SIX FEROCIOUS BEARS
“And now,” said Jeanne, as she returned from dancing the sun up, “tell
me another story.”
As the old man looked at her a droll smile played over his wrinkled
face. “I don’t think you believe my stories,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I do!” she protested vigorously. “At—at least, almost.”
“Well, then—” He placed his feet on the ground, then prodded the sod
with his cane. “Once I was in the Catskill Mountains—or was it the
Cascades? I disremember.”
“The mountains don’t matter,” the girl laughed. “I can’t ever remember
names. But mountains. There are always bears in mountains.”
The little French girl’s look suddenly went very sober. She seemed ready
to burst into tears. Little wonder, for only one short month before she
had buried her pet and pal, Tico the bear. Tico had shared her joys and
sorrows for many a year. With him as her dancing partner, she had
achieved notable success. Now he was gone. So, too, it seemed, were her
chances of ever dancing on the stage again.
“He’s gone,” she thought with a sigh, “My pal.”
Tico’s illness had cost her much money. He had been given all the care
of a gentleman of importance, and had been buried in a formal manner.
Now the little French girl was poor, and Tico was gone forever.
“Bears,” she repeated, pulling herself together, “bears in the
mountains. Wild bears. Not tame ones.”
“Yes, wild bears!” the old man said as if taking his cue. “Six ferocious
wild bears. I met them all in the Alleghenys—or was it the Rockies?”
“The Cumberlands,” laughed Jeanne.
“Yes, that’s it, the Cumberlands. Six wild, hungry, man eating bears.
They formed a circle about me and sat there on their haunches with their
tongues lolling.
“They were ready to eat me. And what did I do?”
“What did you do?”
“I danced and made faces. I can dance; not like fairies. But I can dance
and make faces. Want to see me?”
Jeanne nodded her head.
Springing from his place on the bench, the old man began to dance.
And now it was the girl’s turn to open her eyes wide in surprise. This
old man was an artist. True, he did not dance as lightly as she. But he
knew steps and movements. He had not been on his feet for five minutes
when she realized that he could teach her much about her own beloved
art.
In the joy of dancing he forgot the terrible faces he was to make.
At last, quite out of breath, he threw himself down beside her.
“You’ve been on the stage,” she said solemnly.
“Why, so I have. All my life.”
She put out a small hand. “I, too.” Her voice was mellow with emotion.
“I am Petite Jeanne.”
“Petite Jeanne! I should have guessed it.”
“And you?” Jeanne still held his hand.
“Plain Dan Baker. A ham actor. You never heard of me. And never will.
They won’t let me hoof it in the sticks any more.”
“I am not sure of that,” Jeanne’s face was sober. “Once to every man and
nation. Your time may come.
“But the bears?” She whirled about. “What of the six ferocious bears?”
As she turned she saw with a start that a second man, a young man with
dark skin and very black eyes, had dropped to the bench on the other
side of Dan Baker.
Did Dan Baker know this? Was he acquainted with this young man? If so,
he made no sign but went straight on with his story.
“Oh, yes, the bears!” He chuckled. “There they were, six bears, brown
bears; no, grizzlies. There they were ready to eat me.
“What did I do? I began dancing and making faces. A bear’s got a sense
of humor; oh, yes, a very keen sense of humor.
“No time at all till I had ’em; had ’em good. Most appreciative audience
you ever saw.
“Then, still dancing, I began chucking them hard under their chins,
cracking their teeth on their tongues. See!
“No time at all and their tongues were so sore they couldn’t swallow. So
why try to eat me?
“That’s the way they looked at it. Soon as the show was over they left;
went right off into the mountains; all but one.
“And that one, the biggest one of all, meant to eat me, sore tongue or
no tongue at all.
“With a ferocious growl, tongue out, teeth shining, he came right at me.
“What did I do? What could I do? Just one thing. An inspiration! I
sprang at him, seized his tongue, crammed it down his throat and choked
him to death!”
“Killed him,” said a voice over his shoulder. It was the strange young
man.
“Didn’t he bite you?” asked Petite Jeanne.
“Bite me? Oh, yes, to be sure. But then, what’s a little bite between
friends?” Once more that deep, dry chuckle.
“Angelo!” he exclaimed. “This is Petite Jeanne. She dances, you know.”
“She does! I saw her. It was divine!” The youth’s eyes shone.
Jeanne flushed.
“You see,” said Dan Baker to Jeanne, “Angelo, here, tries to write
plays. I try to be a ham actor. You try to dance on the stage. They
won’t let any one of us do what we wish to do, so we should get on
famously together.”
“We are all going to be rich,” Jeanne said cheerfully. “For this is my
luckee day!”
“We shall be rich, indeed!” exclaimed the young Italian, springing to
his feet. “This very moment I have a bright idea. I shall write a play
around you two. You shall act it, and we’ll be made.
“But come! I still have the price of coffee and rolls for three. It is
time for that now. Let’s go.”