IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CONTINUES HER STORY
Hidden away in the folds of that mantle called twilight which, as every
one knows, is laid over the earth with every setting of the sun, is a
wee little hour that is fairly made for the telling of stories. And to
those of Spangleland who know how to find it—though none save they who
possess the Petal Watch will ever learn how—there is a very minute which
marks the beginning of half-past twilight. And that is the best time of
all.
With its coming the blue of the tent-poles seems to grow a shade softer
and the great, rope-fretted roof and the lazy, breeze-wafted walls melt
from white into gray. It is then that the red and gold cages slyly gleam
from their places in the circle they form, and, most wonderful of all,
then that every door opens, thanks to good Too-Bo-Tan.
And on this particular evening of which you are to hear, you may be sure
that the funny old clown in the polka-dot suit—that’s Diggeldy Dan—and
the chattering brown fellow with the twinkling brown eyes—Monkey, of
course—had loosed all the animals much faster than ever before. The
reason? You’ve guessed it—the promised story from the Pretty Lady with
the Blue-Blue Eyes.
Hardly had the animals taken their places, when there came the sound of
hoof-beats mingling with the laugh that was so like to tinkle bells, and
into the circle galloped the White-White Horse, bearing the one for whom
they all waited.
“A merry twilight!” she cried, as the two came to a stop in front of the
group.
“A merry twilight to you,” answered Lion; and then all the rest added
their voices in greeting while Dan, skipping to the side of the
White-White Horse, offered his round, pointed hat as a cup to receive
the Pretty Lady’s foot that he might assist her to alight. This she
accepted as quick as a wink and, tossing her slim, little whip and the
bag with the spangles to the broad back of Hippo, made a quick little
run and a quick little bound, twitched her toe-tips together just as
riders always do at the circus, and then ran straight to the seat in the
midst of the animals.
“Now,” said she, “if you will pay the strictest attention, I’ll go on
with the story. But, first, who will tell me just how it began?”
At this all the animals talked at one time and there arose such a din
that the Pretty Lady put her two hands to her ears in direst despair.
“Order! Order!” shouted Lion. “Gracious, what a racket! Giraffe, since
you were the only one who remained silent, you may tell us the first
part of the tale.”
So Giraffe took the chalk and, going to the side of his house, wrote
these words:
“Many years ago—that time animals mixed with own folks only—wise
monkey—Vargu by name—thinking—in tree—Leopard passes underneath—Signed:
Giraffe.”
“Exactly,” cried the Lady. “You see, the very wise monkey named Vargu
had been sitting there wondering why it was that the different kinds of
animals could not be more sociable. So, when the leopard came in sight,
what do you suppose Vargu did? A most unheard of and a most daring
thing—he spoke to him! Now at first the leopard, whose name was Soft
Foot, could not believe his ears, so he kept straight on his way. But
Vargu was determined. He spoke once again. And with that, the leopard
stopped full in his tracks and gazed at the monkey in utter amazement.
“‘Why, What does this mean!’ he called up to the other. ‘You cannot
speak to me. You are a monkey.’
“‘Ah,’ answered Vargu, ‘but I can speak to you even if I am a monkey.
And, if you don’t believe it, just listen to this: Hello, Mister
Leopard! Hello! Hello! Hello!’ And, with that, he went scampering to the
very top of the tree.
“For a moment Soft Foot made as if to spring into the tree. But he
finally contented himself with blinking his eyes in a dazed sort of way,
and then making off through the maze of the grass, shaking his head as
he went. Yet, try as he would, he could not forget what had happened. He
thought of it as he was going to sleep and he thought of it when he
wakened. Then curiosity got the better of him and the next afternoon
found him trotting along beneath the very same tree. And there, as
before, sat the monkey called Vargu.
“‘Hi there, Mister Leopard; glad to see you again,’ shouted the monkey
from his place up above. ‘Better stop and visit a while. I know a mighty
fine story.’
“‘I don’t want to hear it,’ snarled Soft Foot. ‘Besides, as I warned you
yesterday, leopards and monkeys can’t speak to one another. Leopards
talk to leopards and that’s enough.’ And away he went through the grass.
“Now, that very same night, when all the leopards were gathered
together, Great Spot, the biggest of them all, began to tell one of his
stories. Some of the baby leopards were interested, but as for Soft
Foot, he had heard the tale so many times that he knew it by heart. So,
putting his nose between his paws, he lay with his thoughts far away. He
was thinking of the monkey who lived in the tree. ‘He wanted to tell me
a story,’ mused Soft Foot. ‘I wonder what it was about.’
“And so, though leopards never, never had anything to do with any
animals except their very own kind, it somehow happened that the
following evening found Soft Foot trotting along under the same tree
again.
“There sat the monkey but, to Soft Foot’s surprise, he spoke not a word.
So the leopard moved on to the deep grass beyond. But, after a moment,
he walked back again. And still the monkey uttered never a sound. For a
third time he passed and then Soft Foot could stand the silence no
longer.
“‘Well,’ he blurted, ‘aren’t you going to say anything?’
[Illustration: “Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its
toes for counters.” _Page 59._]
“Now, at this precise moment the monkey called Vargu did a far more
daring thing than he had done when he first spoke to Soft Foot. He made
a great swing from the branch where he sat and landed plump under his
visitor’s nose! With a start of surprise, the leopard crouched back and
for a moment he made as if he were going to leap off through the grass.
Had he done so, I’m sure I don’t know what might have come of this tale.
Indeed, I’m afraid there might have been none to tell. For who knows but
what, failing at this very time, Vargu might never have accomplished his
plan. But, without so much as moving one inch from the point he had
reached on the ground when he swung, he calmly sat down and at once
began to count on his toes.
“‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven’ (long breath) ‘eight, nine,
ten—Dear me! I wonder if I’m going to have enough,’ exclaimed he to
himself, just as if there wasn’t another animal for miles and miles
around. Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its toes for
counters all over again.
“By this time Soft Foot had quite swallowed his snarl and, if he had
been a house-cat instead of a leopard, there is no telling what might
have happened to him. For he was simply overcome with curiosity.
“‘Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen,’ continued Vargu.
“‘For goodness’ sake, fourteen what!’ broke in Soft Foot.
“‘Why,’ answered Vargu, looking up, ‘stories, of course. Fifteen,
sixteen—’
“‘Do you mean to say you known that many stories?’ demanded the leopard,
again interrupting.
“‘Of course I do,’ replied the other, ‘but, since leopards can’t talk to
monkeys, you wouldn’t be interested. Nineteen, twenty—’
“‘But I am interested,’ protested Soft Foot.
“‘Of course you are,’ said Vargu as he dropped his foot and ceased
counting, ‘and I know that you know a whole lot of tales in which I
would be interested. More than that, we both know that all the different
kinds of animals know stories that they might tell one another, if they
only would; and be a lot happier and a lot more sociable as a result.
So, why in the world don’t we all get acquainted and be friends?’
“‘We just can’t,’ answered Soft Foot. ‘It isn’t done.’
“‘But we two are doing it, aren’t we?’
“‘Y—es,’ admitted the other slowly.
“‘Well,’ argued Vargu, ‘what we two can do all the animals can do, if
they only will. And I have a plan that I am sure will succeed. What do
you say—will you help me?’
“The leopard sat thinking for fully a minute. Then he walked up and down
several times beneath the tree.
“‘Aw, come on,’ coaxed Vargu.
“‘There’s my paw on it, monkey,’ the other said finally. ‘My name’s Soft
Foot.’
“‘Mine’s Vargu,’ the monkey answered gleefully, ‘V-a-r-g-u with the u
silent, please. And now suppose we climb into the tree so we can talk
undisturbed.’”