Prevod
Mama je odšla po nakupih v mesto. Noro je prosila, naj popazi na Jane Gladys, in Nora ji je obljubila, da bo. Toda tisto popoldne je morala zloščiti srebrnino, zato je ostala v shrambi, Jane Gladys pa pustila, da se je sama kratkočasila v veliki dnevni sobi v nadstropju.
Deklice ni motilo, da je bila sama, saj je izdelovala svojo prvo vezenino — blazino za zofo, ki jo je nameravala podariti očku za rojstni dan. Zato je zlezla v veliko izbočeno okno in se zvila na široki polici, rjavolaso glavico pa sklonila nad svoje delo.
Kmalu so se vrata tiho odprla in spet zaprla. Jane Gladys je mislila, da je prišla Nora, zato ni dvignila pogleda, dokler ni naredila še nekaj vbodov na spominčici. Nato je pogledala kvišku in osupla zagledala neznanca, ki je stal sredi sobe in jo pozorno opazoval.
Bil je majhen in debel in videti je bilo, da zaradi vzpona po stopnicah težko diha. V eni roki je držal obrabljen svilen cilinder, pod drugo pazduho pa je imel zataknjeno precej veliko knjigo. Oblečen je bil v črno obleko, ki je bila videti stara in precej ponošena, po vrhu glave pa je bil plešast.
»Oprostite,« je rekel, medtem ko ga je deklica gledala s tihim začudenjem. »Ste vi Jane Gladys Brown?« »Da, gospod,« je odgovorila. »Prav dobro, zares prav dobro!« je pripomnil z nekakšnim čudnim nasmeškom. »Kar pošteno sem se namučil, da sem te našel, a nazadnje mi je le uspelo.«
»Kako ste prišli noter?« je vprašala Jane Gladys, ki je obiskovalcu vse manj zaupala. »To je skrivnost,« je skrivnostno odgovoril. To je bilo dovolj, da je deklica postala previdna. Gledala je moža in mož je gledal njo; oba sta bila resna in nekoliko zaskrbljena.
»Kaj hočete?« je vprašala in se dostojanstveno vzravnala. »Aha! Zdaj pa prehajava k stvari,« je živahno rekel mož. »S teboj bom povsem odkrit. Za začetek: tvoj oče me je užalil na skrajno neolikan način.«
Jane Gladys je zlezla z okenske police in z drobnim prstkom pokazala proti vratom. »Takojš pojdite iz te sobe!« je zavpila in glas ji je drhtel od ogorčenja. »Moj očka je najboljši človek na svetu. Nikoli ni nobenga žalil!«
»Prosim, dovoli mi, da pojasnim,« je rekel obiskovalec, ne da bi se zmenil za njeno zahtevo, naj odide. »Tvoj oče je morda zelo prijazen do tebe, saj si vendar njegova hčerkica. Ko pa je v mestu, v svoji pisarni, zna biti precej strog, zlasti do prodajalcev knjig. Pred dnevi sem ga obiskal in mu ponudil v nakup ‘Zbrana dela Petra Smitha’. In kaj misliš, da je storil?«
Ni odgovorila. »No,« je vse bolj razburjeno nadaljeval mož, »nagnal me je iz pisarne in hišniku naročil, naj me vrže iz stavbe! Kaj praviš na takšno ravnanje ‘najboljšega očka na svetu’, kaj?«
»Mislim, da je imel čisto prav,« je rekla Jane Gladys. »A tako misliš? No,« je rekel mož, »sklenil sem se maščevati za žalitev. Ker pa je tvoj oče velik, močan in nevaren človek, sem se odločil, da se bom maščeval njegovi hčerkici.«
Jane Gladys je spreletel srh. »Kaj boste naredili?« je vprašala. »Podaril ti bom tole knjigo,« je odgovoril in jo vzel izpod pazduhe. Nato je sedel na rob stola, položil klobuk na preprogo in iz žepa telovnika potegnil nalivno pero.
»Vanjo bom napisal tvoje ime,« je rekel. »Kako se napiše Gladys?« »G-l-a-d-y-s,« je odgovorila. »Hvala. No, tole,« je nadaljeval, vstal in ji s priklonom izročil knjigo, »je moje maščevanje za to, kako je tvoj oče ravnal z menoj. Morda mu bo še žal, da ni kupil ‘Zbranih del Petra Smitha’. Nasvidenje, draga moja.«
Stopil je k vratom, se ji še enkrat priklonil in odšel iz sobe. Jane Gladys je opazila, da se pri tem smeje sam pri sebi, kakor da ga vse skupaj neznansko zabava.
Ko so se vrata za čudnim možičkom zaprla, je deklica spet sedla na okensko polico in si ogledala knjigo. Imela je rdeče-rumene platnice, na sprednji pa je z velikimi črkami pisalo »Čudne reči«.
Nato jo je radovedno odprla in na prvem belem listu zagledala svoje ime, napisano s črnimi črkami. »Čuden možiček je bil,« je zamišljeno rekla sama sebi.
Obrnila je naslednji list in zagledala veliko sliko klovna, oblečenega v zeleno, rdeče in rumeno, z zelo belim obrazom in trikotnimi rdečimi lisami na obeh licih in nad očmi. Medtem ko ga je gledala, ji je knjiga v rokah zadrhtela, list je zaškripal in zapokljal in nenadoma je klovn skočil iz njega ter pristal na tleh poleg nje. V hipu je postal velik kakor vsak navaden klovn.
Pretegnil si je roke in noge, precej nevljudno zazehаl, se neumno zahihital in rekel: »Tako je že bolje! Sploh ne veš, kako otrpneš, če tako dolgo stojiš na ravnem listu papirja.«
Morda si lahko predstavljate, kako se je Jane Gladys prestrašila in kako je strmela v klovna, ki je pravkar skočil iz knjige. »Česa takega pa nisi pričakovala, kajne?« jo je vprašal in se ji klovnovsko spačil. Nato se je obrnil, da bi si ogledal sobo, in Jane Gladys se je kljub osuplosti zasmejala.
»Kaj te pa tako zabava?« je zahteval klovn. »Saj ste zadaj čisto beli!« je vzkliknila deklica. »Samo spredaj ste klovn.« »Prav mogoče,« je nejevoljno odvrnil. »Risаr me je narisal od spredaj. Nihče ni pričakoval, da bo narisal tudi mojo zadnjo stran, saj je bila ta obrnjena proti listu v knjigi.«
»Ampak zato ste videti tako smešni!« je rekla Jane Gladys in se smejala, da so ji v oči stopile solze. Klovn se je namrščil in sedel na stol, tako da mu ni mogla videti hrbta.
»Nisem edina reč v knjigi,« je jezno pripomnil. To jo je spomnilo, da je obrnila še en list, in komaj je opazila, da je na njem slika opice, že je žival ob glasnem šelestenju papirja skočila iz knjige in pristala na okenski polici poleg nje.
»He-he-he-he-he!« je zabrbljala žival, skočila deklici na ramo, nato pa na mizo sredi sobe. »Kako zabavno! Zdaj sem lahko prava opica, ne pa samo njena slika.«
»Prave opice ne znajo govoriti,« jo je pokarala Jane Gladys. »Kako pa to veš? Si bila kdaj sama opica?« je vprašala žival; nato se je glasno zasmejala, z njo pa tudi klovn, kakor da ga je pripomba zelo zabavala.
Deklica je bila zdaj že povsem zmedena. Ne da bi pomislila, je obrnila še en list, in še preden si ga je utegnila dobro ogledati, je iz knjige skočil siv osel ter se z glasnim ropotom skobacal z okenske police na tla.
»No, vi ste pa res nerodni!« je ogorčeno rekla deklica, saj jo je žival skoraj prevrnila. »Neroden! Zakaj pa ne bi bil?« je jezno vprašal osel. »Če bi tisti bedasti risar tudi tebe narisal v napačni perspektivi, tako kot je mene, bi bila gotovo tudi ti nerodna.«
»Kaj pa je narobe z vami?« je vprašala Jane Gladys. »Moja sprednja in zadnja leva noga sta skoraj petnajst centimetrov prekratki, to je narobe! Če tisti risar ni znal pravilno risati, zakaj se je sploh lotil osla?«
»Ne vem,« je odgovorila deklica, saj je videla, da pričakuje odgovor. »Komaj stojim,« je godrnjal osel, »in že najmanjša malenkost me prevrne.«
»Nič se ne sekiraj,« je rekla opica, skočila na lestenec in se z repom obesila nanj ter se gugala, da se je Jane Gladys zbala, da bo sklatila vse steklene krogle. »Isti risar je meni naredil tako velika ušesa kot temu klovnu, pa vsakdo ve, da so opičja ušesa komaj vredna omembe — kaj šele risanja.«
»Morali bi ga tožiti,« je mračno pripomnil klovn. »Jaz sploh nimam hrbta.« Jane Gladys je z začudenjem na ljubkem obrazku pogledovala od enega do drugega in obrnila še eno stran v knjigi.
Urno kakor blisk ji je čez ramo skočil rumenorjav, lisast leopard, pristal na naslonjalu velikega usnjenega naslanjača in se divje obrnil proti drugim.
Opica je splezala na vrh lestenca in od strahu vreščala. Osel je poskusil zbežati, pa se je takoj zvrnil na levi bok. Klovn je pobledel še bolj kot prej, vendar je ostal na stolu in tiho zažvižgal od presenečenja.
Leopard je čepel na naslonjalu, švigal z repom sem in tja ter izmenično srepo gledal vse navzoče, tudi Jane Gladys.
»Koga od nas boš najprej napadel?« je vprašal osel in si na vso moč prizadeval, da bi se spet postavil na noge. »Nikogar od vas ne morem napasti,« je zarenčal leopard. »Risаr me je narisal z zaprtim gobcem, zato nimam zob; kremplje pa je pozabil narisati. Ampak kljub temu sem videti strašen, kajne?«
»O, seveda,« je ravnodušno rekel klovn. »Menda si res videti dovolj strašen. Toda če nimaš ne zob ne krempljev, nam je čisto vseeno, kakšen si videti.«
To je leoparda tako razjezilo, da je grozljivo zarenčal, opica pa se mu je zasmejala. Prav tedaj je deklici knjiga zdrsnila iz naročja, in ko jo je poskusila ujeti, se je eden od listov proti koncu knjige na stežaj odprl. Za hip je uzrla divjega grizlija, ki jo je gledal s strani, in hitro vrgla knjigo stran od sebe. Z ropotom je padla sredi sobe, poleg nje pa je stal velikanski grizli, ki se je iztrgal s strani, še preden se je knjiga zaprla.
»Zdaj,« je s svojega visokega sedeža zavpil leopard, »pa le pazite nase! Njemu se ne morete smejati tako kot meni. Medved ima kremplje in zobe.«
»Res jih imam,« je z nizkim, globokim, renčečim glasom rekel medved. »In tudi uporabljati jih znam. Če boste prebrali tisto knjigo, boste ugotovili, da sem opisan kot grozen, krut in neusmiljen grizli, čigar edini življenjski posel je požiranje deklic — s čevlji, oblekami, trakovi in vsem vred! Potem pa, pravi pisatelj, cmokam z ustnicami in se naslajam nad svojo hudobijo.«
»To je strašno!« je rekel osel, sedel na zadnje noge in žalostno zmajal z glavo. »Kaj neki je obsedlo pisatelja, da ti je dal takšno lakoto po deklicah? Ali ješ tudi živali?«
»Pisatelj ne omenja, da bi jedel karkoli drugega kot deklice,« je odgovoril medved. »Prav dobro,« je pripomnil klovn in globoko olajšano zajel sapo. »Jane Gladys lahko začneš jesti, kadar hočeš. Smejala se je, ker nimam hrbta.«
»In smejala se je, ker so moje noge narisane v napačni perspektivi,« je zarigal osel. »Ampak tudi vi si zaslužite, da vas poje,« je z naslonjala usnjenega stola zavreščal leopard, »saj ste se mi smejali in se norčevali iz mene, ker nimam ne krempljev ne zob! Kaj pravite, gospod Grizli, ali bi lahko pojedli še klovna, osla in opico, ko opravite z deklico?«
»Mogoče bi res, pa še leoparda za povrh,« je zarenčal medved. »Odvisno bo od tega, kako lačen bom. Toda začeti moram z deklico, ker pisatelj pravi, da imam deklice najraje od vsega.«
Jane Gladys se je ob tem pogovoru zelo prestrašila in začela je razumeti, kaj je mož mislil, ko je rekel, da ji knjigo podarja iz maščevanja. Očku bo gotovo žal, da ni kupil »Zbranih del Petra Smitha«, ko bo prišel domov in ugotovil, da je njegovo hčerkico požrl grizli — s čevlji, obleko, trakovi in vsem vred!
Medved se je dvignil in se postavil na zadnje noge. »Takšen sem videti v knjigi,« je rekel. »Zdaj pa glejte, kako bom pojedel deklico.« Počasi se je približeval Jane Gladys, opica, leopard, osel in klovn pa so se postavili v krog in ga z velikim zanimanjem opazovali.
Toda še preden jo je grizli dosegel, se je deklica nenadoma nečesa domislila in zaklicala: »Stojte! Ne smete me pojesti. To bi bilo narobe.« »Zakaj?« je presenečeno vprašal medved.
»Ker ste moji. Moja zasebna last ste,« je odgovorila. »Ne vem, kako si prišla do tega,« je razočarano rekel medved. »Saj sem knjigo dobila v dar; moje ime je na prvem listu. Vi pa pravzaprav spadate v knjigo. Zato si ne smete drzniti pojesti svoje lastnice!«
Grizli je okleval. »Ali zna kdo od vas brati?« je vprašal. »Jaz znam,« je rekel klovn. »Potem pa poglej, ali govori resnico. Je njeno ime res v knjigi?«
Klovn jo je pobral in pogledal ime. »Je,« je rekel. »‘Jane Gladys Brown’, in to prav razločno napisano z velikimi črkami.« Medved je vzdihnil.
»Potem je seveda ne morem pojesti,« je sklenil. »Ta pisatelj je prav tako razočaranje kakor večina pisateljev.« »Ampak tako slab kot risar pa le ni,« je vzkliknil osel, ki se je še vedno trudil, da bi stal pokonci.
»Sami ste si krivi,« je strogo rekla Jane Gladys. »Zakaj niste ostali v knjigi, kamor so vas postavili?« Živali so se neumno spogledale, klovn pa je pod belo barvo zardel.
»Pravzaprav —« je začel medved, nato pa nenadoma obmolknil. Pri vhodnih vratih je glasno pozvonilo. »Mama je!« je vzkliknila Jane Gladys in skočila na noge. »Končno je prišla domov. Zdaj pa, vi neumne živali —«
Toda vsi so se naenkrat pognali proti knjigi in jo prekinili. Nekaj je švignilo, završalo, listi so zašelesteli, in že hip zatem je knjiga ležala na tleh, videti povsem taka kot vsaka druga knjiga, čudni družabniki Jane Gladys pa so vsi izginili.
Ta zgodba naj nas nauči, da moramo ob vsaki priložnosti razmišljati hitro in jasno; kajti če se Jane Gladys ne bi spomnila, da je medved njen, bi jo bil najbrž pojedel, še preden je pozvonilo.
Izvirnik
Mamma had gone down-town to shop. She had asked Nora to look after Jane Gladys, and Nora promised she would. But it was her afternoon for polishing the silver, so she stayed in the pantry and left Jane Gladys to amuse herself alone in the big sitting-room upstairs.
The little girl did not mind being alone, for she was working on her first piece of embroidery—a sofa pillow for papa’s birthday present. So she crept into the big bay window and curled herself up on the broad sill while she bent her brown head over her work.
Soon the door opened and closed again, quietly. Jane Gladys thought it was Nora, so she didn’t look up until she had taken a couple more stitches on a forget-me-not. Then she raised her eyes and was astonished to find a strange man in the middle of the room, who regarded her earnestly.
He was short and fat, and seemed to be breathing heavily from his climb up the stairs. He held a work silk hat in one hand and underneath his other elbow was tucked a good-sized book. He was dressed in a black suit that looked old and rather shabby, and his head was bald upon the top.
“Excuse me,” he said, while the child gazed at him in solemn surprise. “Are you Jane Gladys Brown?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“Very good; very good, indeed!” he remarked, with a queer sort of smile. “I’ve had quite a hunt to find you, but I’ve succeeded at last.”
“How did you get in?” inquired Jane Gladys, with a growing distrust of her visitor.
“That is a secret,” he said, mysteriously.
This was enough to put the girl on her guard. She looked at the man and the man looked at her, and both looks were grave and somewhat anxious.
“What do you want?” she asked, straightening herself up with a dignified air.
“Ah!—now we are coming to business,” said the man, briskly. “I’m going to be quite frank with you. To begin with, your father has abused me in a most ungentlemanly manner.”
Jane Gladys got off the window sill and pointed her small finger at the door.
“Leave this room ‘meejitly!” she cried, her voice trembling with indignation. “My papa is the best man in the world. He never ’bused anybody!”
“Allow me to explain, please,” said the visitor, without paying any attention to her request to go away. “Your father may be very kind to you, for you are his little girl, you know. But when he’s down-town in his office he’s inclined to be rather severe, especially on book agents. Now, I called on him the other day and asked him to buy the ‘Complete Works of Peter Smith,’ and what do you suppose he did?”
She said nothing.
“Why,” continued the man, with growing excitement, “he ordered me from his office, and had me put out of the building by the janitor! What do you think of such treatment as that from the ‘best papa in the world,’ eh?”
“I think he was quite right,” said Jane Gladys.
“Oh, you do? Well,” said the man, “I resolved to be revenged for the insult. So, as your father is big and strong and a dangerous man, I have decided to be revenged upon his little girl.”
Jane Gladys shivered.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to present you with this book,” he answered, taking it from under his arm. Then he sat down on the edge of a chair, placed his hat on the rug and drew a fountain pen from his vest pocket.
“I’ll write your name in it,” said he. “How do you spell Gladys?”
“G-l-a-d-y-s,” she replied.
“Thank you. Now this,” he continued, rising and handing her the book with a bow, “is my revenge for your father’s treatment of me. Perhaps he’ll be sorry he didn’t buy the ‘Complete Works of Peter Smith.’ Good-by, my dear.”
He walked to the door, gave her another bow, and left the room, and Jane Gladys could see that he was laughing to himself as if very much amused.
When the door had closed behind the queer little man the child sat down in the window again and glanced at the book. It had a red and yellow cover and the word “Thingamajigs” was across the front in big letters.
Then she opened it, curiously, and saw her name written in black letters upon the first white leaf.
“He was a funny little man,” she said to herself, thoughtfully.
She turned the next leaf, and saw a big picture of a clown, dressed in green and red and yellow, and having a very white face with three-cornered spots of red on each cheek and over the eyes. While she looked at this the book trembled in her hands, the leaf crackled and creaked and suddenly the clown jumped out of it and stood upon the floor beside her, becoming instantly as big as any ordinary clown.
After stretching his arms and legs and yawning in a rather impolite manner, he gave a silly chuckle and said:
“This is better! You don’t know how cramped one gets, standing so long upon a page of flat paper.”
Perhaps you can imagine how startled Jane Gladys was, and how she stared at the clown who had just leaped out of the book.
“You didn’t expect anything of this sort, did you?” he asked, leering at her in clown fashion. Then he turned around to take a look at the room and Jane Gladys laughed in spite of her astonishment.
“What amuses you?” demanded the clown.
“Why, the back of you is all white!” cried the girl. “You’re only a clown in front of you.”
“Quite likely,” he returned, in an annoyed tone. “The artist made a front view of me. He wasn’t expected to make the back of me, for that was against the page of the book.”
“But it makes you look so funny!” said Jane Gladys, laughing until her eyes were moist with tears.
The clown looked sulky and sat down upon a chair so she couldn’t see his back.
“I’m not the only thing in the book,” he remarked, crossly.
This reminded her to turn another page, and she had scarcely noted that it contained the picture of a monkey when the animal sprang from the book with a great crumpling of paper and landed upon the window seat beside her.
“He-he-he-he-he!” chattered the creature, springing to the girl’s shoulder and then to the center table. “This is great fun! Now I can be a real monkey instead of a picture of one.”
“Real monkeys can’t talk,” said Jane Gladys, reprovingly.
“How do you know? Have you ever been one yourself?” inquired the animal; and then he laughed loudly, and the clown laughed, too, as if he enjoyed the remark.
The girl was quite bewildered by this time. She thoughtlessly turned another leaf, and before she had time to look twice a gray donkey leaped from the book and stumbled from the window seat to the floor with a great clatter.
“You’re clumsy enough, I’m sure!” said the child, indignantly, for the beast had nearly upset her.
“Clumsy! And why not?” demanded the donkey, with angry voice. “If the fool artist had drawn you out of perspective, as he did me, I guess you’d be clumsy yourself.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Jane Gladys.
“My front and rear legs on the left side are nearly six inches too short, that’s what’s the matter! If that artist didn’t know how to draw properly why did he try to make a donkey at all?”
“I don’t know,” replied the child, seeing an answer was expected.
“I can hardly stand up,” grumbled the donkey; “and the least little thing will topple me over.”
“Don’t mind that,” said the monkey, making a spring at the chandelier and swinging from it by his tail until Jane Gladys feared he would knock all the globes off; “the same artist has made my ears as big as that clown’s and everyone knows a monkey hasn’t any ears to speak of—much less to draw.”
“He should be prosecuted,” remarked the clown, gloomily. “I haven’t any back.”
Jane Gladys looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression upon her sweet face, and turned another page of the book.
Swift as a flash there sprang over her shoulder a tawney, spotted leopard, which landed upon the back of a big leather armchair and turned upon the others with a fierce movement.
The monkey climbed to the top of the chandelier and chattered with fright. The donkey tried to run and straightway tipped over on his left side. The clown grew paler than ever, but he sat still in his chair and gave a low whistle of surprise.
The leopard crouched upon the back of the chair, lashed his tail from side to side and glared at all of them, by turns, including Jane Gladys.
“Which of us are you going to attack first?” asked the donkey, trying hard to get upon his feet again.
“I can’t attack any of you,” snarled the leopard. “The artist made my mouth shut, so I haven’t any teeth; and he forgot to make my claws. But I’m a frightful looking creature, nevertheless; am I not?”
“Oh, yes;” said the clown, indifferently. “I suppose you’re frightful looking enough. But if you have no teeth nor claws we don’t mind your looks at all.”
This so annoyed the leopard that he growled horribly, and the monkey laughed at him.
Just then the book slipped from the girl’s lap, and as she made a movement to catch it one of the pages near the back opened wide. She caught a glimpse of a fierce grizzly bear looking at her from the page, and quickly threw the book from her. It fell with a crash in the middle of the room, but beside it stood the great grizzly, who had wrenched himself from the page before the book closed.
“Now,” cried the leopard from his perch, “you’d better look out for yourselves! You can’t laugh at him as you did at me. The bear has both claws and teeth.”
“Indeed I have,” said the bear, in a low, deep, growling voice. “And I know how to use them, too. If you read in that book you’ll find I’m described as a horrible, cruel and remorseless grizzly, whose only business in life is to eat up little girls—shoes, dresses, ribbons and all! And then, the author says, I smack my lips and glory in my wickedness.”
“That’s awful!” said the donkey, sitting upon his haunches and shaking his head sadly. “What do you suppose possessed the author to make you so hungry for girls? Do you eat animals, also?”
“The author does not mention my eating anything but little girls,” replied the bear.
“Very good,” remarked the clown, drawing a long breath of relief. “you may begin eating Jane Gladys as soon as you wish. She laughed because I had no back.”
“And she laughed because my legs are out of perspective,” brayed the donkey.
“But you also deserve to be eaten,” screamed the leopard from the back of the leather chair; “for you laughed and poked fun at me because I had no claws nor teeth! Don’t you suppose Mr. Grizzly, you could manage to eat a clown, a donkey and a monkey after you finish the girl?”
“Perhaps so, and a leopard into the bargain,” growled the bear. “It will depend on how hungry I am. But I must begin on the little girl first, because the author says I prefer girls to anything.”
Jane Gladys was much frightened on hearing this conversation, and she began to realize what the man meant when he said he gave her the book to be revenged. Surely papa would be sorry he hadn’t bought the “Complete Works of Peter Smith” when he came home and found his little girl eaten up by a grizzly bear—shoes, dress, ribbons and all!
The bear stood up and balanced himself on his rear legs.
“This is the way I look in the book,” he said. “Now watch me eat the little girl.”
He advanced slowly toward Jane Gladys, and the monkey, the leopard, the donkey and the clown all stood around in a circle and watched the bear with much interest.
But before the grizzly reached her the child had a sudden thought, and cried out:
“Stop! You mustn’t eat me. It would be wrong.”
“Why?” asked the bear, in surprise.
“Because I own you. You’re my private property,” she answered.
“I don’t see how you make that out,” said the bear, in a disappointed tone.
“Why, the book was given to me; my name’s on the front leaf. And you belong, by rights, in the book. So you mustn’t dare to eat your owner!”
The Grizzly hesitated.
“Can any of you read?” he asked.
“I can,” said the clown.
“Then see if she speaks the truth. Is her name really in the book?”
The clown picked it up and looked at the name.
“It is,” said he. “‘Jane Gladys Brown;’ and written quite plainly in big letters.”
The bear sighed.
“Then, of course, I can’t eat her,” he decided. “That author is as disappointing as most authors are.”
“But he’s not as bad as the artist,” exclaimed the donkey, who was still trying to stand up straight.
“The fault lies with yourselves,” said Jane Gladys, severely. “Why didn’t you stay in the book, where you were put?”
The animals looked at each other in a foolish way, and the clown blushed under his white paint.
“Really—” began the bear, and then he stopped short.
The door bell rang loudly.
“It’s mamma!” cried Jane Gladys, springing to her feet. “She’s come home at last. Now, you stupid creatures—”
But she was interrupted by them all making a rush for the book. There was a swish and a whirr and a rustling of leaves, and an instant later the book lay upon the floor looking just like any other book, while Jane Gladys’ strange companions had all disappeared.
This story should teach us to think quickly and clearly upon all occasions; for had Jane Gladys not remembered that she owned the bear he probably would have eaten her before the bell rang.
