to it that on Donald’s birthday and at Christmas
the boy had something nice.
“Yes, that Woolly Dog will just do for Donald,” went on Mr. Blakeley.
“He can’t hurt himself with it, and he can have lots of fun. I’m glad I
remembered it was his birthday—came near forgetting it. And it’s lucky
I happened to walk through this street. I didn’t know they kept toys
here. I’ll go in and get that Dog.”
Then Mr. Blakeley opened the door of Mrs. Clark’s poor little store and
went inside.