L. Frank Baum (11 page)

The farmer, who had formerly been a modest man, was now so swelled
with pride that he tipped the rim of his hat over his left ear and
smoked a big cigar that was fast making him ill. His wife strutted
along beside him like a peacock, enjoying to the full the homage and
respect her wealth had won from those who formerly deigned not to
notice her, and glancing from time to time at the admiring
procession in the rear.

But, alas for their new-born pride! when they reached the farmhouse
they found the door broken in, the furniture strewn in all
directions and their treasure stolen to the very last gold piece.

The crowd grinned and made slighting remarks of a personal nature,
and Guggins, the shopkeeper, demanded in a loud voice the money for
the silk dress he had brought.

Then the woman whispered to her husband to run and pump some more
gold while she kept the crowd quiet, and he obeyed quickly. But
after a few moments he returned with a white face to tell her the
pump was dry, and not a gold piece could now be coaxed from the
spout.

The procession marched back to the village laughing and jeering at
the farmer and his wife, who had pretended to be so rich; and some
of the boys were naughty enough to throw stones at the house from
the top of the hill. Mr. Guggins carried away his dress after
severely scolding the woman for deceiving him, and when the couple
at last found themselves alone their pride had turned to humiliation
and their joy to bitter grief.

Just before sundown the woman dried her eyes and, having resumed her
ordinary attire, went to the brook for water. When she came to the
flat stone she saw the King Beetle sitting upon it.

"The well is dry!" she cried out, angrily.

"Yes," answered the beetle, calmly, "you have pumped from it all the
gold my people could find."

"But we are now ruined," said the woman, sitting down in the path
beginning to weep; "for robbers have stolen from us every penny we
possessed."

"I'm sorry," returned the beetle; "but it is your own fault. Had you
not made so great a show of your wealth no one would have suspected
you possessed a treasure, or thought to rob you. As it is, you have
merely lost the gold which others have lost before you. It will
probably be lost many times more before the world comes to an end."

"But what are we to do now?" she asked.

"What did you do before I gave you the money?"

"We worked from morning 'til night," said she.

"Then work still remains for you," remarked the beetle, composedly;
"no one will ever try to rob you of that, you may be sure!" And he
slid from the stone and disappeared for the last time.

This story should teach us to accept good fortune with humble hearts
and to use it with moderation. For, had the farmer and his wife
resisted the temptation to display their wealth ostentatiously, they
might have retained it to this very day.

In all Fairyland there is no more mischievous a person than
Tanko-Mankie the Yellow Ryl. He flew through the city one
afternoon—quite invisible to moral eyes, but seeing everything
himself—and noticed a figure of a wax lady standing behind the big
plate glass window of Mr. Floman's department store.

The wax lady was beautifully dressed, and extended in her stiff left
hand was a card bearing the words:

"RARE BARGIN!
This Stylish Costume
(Imported from Paris)
Former Price, $20,
REDUCED TO ONLY $19.98."

This impressive announcement had drawn before the window a crowd of
women shoppers, who stood looking at the wax lady with critical
eyes.

Tanko-Mankie laughed to himself the low, gurgling little laugh that
always means mischief. Then he flew close to the wax figure and
breathed twice upon its forehead.

From that instant the dummy began to live, but so dazed and
astonished was she at the unexpected sensation that she continued to
stand stupidly staring at the women outside and holding out the
placard as before.

The ryl laughed again and flew away. Anyone but Tanko-Mankie would
have remained to help the wax lady out of the troubles that were
sure to overtake her; but this naughty elf thought it rare fun to
turn the inexperienced lady loose in a cold and heartless world and
leave her to shift for herself.

Fortunately it was almost six o'clock when the dummy first realized
that she was alive, and before she had collected her new thoughts
and decided what to do a man came around and drew down all the
window shades, shutting off the view from the curious shoppers.

Then the clerks and cashiers and floorwalkers and cash girls went
home and the store was closed for the night, although the sweepers
and scrubbers remained to clean the floors for the following day.

The window inhabited by the wax lady was boxed in, like a little
room, one small door being left at the side for the window-trimmer
to creep in and out of. So the scrubbers never noticed that the
dummy, when left to herself, dropped the placard to the floor and
sat down upon a pile of silks to wonder who she was, where she was,
and how she happened to be alive.

For you must consider, dear reader, that in spite of her size and
her rich costume, in spite of her pink cheeks and fluffy yellow
hair, this lady was very young—no older, in reality, than a baby
born but half an hour. All she knew of the world was contained in
the glimpse she had secured of the busy street facing her window;
all she knew of people lay in the actions of the group of women
which had stood before her on the other side of the window pane and
criticised the fit of her dress or remarked upon its stylish
appearance.

So she had little enough to think about, and her thoughts moved
somewhat slowly; yet one thing she really decided upon, and that was
not to remain in the window and be insolently stared at by a lot of
women who were not nearly so handsome or well dressed as herself.

By the time she reached this important conclusion, it was after
midnight; but dim lights were burning in the big, deserted store, so
she crept through the door of her window and walked down the long
aisles, pausing now and then to look with much curiosity at the
wealth of finery confronting her on every side.

When she came to the glass cases filled with trimmed hats she
remembered having seen upon the heads of the women in the street
similar creations. So she selected one that suited her fancy and
placed it carefully upon her yellow locks. I won't attempt to
explain what instinct it was that made her glance into a near-by
mirror to see if the hat was straight, but this she certainly did.
It didn't correspond with her dress very well, but the poor thing
was too young to have much taste in matching colors.

When she reached the glove counter she remembered that gloves were
also worn by the women she had seen. She took a pair from the case
and tried to fit them upon her stiff, wax-coated fingers; but the
gloves were too small and ripped in the seams. Then she tried
another pair, and several others, as well; but hours passed before
she finally succeeded in getting her hands covered with a pair of
pea-green kids.

Next she selected a parasol from a large and varied assortment in
the rear of the store. Not that she had any idea what it was used
for; but other ladies carried such things, so she also would have
one.

When she again examined herself critically in the mirror she decided
her outfit was now complete, and to her inexperienced eyes there was
no perceptible difference between her and the women who had stood
outside the window. Whereupon she tried to leave the store, but
found every door fast locked.

The wax lady was in no hurry. She inherited patience from her
previous existence. Just to be alive and to wear beautiful clothes
was sufficient enjoyment for her at present. So she sat down upon a
stool and waited quietly until daylight.

When the janitor unlocked the door in the morning the wax lady swept
past him and walked with stiff but stately strides down the street.
The poor fellow was so completely whuckered at seeing the well-known
wax lady leave her window and march away from the store that he fell
over in a heap and only saved himself from fainting by striking his
funny bone against the doorstep. When he recovered his wits she had
turned the corner and disappeared.

The wax lady's immature mind had reasoned that, since she had come
to life, her evident duty was to mix with the world and do whatever
other folks did. She could not realize how different she was from
people of flesh and blood; nor did she know she was the first dummy
that had ever lived, or that she owed her unique experience to
Tanko-Mankie's love of mischief. So ignorance gave her a confidence
in herself that she was not justly entitled to.

It was yet early in the day, and the few people she met were
hurrying along the streets. Many of them turned into restaurants and
eating houses, and following their example the wax lady also entered
one and sat upon a stool before a lunch counter.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" said a shop girl on the next stool.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" repeated the dummy, and soon the waiter placed
them before her. Of course she had no appetite, as her constitution,
being mostly wood, did not require food; but she watched the shop
girl, and saw her put the coffee to her mouth and drink it.
Therefore the wax lady did the same, and the next instant was
surprised to feel the hot liquid trickling out between her wooden
ribs. The coffee also blistered her wax lips, and so disagreeable
was the experience that she arose and left the restaurant, paying no
attention to the demands of the waiter for "20 cents, mum." Not that
she intended to defraud him, but the poor creature had no idea what
he meant by "20 cents, mum."

As she came out she met the window trimmer at Floman's store. The
man was rather near-sighted, but seeing something familiar in the
lady's features he politely raised his hat. The wax lady also raised
her hat, thinking it the proper thing to do, and the man hurried
away with a horrified face.

Then a woman touched her arm and said:

"Beg pardon, ma'am; but there's a price-mark hanging on your dress
behind."

"Yes, I know," replied the wax lady, stiffly; "it was originally
$20, but it's been reduced to $19.98."

The woman looked surprised at such indifference and walked on. Some
carriages were standing at the edge of the sidewalk, and seeing the
dummy hesitate a driver approached her and touched his cap.

"Cab, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," said she, misunderstanding him; "I'm wax."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and looked after her wonderingly.

"Here's yer mornin' paper!" yelled a newsboy.

"Mine, did you say?" she asked.

"Sure! Chronicle, 'Quirer, R'public 'n' 'Spatch! Wot'll ye 'ave?"

"What are they for?" inquired the wax lady, simply.

"W'y, ter read, o' course. All the news, you know."

She shook her head and glanced at a paper.

"It looks all speckled and mixed up," she said. "I'm afraid I can't
read."

"Ever ben to school?" asked the boy, becoming interested.

"No; what's school?" she inquired.

The boy gave her an indignant look.

"Say!" he cried, "ye'r just a dummy, that's wot ye are!" and ran
away to seek a more promising customer.

"I wonder that he means," thought the poor lady. "Am I really
different in some way from all the others? I look like them,
certainly; and I try to act like them; yet that boy called me a
dummy and seemed to think I acted queerly."

This idea worried her a little, but she walked on to the corner,
where she noticed a street car stop to let some people on. The wax
lady, still determined to do as others did, also boarded the car and
sat down quietly in a corner.

After riding a few blocks the conductor approached her and said:

"Fare, please!"

"What's that?" she inquired, innocently.

"Your fare!" said the man, impatiently.

She stared at him stupidly, trying to think what he meant.

"Come, come!" growled the conductor, "either pay up or get off!"

Still she did not understand, and he grabbed her rudely by the arm
and lifted her to her feet. But when his hand came in contact with
the hard wood of which her arm was made the fellow was filled with
surprise. He stooped down and peered into her face, and, seeing it
was wax instead of flesh, he gave a yell of fear and jumped from the
car, running as if he had seen a ghost.

At this the other passengers also yelled and sprang from the car,
fearing a collision; and the motorman, knowing something was wrong,
followed suit. The wax lady, seeing the others run, jumped from the
car last of all, and stepped in front of another car coming at full
speed from the opposite direction.

She heard cries of fear and of warning on all sides, but before she
understood her danger she was knocked down and dragged for half a
block.

When the car was brought to a stop a policeman reached down and
pulled her from under the wheels. Her dress was badly torn and
soiled. Her left ear was entirely gone, and the left side of her
head was caved in; but she quickly scrambled to her feet and asked
for her hat. This a gentleman had already picked up, and when the
policeman handed it to her and noticed the great hole in her head
and the hollow place it disclosed, the poor fellow trembled so
frightfully that his knees actually knocked together.

"Why—why, ma'am, you're killed!" he gasped.

"What does it mean to be killed?" asked the wax lady.

The policeman shuddered and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.

"You're it!" he answered, with a groan.

The crowd that had collected were looking upon the lady wonderingly,
and a middle-aged gentleman now exclaimed: