_CAUGHT IN TOYTOWN_
It came about in this way. Jimmieboy had been just a wee bit naughty,
and in consequence had to sit in the night nursery all alone by himself
for a little while. Now, the night nursery was not an altogether
attractive place for a small boy to sit in all by himself, because all
the toys were kept in the day nursery, and beyond the bureau drawers
there was absolutely nothing in the room which could keep a boy busy for
more than five minutes. So it happened that at the end of ten minutes
Jimmieboy was at his wits' ends to find out what he should do next. At
the end of fifteen minutes he was about to announce to a waiting world
outside that he'd make an effort to behave himself, and not tease his
small brother any more, when his eye caught sight of a singular little
crack in one corner of the room. It was the funniest looking crack he
ever saw, as it went zigzagging on its way from floor to ceiling, and
then, as he gazed at it it grew even queerer than ever, for it seemed to
widen, and then what should appear at the bottom of it but a little iron
gate!
"That's the curiousest thing I've seen yet!" said Jimmieboy, crawling on
his hands and knees over to the gate and peering through it. Then he
suddenly started back, somewhat frightened, for as he looked through the
bars a great gruff voice cried out:--
"That's five dollars you owe. Pay up--now. Quick, or the 'bus will go
without me."
And then a funny little old man that looked as if he had stepped out of
a Brownie book came to the other side of the gate and thrust his hand
through the bars in front of Jimmieboy.
"Hear what I said?" the little old man cried out. "Five dollars--hurry
up, or the 'bus'll go without me, and it gets lost every time it does
and then there's a fearful row and I'm discharged."
"I haven't got five dollars," said Jimmieboy. "And, besides, if I had I
wouldn't give it to you, because I don't owe it to you."
"You don't owe me five dollars?" cried the little old man angrily.
"Well, I like that. Then you mean to say you are a view stealer, do
you?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Jimmieboy. "I never stole anything."
"Yes you did, too," shrieked the little old man. "You just took a look
through these bars, and that look doesn't belong to you. This country
belongs to us. You've used our view and now you say you won't pay for
it."
"Oh, I see," said Jimmieboy, who began to understand. "You charge for
the view--is that it?"
"Yes," said the little old man more quietly. "We have to make a small
charge to keep the view in repair, you know. There was a man here last
week who spoiled one of our most beautiful bits of scenery. He looked at
it so hard that it was simply used up. And another fellow, with two very
sharp eyes, bored a hole through another view further along only
yesterday. He gave it a quick, piercing, careless glance, and pop!--his
left eye went right through it; and that's the reason we have to make
people pay. Sightseers do a deal of damage."
"Well, I'm very sorry," said Jimmieboy. "I didn't know there was any
charge or I wouldn't have looked."
"Then we're square," said the little old man. "I have instructions to
collect five dollars or an apology from every one who uses our views
until our Wizard has invented some way of enabling people to put back
the views they take without meaning to. Won't you come in and look about
you and see what an interesting country we have? You can pay for all you
see with apologies, since you have no money."
The little old man turned the key on his side of the gate and opened it.
"Thanks ever so much," said Jimmieboy. "I'd like to come in very much
indeed," and in he walked.
"What is this place?" he asked, as he gazed about him and observed that
all the houses were made of cake and candy, and that all the trees were
fashioned like those that came with his toy farm.
"This," said the little old man, clanging the gate and locking it fast,
"is Toyland, and you are my prisoner."
"Your what?" cried Jimmieboy, taking instant alarm.
"My prisoner is what I said," retorted the little old man. "I keep a toy
shop in Toyland and I'm going to put you in my show window and sell you
to the first big toy that wants to buy you for a Christmas present for
his little toy at home."
"I d-don't understand," stammered Jimmieboy.
"Well, you will in a minute," said the little old man. "We citizens of
Toyland keep Christmas just as much as you people do, only our toys are
children just as your toys are toys. You sell us when you can catch us,
and we sell you when we catch you--and, what is more, the boy who is
kind to his toys in your country finds his toy master in Toyland kind to
him. I am told that you are very good to your toys and keep them very
carefully, so you needn't be afraid that you will be given to one of our
rough toys, who will drag you around by one leg and leave you standing
on your head in the closet all night."
"But I don't want to be sold," said Jimmieboy.
"Well, you'd better, then," retorted the little old man, "because if
some one doesn't buy you we'll pack you up in a box and send you out to
China to the missionaries. Step right in here, please."
Jimmieboy did not wish to obey in the least, but he didn't dare rebel
against the commands of his captor, so, with an anxious glance down the
street, he started to do as he was told, when a singular sight met his
eye. In glancing down the street he had caught sight of the toy-shop
window, and what should he see there but his friends Whitty and Billie
and Johnnie and sweet little Bettie Perkins who lived across the way,
and half a dozen others of his small friends.
"Fine display, eh?" said the little old man. "Great haul of children,
eh?" he added. "Best window in town, and they'll sell like hot cakes."
"You've got all my friends except Tommy Hicks," said Jimmieboy.
"I know it," said the little old man. "We had Tommy this morning, too,
but a plush rabbit living up on Main street came in and bought him to
put in his little toy stocking. I don't envy Tommy much. He used to
treat a plush rabbit he had very badly, and the one that bought him
seemed to know it, for as he took Tommy out he kept punching him in the
stomach and making him cry like a doll, calling 'mam-mah' and 'pah-pah'
all the time. He gave me a dollar for Tommy, but I'll charge ten for
you. They'll have to pay a good price for Whitty, too, because there's
so much goes with him. He's got a collection of postage stamps in one
pocket, a muffin ring and a picture book in another, and the front of
his blouse is stuffed chock full of horse chestnuts and marbles. Whitty
makes a singularly rich toy, and I think he'll sell as quickly as any of
you."
"How did you capture him?" asked Jimmieboy, who felt better now that he
saw that he was not alone in this strange land. "Did he come through
that crack that I came by?"
"No, indeed," said the little old man. "He came in through the pantry
door. He climbed into his mamma's pantry after some jam, and while he
was there I just turned the pantry around, and when he'd filled up on
jam he walked right through the door into the back of my shop, and
before he knew it I had him priced and sitting in the window. There was
a wax doll in here this afternoon who wanted to buy him for her daughter
Flaxilocks, but she only had $8, and I'm not going to let Whitty go for
less than $12, considering all the things he's brought with him."
Then Jimmieboy entered the shop, and it was indeed a curious place.
Instead of there being toys on the shelves waiting to be bought, there
were piles of children lying there, while the toys were to be seen
walking up and down the floor, pricing first a boy and then a baby and
then a little girl. The salesmen were all Brownies, and most obliging
ones. It didn't seem to be a bit of trouble to them to show goods, and
they were very kind to the little toys that had come in with their
mothers, punching the children they had to sell in the stomach to make
them say what they were made to say; and making them show how easily
and gracefully they could walk, and, in short, showing off their wares
to the very best advantage. Jimmieboy was too interested in what he saw
to feel very anxious, and so, when the bazaar door had closed behind
them, he asked the little old man very cheerfully what he should do.
"Step right into the window and sit down," said the little old man.
"Smile cheerfully and once in a while get up and twirl around on your
right leg. That will attract the attention of the toys passing on the
street, and maybe one of 'em will come in and buy you. Do you sing?"
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "Why?"
"Nothing. I only wanted to know so that I could describe you properly on
the placard you are to wear," said the little old man. "How would you
like to be called the Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy?"
"That would be first rate," said Jimmieboy. "Only I couldn't begin to
remember it, you know."
"You don't have to," said the little old man. "Nobody will ask
you what you are, because the placard will tell that. Only whenever
anybody wants to see you, and I take you out of the window, you must
sing of your own accord. That's what I mean by calling you an
Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy. It means simply that you are a Jimmieboy
that sings of its own accord."
So the placard was made, and Jimmieboy put it on, and got into the
window, where, for hours, he was stared at by rag babies, tin soldiers,
lead firemen, woolen monkeys and all sorts of other toys, who lived in
this strange land, and who were walking in throngs on the sugared
sidewalk without. One woolen monkey called in to price him, and
Jimmieboy sang a German kindergarten song for him, but the monkey found
him too expensive, for, as you may already know, it rarely happens that
woolen monkeys have as much as $10 in their pockets.
A little later a wooden Noah, out of an ark across the street, came in,
and purchased Whitty, and Jimmieboy began to feel tired and lonesome.
The novelty of it all wore off after awhile, and some of the toys in the
street bothered him a good deal by making faces at him, and a plaster
lion said he thought he'd go in and take a bite of him, he looked so
good, which Jimmieboy didn't like at all, though it was meant to be
complimentary.
Finally he was sold to a rubber doll with a whistle in its head, and the
first thing he knew he was wrapped up in a bundle and put in a
pasteboard box to be sent by express to the rubber doll's cousin, who
lived in the country. Jimmieboy didn't like this at all, and as the
little old man tied the string that fastened him in the box he resisted
and began to kick, and he kicked so hard that something fell over with a
crash, and, freeing his arms from the twine and the box and the paper,
he sprang up and began laying about him with his fists. The little old
man fled in terror. The rubber doll changed his mind and said he didn't
think he cared for so violent a toy as the Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy
after all, and started off. Jimmieboy, noting the terror that he
inspired by his resistance, grabbed up three of the Brownies who were
trying to hide in the fire extinguisher, and rushed shouting out of the
shop and landed--where do you suppose?
Slap, bang in his own nursery!
How the nursery got there or what became of the Brownies he does not
know to this day, but he remembers every detail of his experience very
well and it is from him that I got the story. The queerest thing about
it, though, is that Whitty has no recollection of the adventure at all,
which is really very strange, for Whitty has a marvellous memory. I have
known both Whitty and Jimmieboy to remember things that never happened
at all, which makes Whitty's loss of memory on this occasion more
wonderful than ever.
At any rate, this story tells you exactly what happened to Jimmieboy
that day at the beginning of the Christmas vacation, and I am convinced
that few of you have ever had anything at all like it happen to you,
which is why I have told you all about it.