IN WHICH DAN HEARS THE MESSAGE FROM TOO-BO-TAN
Now, when the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes had reached the very
outer edge of Spangleland, she brought her White-White Horse to a pause.
And Diggeldy Dan paused, too. There they stood, forming a picture for
all the world like one you must have seen in a story book; only it was
much more wonderful than that could ever be. For no artist could ever
have quite caught the blue in the Lady’s eyes, or the gold that lay in
her hair. For, oddly enough, her yellow curls gleamed, though by this
time the twilight had come and the lights of the night begun to blink
and to wink, away off in the streets of the town. Then the Pretty Lady
began to speak:
“Dan; for now I know you are Diggeldy Dan; what is in this great, white
tent that stands so near where we stand?”
“Why,” answered Dan, “there’s monkeys, and lions, and tigers and things,
and—”
“Quite so,” the Lady broke in. “It, then, is the tent that we want. Now
listen to me with both your funny white ears and with all your two
twinkling eyes. For this is the message from Too-Bo-Tan, to all the
animals of Spangleland: Beginning on the morrow and on every day ever
after, there is to come a wee little hour in the twilight when all the
monkeys, and lions, and tigers, and things are to be let out of their
cages, allowed to dance and to play and do as they will.”
“But, oh, Pretty Lady, that will not do at all,” burst in Diggeldy Dan.
“Their cages are locked, there’s no hour to spare, and—and maybe they’d
eat folks up!”
But for answer the Lady only laughed—the laugh that was so like the
tinkle bells.
“Have no fear, Diggeldy Dan. All that has been thought out by far wiser
heads than yours. You see, it was this way: Ever so long ago,
Too-Bo-Tan—who is the very biggest monkey in all the world—called a
meeting of all the animals in far-away Jungleland. And, when they had
gathered on the highest peak of the mountains, where Too-Bo holds his
wonderful court, Too-Bo rose and made this very solemn speech:
“‘It was, as many of you know, the very dearest wish of my honored
father, Vargu, that the day might come when something could be done to
make easier the lot of our fellow animals who have so nobly sacrificed
their freedom and consented to spend their lives in red and golden
cages, that the children may have their circus days. Of late, I have had
my learned counselors go into this matter very thoroughly, and they have
found, but yesterday, written on the face of a great stone in the depths
of a certain cave in a certain mountain, this remarkable decree:
“‘“On the day when Diggeldy Dan has been a clown for a hundred years and
a day, as a reward for the great joy that he has given little children
through all his merry life, he will be granted the privilege of
releasing all animals from their cages at every setting of the sun.”
“‘And so,’ continued Too-Bo-Tan, looking out from under his bushy
eyebrows, ‘this meeting of all the animals has been called that we may
discover just who this Diggeldy Dan may be, where he is, and, most
important of all, whether he has yet been a clown for a hundred years
and a day.’”
“But,” interrupted Dan, as the Pretty Lady reached this point in her
story, “I’ve been right here with the circus for ever and ever and ever
so long.”
“Of course, you have,” agreed the Lady, “but, you see, Too-Bo-Tan had
been so busy with other matters that he didn’t know that you had. But I
knew. For I am the Fairy of the Circus—the one who watches over all the
riders and all the clowns and all the people of the big and little
tents—the one who knows just what each one of them does every single
day. And so, when Too-Bo had finished speaking, I jumped to my feet and
said that I could find you in no time at all. Then we waited until the
hour should come when you had been a clown for a hundred years and a
day. And, when it came, I at once called for my White-White Horse and,
as you know, came to you through the skies as you slept.
“And now, for the hour grows late and you will soon be needed in the
very biggest tent, to laugh and to dance and play all your pranks, let
us be quick. To-morrow, at half-past twilight—”
“When—when do you say?” puzzled Dan.
“At half-past twilight,” repeated the Lady. “Which reminds me that I
have a watch for you that you may be very sure of the hour—a very
precious watch, fashioned from the petals of a great white flower, that
never blossoms, except when the twilight comes and then only for a wee,
short hour.”
Even as she spoke, the Pretty Lady tugged at a silver thread that lay in
the maze of the mane of her White-White Horse. And presently there
appeared, from the opposite side of her snowy mount, the
queerest-looking watch that ever told time. It was as round as a
pancake, but not one-quarter as thick—indeed, it seemed to have no
thickness at all.
“This,” said the Lady, as she unhooked the thread, “is the Petal Watch.
You are to keep it tucked away in the peak of your round, funny hat. And
each evening, just at half-past twilight, it will open and put forth its
petals, and then you will know it is time to let loose the monkeys, and
tigers, and lions, and things.”
And as Dan, taking the watch, knelt down to fold it away in the crown of
his hat, there came a great burst of music from the very biggest of all
the bigger tents. At the sound of it the White-White Horse began to
prance and then—the Pretty Lady’s curls set flying by the speed of his
gallop—was off through the night to the west.
For a moment Diggeldy Dan made as if to follow. Then he turned, and
holding his hat very tightly, as if fearing he might lose the watch that
was to be so useful on the morrow, he skipped away toward the great tent
from whence the music came, singing as he ran.