IN WHICH THE ANIMALS ENTERTAIN AN UNEXPECTED CALLER
In Spangleland’s realm are many massive blue poles, and among the
biggest of these are those that stand in the center of the menagerie
tent. Between the bases of two of them is a broad, open space, and it
was here all the animals were gathered at twilight on the day following
that upon which had ended the tale of Gray Ears, the Elephant.
“And I’m sure all remember your very last words,” Lion was saying to
Diggeldy Dan. “As I recall them they ran something like this: ‘For
though my tale’s at an end we may safely depend that another will soon
follow after.’”
“Exactly,” said Dan. “And now comes the question as to who’s to provide
the next story.”
But, to the clown’s great surprise, not a single animal made answer.
“My goodness!” he cried, as he swung around on Hippo’s vast back the
better to be able to face them, “do you mean to say that not one of you
has thought of a story? Why, Mr. President, I am indeed astounded! I—”
“Aw, now, Dan, don’t be talking like that,” protested Monkey. “I know a
lot of stories only I just can’t remember one right now.”
“And those I know are all so very old,” pleaded Great White Bear, while
all the rest seemed ready to excuse themselves on much the same score.
“Well,” said Lion, “in view of all this, there seems to be but one thing
to do and that is to put on our thinking caps and not take them off
until each has thought of a story. So let us get down to business at
once. Tiger, you will kindly come forward and stretch yourself on the
ground. There—that is the way. Now, then, do you slowly wave your tail
from one side to the other. Exactly. You, Dan, will keep count of the
tail-waves until you have recorded exactly one hundred. And until that
number is reached there’s not to be a word from a one of you. Instead,
you are to keep silent and think. All ready now—go!”
At this word of command Tiger’s tail began to rise and to fall and Dan’s
head to nod down and then up as he kept exact track of the waves of it.
Quite at the same time all the others solemnly puckered their brows,
half closed their eyes, or pillowed their chins as folks always do when
they engage in deep thought.
Time passed.
Tiger’s tail floated up and down through the air.
Dan’s head continued to bob and to count.
Lion gazed about with so severe an eye that hardly an animal dared
breathe. Not a sound broke the silence. And then, of a sudden—!
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Now the taps were not specially loud and, aside from that fact, there
is, as a rule, nothing particularly unusual about an innocent tap, nor,
for that matter, about two nor yet three of them.
But, in this case, you see—everything was so very still with even Monkey
not so much as uttering a sound, that——
Tap! Tap! Tap!
There it was again!
And, oddest of all, it seemed to come from a point high over their
heads.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
And at this you may be sure the business of thinking of stories was
entirely forgotten. Instead, every ear was alert. It now seemed certain
that the taps had come from the top of the biggest blue pole.
“Ahoy, whoever you are—what is it you want?” called Lion, as he directed
his eyes and his voice toward that point in the roof where the pole
passed through to the skies.
Tap! Tap! Tap! came the answer.
“Come in!” roared Lion, “Come in at once, whatever you are and wherever
you are!”
“Let me skip up the side of the pole and see just what it can be,” cried
Monkey.
But just at that moment there came a muffled voice from the roof—a voice
that was something between a caw and a croak.
“Menagerie tent, Spangleland?” it called down.
“Yes, Mr. Voice, you are in Spangleland and this is the menagerie tent,”
answered Lion. “And now if you will be so good as to come out of
hiding—”
But even while Lion was speaking a movement was seen and with it
appeared two very black feet. These were followed by the under side of
an even blacker body; with a long, pointed beak coming after. And thus,
bit by bit, there gradually emerged the whole of a crow of quite
remarkable size.
Now those who gazed upward at this strange visitor were immediately
struck by three most unusual things. In the first place their caller’s
head was almost wholly concealed by a messenger’s cap that was much too
large for him. Secondly, he walked down the side of the pole when to
have flown would have been a far simpler way. And, thirdly, instead of
showing some interest in his surroundings as he entered, he preferred to
bury his nose in the crook of what must have been a most entertaining
book. Indeed he did not once look up until he had set his feet on the
ground. And then it was to find himself surrounded by all the animals.
“Lion, Lion—Mister Lion,” he inquired rather briskly as he tucked his
book under one wing and scanned the many faces.
“At your service,” responded Lion as he stepped forward.
“Yes, sir, yes, sir—Message for you, sir,” and removing his cap with
something of a flourish, the crow took a bit of folded paper from out
the crown of it.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Lion as he opened the missive and glanced at its
contents, “though addressed in my care it’s really for all of us.”
“Yes, but what is it?” cried the animals.
“Why, a message from the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes. Here is
what she says:
“‘Care of Lion,
“‘Menagerie Tent, Spangleland:
“‘I and my White-White Horse will be quite near you at half-past
twilight on the morrow. So please be at home, for it is very likely
we will pay you a visit.
“‘The Pretty Lady.’”
“Oh, hurrah, hurrah!” shouted all the animals in one breath while Dan
clapped his hands with much glee.
“You are, indeed, a most welcome messenger,” remarked Lion, as he turned
to where the crow had been standing. But, to his surprise, the somber
chap in the cap was no longer there. Instead, he had perched himself on
a wheel of Giraffe’s spacious home. Yes, there he sat, once more reading
his book, and, in addition, was now slowly munching an apple.
“I say,” repeated Lion, “a most welcome messenger.” And this time he
laid so much stress on the very last word that the crow jumped from the
wheel in the greatest of haste.
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” he answered as he vainly tried to stuff both the
book and the apple under one wing. “Calling a messenger, were you, sir?”
At which all the animals laughed so heartily that the crow looked quite
confused and muttered something about “time to be going.”
“But not unless you are entirely ready to leave,” remonstrated Lion,
“for I assure you that you are quite welcome to remain and finish your
apple and your book, also, if you choose. You flew all the way from
Sunset House, I presume?”
“Well, I should rather say not!” answered the crow, as he flipped his
cap to one side with the toes of one foot. “What would be the fun of
being a messenger-bird if one had to fly all the time?”
“Yes, but how do you manage it other-wise?” questioned Rhino.
“Why, jump a cloud and ride it. That’s the way I most always do. Just
let my feet hang over the end and read my book until it’s time to hop
off.”
“Of what do you read?” asked Lion.
“Oh, it’s one of those strange-people books,” answered the crow. “I like
to read about people. They do such funny things, don’t they? Well, I
must be getting up in the air and looking for a cloud that is going
toward the west.” And he started hopping up the side of the very biggest
pole.
“Please don’t go,” coaxed Ostrich. “Stay a while longer and tell us
about the clouds. You have ridden a lot of them, haven’t you?”
“Oh, I guess a million trillion of them, at least,” said the crow in a
superior sort of way. “But then I wouldn’t know what to tell you about
them. You should ask the Pretty Lady if you want to know about clouds.
She knows stories about most everything. Besides, I can’t spare the time
just now.”
And with his beak once more buried in his book the bird from the west
moved slowly upward toward the roof to finally disappear at that point
where the pole passed through to the skies.
“What an odd individual,” said Puma. “I wish he had talked more. I
warrant he could tell a lot of fine stories.”
“And we didn’t even learn his name!” exclaimed Emu.
“We must ask the Pretty Lady about him,” said Lion.
“Isn’t it fine that she’s coming to-morrow,” cried Zebra. “Perhaps she
will tell us another story.”
“No doubt she will,” put in Diggeldy Dan. “But now our twilight’s last
moments have come so we will bid one another farewell till to-morrow.
And at the sign of the Petal Watch we will gather again to be ready to
greet our golden-haired guest when she comes with her prancing steed
from out of the west.”