IN WHICH DAN MEETS BEADER, OF THE JUMPING DRAGOONS
Just at the moment when the White-White Horse left the forest’s edge to
carry the Pretty Lady and Little Black Bear back to Spangleland,
Diggeldy Dan might have been seen flitting in and out between the big
and little tents on his way to the one which contained “the monkeys, and
lions, and tigers and things.” Indeed, the funny old clown in the
polka-dot suit skipped along even faster than usual; for he knew that
this was the evening that was to bring forth a wonderful story.
As for the animals, they knew this, too. And so, no sooner had Dan’s
face appeared through the rift in the wall at the far end of the tent
than there arose a cry that threatened to waken all the people of the
circus—soundly though they slept. But they slept on, while, as Mrs.
Shagg would have put it, Dan and Monkey released the impatient ones in
“three whisks and a whee.” To the center they trooped, coming from this
cage and that, or out the corrals—leaping and laughing with glee. And
just as Lion had brought them to order, in galloped the White-White
Horse, bearing his two precious passengers.
“Home again!” cried the welcoming crew.
“Home again!” echoed Little Black Bear; while all rose to their feet to
pay homage to the one with the dancing blue eyes. Dan assisted her to
alight while Elephant’s trunk lifted Little Black Bear to a place on the
ground.
“Now, then,” said Lion, “I know I speak the wish of every one of you
when I say that all are most eager to hear of Little Bear’s adventure in
the great, wide world. So if you, Pretty Lady, will accept a seat to my
right and Little Black Bear take one at my left, I’m sure we’ll prove a
most attentive audience.”
“I’m most agreeable,” the Lady replied.
“And I’m just bursting to talk,” declared Little Black Bear, “only I
simply can’t sit down to do it; I just have to stand up.”
“Suit yourself as to that,” laughed Lion, “only do begin and don’t leave
one thing untold.”
So Little Black Bear, with no end of gestures and no end of wigglings of
his wiggley nose, told the entire wondrous story from beginning to end.
Then, when he had finished, there came whole dozens of questions, all of
which he answered as best he knew how.
“That was an adventure,” Lion said, finally.
“Such an adventure!” the others exclaimed.
“Let’s draw straws again!” cried Monkey, “to see who’ll be the next to
go after a story.”
“But perhaps the Pretty Lady—” Lion began.
“Oh, I shall be very glad to carry another passenger away with me,”
answered she, “only I think it would be more fun if we this time made
the selection by counting out.”
“Counting out?” questioned Lion.
“To be sure,” she replied. “First you must all form in a circle. You,
Little Black Bear, will stand here with me, for of course you’ve already
had your adventure. Now,” she continued, when the great ring had been
made, “we will begin.” And she started around the circle, repeating the
words which you shall hear while touching an animal with the tip of her
whip with each word that spoke:
“Diggeldy, Diggeldy, Diggeldy Dan,
Stay in the circle, those who can;
Whip touch nose, or trunk or snout—
The last one touched is counted OUT.”
“Of course that first time was just for practice. But now we will start
in earnest, and the one who is touched by the whip when I speak the word
‘out’ must at once step aside. Thus we will continue until but one
remains and that one will be the next to go galloping away on the
White-White Horse.”
So the counting began. Out went Zebra and out went Seal and so on from
one to another until at last there remained only Tiger and Dan.
“And now, that I may have no way of knowing which of you I shall touch
when I speak the first word of the rhyme, I will ask Lion to place his
paws tightly over my eyes,” the Pretty Lady requested.
“Now,” warned she, when her eyes had been covered, “are they ready,
Lion?”
“They are.”
Down dipped the whip, and the Lady began touching first one and then the
other, while all those who were out joined in the lines of the rhyme.
And then, when it had brought them to the very last word, all fairly
shouted a tremendous “OUT!”
At the same moment Lion dropped his paws from the Pretty Lady’s eyes and
there was the tip of her whip resting on Tiger’s left ear!
“Dan!” cried she, while all the animals began chanting:
“Oh, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
Go find us a story as fast as you can!”
“Indeed he will,” promised the Pretty Lady, “for I know exactly where to
take him. Only he may have to be absent over one twilight.”
“We’ll not mind,” said Lion.
“No, not one bit,” cried the rest.
“Especially if he brings back an extra fine story,” added Camel.
“Let us start at once, then,” the Pretty Lady commanded, “for we have a
long way to go.”
Off dashed the animals and were soon back in their homes. Dan locked the
last door and then, twirling about on one foot and waving a farewell in
every direction, he danced down the tent and jumped to the back of the
White-White Horse. The Pretty Lady had already sprung to her seat. Dan
once beside her, she touched the snow-white steed and the journey into
twilight-land was begun.
Onward and still onward they galloped. Soon darkness had come but the
White-White Horse gave no sign of a halt. Now he went skimming up the
side of a hill and then down the face of another. But at last, as the
travelers reached the brow of an unusually steep slope, they came in
sight of the big, yellow moon just as it was on the point of rousing
itself from the top of a more distant hill. And it was here the
White-White Horse stopped so suddenly that Dan was all but tossed from
his seat.
Catching his balance, the clown gazed over the Pretty Lady’s shoulder.
Before and beneath them, and to the right and the left of them,
stretched a bit of a valley that seemed fast asleep. Some of its sides
were covered with corn fields while others were checkered with patches
of wheat. These crept downward to the very edge of a dark clump of
raggedy trees that grew on the floor of the valley. In the midst of the
trees—but standing much higher than the tallest of them—was a queerly
shaped tower. Now it seemed to be thrusting its head into the moon’s
great, round face. It resembled nothing so much as a huge grandfather’s
clock. But what could a clock be doing in such a strange place?
Even as Dan pondered, the Pretty Lady motioned him to alight.
“You are to go into the valley,” she whispered, her face placed close to
his very white ear. “Two things you are to remember: Be ever so careful
as to just where you step; and, if you are asked why you have come,
always answer ‘Dickory Dock.’”
Dan would have liked more instructions but, just as he opened his lips
to question the Lady, the White-White Horse whirled about in his tracks
and was gone in the direction whence they had come.
“Well, well,” said Dan to himself, “I guess there is but one thing to do
and that is to go into the valley and see what I’ll find there.” So he
started off down the slope. Soon he entered a corn patch. As he neared
the middle of it he was joined by a breeze that rustled the long leaves
until they fairly sang at its touch. It was a soft, murmuring tune, with
a gay little quirk, and so filled with happiness that Dan soon found
himself singing a song of his own. How long he might have sung there is
no way of knowing, for he was still in the midst of the melody, when he
felt a sharp tugging at the great ruffled collar that circled his neck.
Thinking the collar had caught upon something, he turned to see what it
was. And there holding to a cornstalk while he jerked at the edge of the
ruff, was a most indignant mouse!
“So! I’ve finally brought you to a halt,” squeaked the stranger. “Didn’t
you hear me shouting at you when you entered the corn field? You clumsy
fellow—you almost stepped on my sentry box!”
Dan thought he had never before seen quite such a mouse. Not that his
face was unlike that of other mice, but because of the dress that he
wore. This consisted of a jaunty cap with a plume in it, a red coat
adorned with two rows of tiny brass buttons, and trousers that were
braided with gold stripes down the sides. Around his waist ran a belt
and from this hung a sword.
“Now who are you and what do you want,” demanded the mouse.
“Why, I’m Diggeldy Dan, and I—”
“That means nothing to me,” interrupted the other, “so I shall have to
ask you to leave here at once.”
“But—” protested the clown.
“But, nothing,” returned the mouse. “Begone, I say, or I shall summon
the guard without more ado.”
Then Dan suddenly remembered what the Pretty Lady had told him.
“Oh!” he hastened to say, “I almost forgot.” And bending over, he
whispered, “Dickory Dock.”
“Well, now, that’s different,” cried the mouse in the friendliest tone,
imaginable. “But why in the world didn’t you say that in the first
place?”
“I’ll confess I just didn’t think,” answered Dan. “The Pretty Lady told
me to repeat the words to whomever I met; but you see—well, I guess I
hardly expected to—to—”
“To be challenged by a mere little mouse,” supplied the guard, as he
sent forth a tiny but none the less merry laugh.
“And I was also told to watch where I stepped,” added Dan. “I hope I
didn’t harm the sentry box of which you spoke.”
“Not a speck. But tell me what you are and what we may have the honor of
doing for you?”
So Dan did.
“Hum,” mused the mouse, “I’m sure I don’t know whether we can supply any
sort of a story, but I assure you we will be most happy to serve you and
the animals of Spangleland in any way possible. As for myself, I will be
delighted to escort you, for I think I hear the relief guard coming this
way now. Hi! down there,” he called, as if speaking to some one at the
foot of the cornstalks, “that you, Skipper? All right—thought I knew
your step. A quiet watch to you. I’m off to accompany a friend down the
valley.”
Then, turning to Dan, he added, “You walk right along and I’ll just hop
from stalk to stalk until we get out of the corn patch.”
“I’ll go slowly,” Dan assured him.
“Oh, as to that, you may run if you wish. You see we of the Jumping
Dragoons pride ourselves on our ability to go long distances in a very
little time.”
Nevertheless they proceeded leisurely, chatting as they descended.
Beader—for such proved to be the name of Dan’s escort—explained many
things as they went and was just on the point of answering Dan’s
question about the thing that looked so much like a grandfather’s clock
when they reached the floor of the valley.
“Here,” said the mouse, “we enter the town proper. And,” he added,
making a very low bow, “Beader takes pride in being the first to welcome
you to the Valley of Tick Tock.”
“What an odd name!” exclaimed Dan. “Why do you call it that?”
“Listen a moment and you will hear,” replied Beader.
So Dan hearkened. And out of the silence there came a slow and very
measured and very musical sound. It was as if an ocean were not far away
or a brook had come to make its home near the trees. But, unlike the
boom of the surf or the song of a stream, this strange voice sang a much
different tune. Indeed, as Dan listened, he could plainly hear it
say—“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”
“Now,” Beader broke in, “if you will be careful as to where you step and
follow me closely, we will soon be in the main part of the town.”
Thus, he of the Jumping Dragoons leaping in advance—his red coat a
bright splotch in the moonlight—Dan followed him, wonderingly.