IN WHICH DAN RELEASES THE ANIMALS OF SPANGLELAND
As the sun sank to rest behind the tents of Spangleland, on the day
following the visit of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, it
paused for a moment—as the sun sometimes will—and shot one last, long,
lingering beam toward the little white tent which, as you will remember,
played a part in the beginning of this tale. Had you been near at the
time—and possessed some knack at riding sun beams—you might have mounted
this one and ridden straight through the wee open place that served as a
peep-hole for the wee little eye when the blue bird was first seen in
the west. For it was through this tiny chink that the sunbeam passed
and, having gained entrance, landed plump on the nose of Diggeldy Dan.
Indeed, it came so suddenly that the clown—who sat hunched over on the
top of a gayly painted box, lost in deep thought—mistook it for a bright
yellow bee and tried to brush it aside. And then he saw his mistake and,
sitting up very straight, glanced upward to the hole in the wall.
“Oho! Little sunbeam; so you’ve come to remind me!” he cried. “Yes, yes.
Now I will put on my hat and wait for the Petal Watch to tell me the
time.”
As he did so he noticed that—just as before—all those who were near him
were quite fast asleep. And, looking up and then down the inside of the
tent, at all the many clowns that had been packed off to Slumberland,
and all the queer, colored thingamajigs and all the odd do-dads that
clowns always keep near, he waited for a sign from the watch. He did not
wait long, for soon he felt something tickling the top of his smooth
white head and, removing his hat ever so carefully, there he saw—exactly
as the Pretty Lady had promised—the unfolding petals of a wonderful
flower.
“Surely, now,” reasoned Dan, “it must be half-past twilight.”
So, slipping down from the box, he tiptoed in and out through the
sleeping forms, passed to the open space between the little white tent
and all the bigger tents, picked his way among the gayly dressed men and
the women who drowsed in the chairs or lay stretched on the grass and,
once clear of them, skipped away as fast as ever his two legs would
carry him in the direction of the great tent where lived the monkeys,
and tigers, and lions, and things. Reaching its entrance, he spied all
the keepers leaning against the poles of the tent. But they, too, were
asleep—their chins buried deep on their breasts. Then he advanced to the
very center of the vast circle, formed by all the red and golden cages.
And, at sight of this funny old clown in the polka-dot suit, there went
up such a cry from the animals that, for the moment, Diggeldy Dan was
tempted to skip away even faster than he had come. For never had he
heard any such shout, which—but for the fact that the people of the
circus were in a very deep sleep—must have wakened every one of them.
But the keepers slept on, and soon Dan came to realize that the voices
were joining in a sort of chant. Putting his head to one side he
listened ever so intently; and then a great smile broke over his face.
For gradually the chant took form. Yes, it was quite distinct now. The
animals were shouting, in almost as many keys as there were voices:
“Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan.”
And, looking about from cage to cage, Dan saw that all of the animals
were standing, their eyes shining, their faces flushed, their mouths
working gleefully in the song that sang his name. Then, almost as
quickly as it had begun, the chant ended and all was as quiet as the
hush of the twilight.
“Well, well,” began Dan, making four separate bows—one to the north, one
to the east, one to the south, and the last to the west—“you seem to
know who I am!”
“Of course we do,” answered the mighty chorus. “You’re Dan, Dan,
Diggeldy, Dan. We’ve been expecting you the whole day.”
“And who, if I may make bold to ask, told you to expect me?”
“Why,” came the shout, “it was a little bird. A bird—”
“Never mind the rest,” interrupted Dan. “I might have guessed, without
asking. It was the blue bird, of course. So we’ll lose no time in
retelling old stories, but get down to business at once.”
And—that he might not be accused of playing favorites, in so far as
which animal should be the first to be let out of its cage—the old clown
put his feet together, raised himself to the very tips of his toes, shut
his eyes very tightly, spun around exactly seven times and then—with his
eyes still closed—followed the end of his long, funny nose, until it had
brought him to the door of that cage which was nearest it. And, opening
the door and his eyes at the very same moment, Diggeldy Dan came face to
face with—Lion.
“Lion,” said Dan, as he took one of the big fellow’s paws in both his
hands, “I am sure that this nose of mine showed extremely good sense in
leading me first of all to your door. And now we will take the cages as
they come.”
So Dan, accompanied by Lion, went to the gilded home of Tiger; then the
three of them passed on to that occupied by Leopard—and so, on around
the great circle, until every single one of the animals had been loosed
from its cage. With Dan in the lead, they formed a long, winding line
and then—the serpentine entirely complete—moved forward, for all the
world like a troupe of children playing at lock step. Round and round
they marched, swaying from side to side and singing at the very tops of
their voices, with Dan tossing his head from right to left, like the
drum-major in a band, and holding out the sides of his baggy white
trousers, just as clowns ofttimes do at the circus.
But after the strange procession had paraded three times around the
circle, Dan signaled a halt.
“No! No! Let’s do it some more,” pleaded all the animals. And, though he
was somewhat out of breath, Dan gave consent and off they all pranced
again, making more of a din than before. But, at the farther end of the
great tent, the old clown clapped his hands and the long line stopped in
its tracks. And doffing his round, funny hat, Dan saw that the Petal
Watch was all but closed.
“Quick! Quick! There! Into your cages or we’ll all be caught!” he cried.
“Monkey, you will go in last and, meantime, help me close all the
doors.”
And, with Dan scurrying about and Monkey running so very fast that he
fastened two doors to the old clown’s one, the task was completed in no
time at all.
“Now,” said Dan, after Monkey had been tucked away, “I’ll say good-by
till to-morrow. And then, at half-past twilight, I’ll come again and
we’ll hold a great meeting and lay all manner of plans. In the meantime,
remember, not a word to a soul.”
“Not a word to a soul,” echoed the animals in chorus.
So, swinging his hat as he went, Diggeldy Dan danced down the length of
the menagerie tent and then, stopping at the end of it to give a last
wave to his friends, disappeared in the depths of the dusk.