Prevod
V vsej Pravljični deželi ni bolj navihanega bitja, kot je Tanko-Mankie, rumeni ril. Nekega popoldneva je letel skozi mesto — človeškim očem povsem neviden, sam pa je videl prav vse — in za velikim izložbenim steklom veleblagovnice gospoda Flomana opazil podobo voščene dame.
Voščena dama je bila čudovito oblečena, v iztegnjeni togi levici pa je držala kartonček z napisom: »IZJEMNA PRILOŽNOST! Ta modni kostim (uvožen iz Pariza), prej 20 dolarjev, ZNIŽAN NA SAMO 19,98 DOLARJA.«
Ta veličastna ponudba je pred izložbo privabila množico nakupovalk, ki so s kritičnimi očmi opazovale voščeno damo. Tanko-Mankie se je pri sebi zasmejal s tihim, grgrajočim smehom, ki vselej napoveduje kako vragolijo. Nato je priletel tik k voščeni postavi in ji dvakrat dahnil na čelo.
V tistem hipu je lutka oživela, vendar jo je nepričakovani občutek tako zmedel in osupnil, da je še naprej topo strmela v ženske zunaj in držala napis pred seboj kakor prej.
Ril se je spet zasmejal in odletel. Kdorkoli drug razen Tanko-Mankieja bi ostal in voščeni dami pomagal iz težav, ki so jo neizogibno čakale; temu porednemu škratu pa se je zdelo silno zabavno, da neizkušeno damo spusti v hladen in brezsrčen svet ter jo prepusti sami sebi.
Na srečo je bila ura že skoraj šest, ko se je lutka prvič zavedela, da je živa, in še preden je uredila svoje nove misli ter se odločila, kaj naj stori, je prišel neki mož in spustil vse izložbene zastore ter jo tako skril pred pogledi radovednih nakupovalk.
Nato so prodajalci, blagajniki, nadzorniki oddelkov in dekleta, ki so prenašala denar do blagajn, odšli domov in trgovino so čez noč zaprli, le pometači in čistilke so ostali, da bi pripravili tla za naslednji dan.
Izložba, v kateri je prebivala voščena dama, je bila z vseh strani zaprta kakor sobica; ob strani so pustili le majhna vratca, skozi katera se je lahko splazil aranžer. Zato čistilci sploh niso opazili, da je lutka, ko je ostala sama, spustila napis na tla in sedla na kup svile ter se začela spraševati, kdo je, kje je in kako to, da je živa.
Kajti pomisli, dragi bralec: kljub svoji velikosti in razkošni opravi, kljub rožnatim licem in puhastim rumenim lasem je bila ta dama še zelo mlada — v resnici nič starejša od dojenčka, rojenega pred komaj pol ure. Vse njeno poznavanje sveta je izviralo iz bežnega pogleda na živahno ulico pred izložbo; vse, kar je vedela o ljudeh, pa je spoznala iz vedenja skupine žensk, ki so stale pred njo na drugi strani šipe in grajale kroj njene obleke ali hvalile njen modni videz.
Tako je imela kaj malo snovi za razmišljanje, pa tudi misli so ji tekle precej počasi; vendar se je o nečem trdno odločila: ne bo ostala v izložbi, da bi vanjo predrzno strmela množica žensk, ki niti približno niso bile tako čedne in lepo oblečene kakor ona.
Ko je prišla do tega pomembnega sklepa, je bila polnoč že mimo; toda v veliki, zapuščeni trgovini so brlele luči, zato se je splazila skozi vratca svoje izložbe in se odpravila po dolgih prehodih. Tu in tam se je ustavila ter z veliko radovednostjo opazovala obilje lepih reči, ki so jo obdajale z vseh strani.
Ko je prišla do steklenih omar z okrašenimi klobuki, se je spomnila, da je podobne stvaritve videla na glavah žensk na ulici. Izbrala je torej enega, ki ji je bil všeč, in si ga skrbno posadila na rumene kodre. Ne bom skušal pojasniti, kakšen nagon jo je pripravil do tega, da je pogledala v bližnje ogledalo in preverila, ali ji klobuk stoji naravnost, a prav to je storila. K obleki se sicer ni najbolje podal, toda ubožica je bila še premlada, da bi imela kaj prida okusa za ujemanje barv.
Ko je prišla do pulta z rokavicami, se je spomnila, da so ženske, ki jih je videla, nosile tudi rokavice. Iz vitrine je vzela par in si ga poskušala natakniti na toge, z voskom prevlečene prste; a rokavice so bile premajhne in so se razparale po šivih. Nato je poskusila z drugim parom, pa še z več drugimi; toda minile so ure, preden ji je naposled uspelo spraviti roke v grahasto zelene rokavice iz kozličjega usnja.
Nato si je iz velike in raznovrstne izbire v zadnjem delu trgovine izbrala še sončnik. Ne da bi se ji sanjalo, čemu služi; toda druge dame so nosile takšne reči, zato ga bo imela tudi ona.
Ko se je spet kritično ogledala v ogledalu, je sklenila, da je njena oprava zdaj popolna, in njenim neizkušenim očem se med njo in ženskami, ki so stale pred izložbo, ni pokazala nikakršna razlika. Nato je poskušala zapustiti trgovino, vendar je ugotovila, da so vsa vrata trdno zaklenjena.
Voščeni dami se ni nikamor mudilo. Potrpežljivost je podedovala iz svojega prejšnjega obstoja. Že to, da je bila živa in je nosila lepa oblačila, ji je za zdaj povsem zadoščalo za srečo. Zato je sedla na stolček in mirno počakala, da se je zdanilo.
Ko je hišnik zjutraj odklenil vrata, je voščena dama švignila mimo njega in se s togimi, a veličastnimi koraki odpravila po ulici. Ubožec je bil tako popolnoma zbegan, ko je videl dobro znano voščeno damo zapustiti izložbo in odkorakati iz trgovine, da se je sesedel na tla; pred omedlevico ga je rešilo le to, da se je s komolcem boleče udaril ob prag. Ko je spet prišel k sebi, je že zavila za vogal in izginila.
Voščena dama je s svojim nezrelim umom sklenila, da je zdaj, ko je oživela, očitno njena dolžnost, da se pomeša med ljudi in počne vse, kar počnejo drugi. Ni mogla doumeti, kako drugačna je od ljudi iz mesa in krvi; prav tako ni vedela, da je prva lutka, ki je kdaj živela, ali da svojo edinstveno izkušnjo dolguje Tanko-Mankiejevi ljubezni do vragolij. Nevednost ji je tako vlivala samozavest, za katero pravzaprav ni imela podlage.
Bilo je še zgodaj in redki ljudje, ki jih je srečala, so hiteli po ulicah. Mnogi so zavijali v restavracije in okrepčevalnice, zato je po njihovem zgledu tudi voščena dama vstopila v eno izmed njih in sedla na stolček ob točilnem pultu.
»Kavo in žemljice!« je naročila prodajalka na sosednjem stolčku. »Kavo in žemljice!« je ponovila lutka in natakar jih je kmalu postavil prednjo. Seveda ni bila lačna, saj je bilo njeno telo pretežno leseno in ni potrebovalo hrane; vendar je opazovala prodajalko in videla, kako je ponesla kavo k ustom ter jo popila. Zato je voščena dama storila enako in že naslednji hip presenečeno začutila, kako ji vroča tekočina mezi med lesenimi rebri. Kava ji je opekla tudi voščene ustnice in izkušnja je bila tako neprijetna, da je vstala in odšla iz okrepčevalnice, ne da bi se zmenila za natakarja, ki je zahteval: »Dvajset centov, gospa!« Ne da bi ga hotela ogoljufati, toda ubogo bitje ni imelo pojma, kaj pomeni »dvajset centov, gospa«.
Ko je stopila ven, je srečala aranžerja iz Flomanove trgovine. Mož je bil precej kratkoviden, a ker se mu je na daminem obrazu zazdelo nekaj znanega, je vljudno privzdignil klobuk. Tudi voščena dama je privzdignila svojega, misleč, da se tako spodobi, mož pa je z zgroženim obrazom odhitel proč.
Nato se je neka ženska dotaknila njene roke in rekla: »Oprostite, gospa, zadaj vam z obleke visi listek s ceno.« »Da, vem,« je togo odgovorila voščena dama; »prvotno je stala dvajset dolarjev, zdaj pa je znižana na devetnajst dolarjev in osemindevetdeset centov.«
Ženska se je začudila takšni ravnodušnosti in odšla naprej. Ob robu pločnika je stalo nekaj kočij in ko je eden od kočijažev opazil, da lutka omahuje, je pristopil ter se dotaknil čepice.
»Kočijo, gospa?« je vprašal. »Ne,« je rekla, ker ga je narobe razumela; »iz voska sem.« »Aha!« je vzkliknil in osuplo gledal za njo. »Jutranji časopis za vas!« je zavpil prodajalec časopisov.
»Zame, ste rekli?« je vprašala. »Seveda! Chronicle, ’Quirer, R’public in ’Spatch! Katerega boste?« »Čemu pa služijo?« je preprosto vprašala voščena dama.
»Ja, branju, čemu pa. Vse novice, saj veste.« Zmajala je z glavo in pogledala časopis. »Vse je videti tako pikasto in pomešano,« je rekla. »Bojim se, da ne znam brati.«
»Ste sploh kdaj hodili v šolo?« je vprašal deček, ki ga je stvar začela zanimati. »Ne; kaj pa je šola?« je vprašala. Deček jo je ogorčeno pogledal. »No, veste kaj!« je vzkliknil. »Vi ste pa res ena lutka, prav to ste!« In stekel je iskat obetavnejšo stranko.
»Le kaj je hotel s tem reči?« je pomislila uboga dama. »Sem res v čem drugačna od vseh drugih? Videti sem vsekakor kakor oni in tudi vesti se skušam kakor oni; pa mi je tisti deček vendar rekel lutka in očitno se mu je zdelo moje vedenje čudno.«
Ta misel jo je nekoliko zaskrbela, vendar je šla naprej do vogala, kjer je opazila tramvaj, ki se je ustavil, da bi sprejel nekaj potnikov. Voščena dama, še vedno odločena, da bo počela isto kot drugi, je prav tako vstopila in mirno sedla v kot.
Ko so prevozili nekaj ulic, je k njej pristopil sprevodnik in rekel: »Voznino, prosim!« »Kaj je to?« je nedolžno vprašala. »Vašo voznino!« je nestrpno rekel mož.
Topo je strmela vanj in skušala dognati, kaj hoče. »No, no!« je zarenčal sprevodnik. »Ali plačajte ali pa izstopite!« Še vedno ni razumela, zato jo je grobo zgrabil za roko in jo potegnil pokonci. Ko pa je pod dlanjo začutil trdi les, iz katerega je bila njena roka, ga je prevzelo začudenje. Sklonil se je in ji pogledal v obraz; ko je videl, da ni iz mesa, temveč iz voska, je od strahu zavpil, skočil s tramvaja in jo ucvrl, kakor da je videl prikazen.
Ob tem so zavpili tudi drugi potniki in v strahu pred trčenjem poskakali iz tramvaja; voznik, ki je vedel, da je nekaj narobe, je storil enako. Ko je voščena dama videla bežati druge, je še sama zadnja skočila iz tramvaja in stopila pred drug tramvaj, ki je s polno hitrostjo pripeljal iz nasprotne smeri.
Z vseh strani je zaslišala prestrašene in svarilne krike, toda še preden je dojela nevarnost, jo je tramvaj podrl in vlekel za seboj polovico ulice. Ko se je ustavil, se je policist sklonil in jo potegnil izpod koles. Njena obleka je bila hudo raztrgana in umazana. Levega ušesa sploh ni bilo več, leva stran glave pa je bila vdrta; vendar je hitro skočila na noge in vprašala po svojem klobuku. Neki gospod ga je že pobral, in ko ji ga je policist podal ter pri tem opazil veliko luknjo v njeni glavi in votlino, ki je zevala za njo, se je revež tako strašno zatresel, da so mu kolena kar udarjala drugo ob drugo.
»Saj — saj, gospa, vas je vendar ubilo!« je zasopel. »Kaj pa pomeni, da te ubije?« je vprašala voščena dama. Policist se je zdrznil in si obrisal pot s čela.
»To, kar se je zgodilo vam!« je odvrnil s stokom. Množica, ki se je zbrala, je začudeno opazovala damo in neki gospod srednjih let je vzkliknil:
»Saj je iz voska!« »Iz voska!« je ponovil policist. »Seveda. Ena tistih lutk je, ki jih postavljajo v izložbe,« je zatrdil gospod srednjih let.
Zbrani ljudje so zavpili: »Prav imate!« »Res je to!« »Lutka je!« »Ste res?« je strogo vprašal policist. Voščena dama ni odgovorila. Začelo jo je skrbeti, da je zabredla v težave, in strmeča množica jo je očitno spravljala v zadrego.
Nenadoma je skušal uganko razrešiti mali čistilec čevljev: »Vsi se motite! Ali lahko lutka govori? Ali lahko lutka hodi? Ali lahko lutka živi?«
»Tiho!« je zamrmral policist. »Poglej sem!« In pokazal je na luknjo v damini glavi. Prodajalec časopisov je pogledal, prebledel in zažvižgal, da se ne bi začel tresti.
Zdaj je prišel še drugi policist in po kratkem posvetu sta sklenila, da čudno bitje odpeljeta na policijsko upravo. Poklicala sta policijski voz, pomagala poškodovani voščeni dami vanj in jo odpeljala na postajo. Tam sta jo zaklenila v celico in pohitela k inšpektorju Muggu, da bi mu povedala svojo neverjetno zgodbo.
Inšpektor Mugg je pravkar pojedel slab zajtrk in ni bil najboljše volje; zato je zarjovel in se razhudil nad nesrečnima policistoma, češ da sta sama lutki, ko razumnemu človeku nosita takšne pravljice. Namignil je tudi, da sta pregloboko pogledala v kozarec.
Policista sta skušala pojasniti, toda inšpektor Mugg ju ni hotel poslušati; in ko so se še vedno prepirali, je v sobo planil gospod Floman, lastnik veleblagovnice.
»Takoj potrebujem dvanajst detektivov, inšpektor!« je zavpil. »Čemu?« je zahteval Mugg. »Ena mojih voščenih dam je pobegnila iz trgovine in jo odnesla s kostimom za 19,98 dolarja, klobukom za 4,23 dolarja, sončnikom za 2,19 dolarja in rokavicami za 76 centov, zato zahtevam, da jo aretirate!«
Ko je za hip umolknil, da bi zajel sapo, je inšpektor osuplo strmel vanj. »Se je vsem hkrati zmešalo?« je porogljivo vprašal. »Kako neki bi lahko voščena lutka pobegnila?«
»Ne vem; vendar je. Ko je moj hišnik danes zjutraj odprl vrata, jo je videl steči ven.« »Zakaj je ni ustavil?« je vprašal Mugg. »Preveč se je prestrašil. Toda ukradla je mojo lastnino, vaša milost, in zahtevam, da jo aretirate!« je odločno rekel trgovec.
Inšpektor je za hip pomislil. »Ne bi je mogli sodno preganjati,« je rekel, »saj noben zakon lutkam ne prepoveduje krasti.« Gospod Floman je bridko zavzdihnil.
»Naj torej izgubim kostim za 19,98 dolarja in klobuk za 4,25 dolarja in —« »Nikakor,« ga je prekinil inšpektor Mugg. »Policija tega mesta vedno nemudoma ukrepa v obrambo naših uglednih meščanov. Voščeno damo smo že aretirali in je zaprta v celici številka 16. Če želite, lahko greste tja in vzamete svojo lastnino nazaj, toda preden jo ovadite zaradi kraje, raje poiščite kak zakon, ki velja za lutke.«
»Vse, kar hočem,« je rekel gospod Floman, »je tisti kostim za 19,98 dolarja in —« »Pojdite z menoj!« ga je prekinil policist. »Odpeljal vas bom do celice.« Ko pa sta vstopila v celico številka 16, sta našla le neživo lutko, ki je z obrazom navzdol ležala na tleh. Vosek je bil razpokan in mehurjast, glava hudo poškodovana, kostim po ugodni ceni pa prašen, umazan in ves zdelan. Mimo je namreč priletel navihani Tanko-Mankie ter še enkrat dahnil na ubogo voščeno damo in v tistem hipu se je njeno kratko življenje končalo.
»Natanko tako, kot sem mislil,« je rekel inšpektor Mugg in se zadovoljno naslonil nazaj na stol. »Ves čas sem vedel, da je vse skupaj potegavščina. Včasih se zdi, da bi se vsemu svetu zmešalo, če ne bi bilo kje kakega treznega moža, da jih spravi k pameti. Lutke so les in vosek in nič drugega.«
»Morda to res velja na splošno,« si je zašepetal policist, »ampak tale je bila lutka, ki je živela!«
Izvirnik
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 mortal 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:
“Why, she’s wax!”
“Wax!” echoed the policeman.
“Certainly. She’s one of those dummies they put in the windows,” declared the middle-aged man.
The people who had collected shouted: “You’re right!” “That’s what she is!” “She’s a dummy!”
“Are you?” inquired the policeman, sternly.
The wax lady did not reply. She began to fear she was getting into trouble, and the staring crowd seemed to embarrass her.
Suddenly a bootblack attempted to solve the problem by saying: “You guys is all wrong! Can a dummy talk? Can a dummy walk? Can a dummy live?”
“Hush!” murmured the policeman. “Look here!” and he pointed to the hole in the lady’s head. The newsboy looked, turned pale and whistled to keep himself from shivering.
A second policeman now arrived, and after a brief conference it was decided to take the strange creature to headquarters. So they called a hurry-up wagon, and the damaged wax lady was helped inside and driven to the police station. There the policeman locked her in a cell and hastened to tell Inspector Mugg their wonderful story.
Inspector Mugg had just eaten a poor breakfast, and was not in a pleasant mood; so he roared and stormed at the unlucky policemen, saying they were themselves dummies to bring such a fairy tale to a man of sense. He also hinted that they had been guilty of intemperance.
The policemen tried to explain, but Inspector Mugg would not listen; and while they were still disputing in rushed Mr. Floman, the owner of the department store.
“I want a dozen detectives, at once, inspector!” he cried.
“What for?” demanded Mugg.
“One of the wax ladies has escaped from my store and eloped with a $19.98 costume, a $4.23 hat, a $2.19 parasol and a 76-cent pair of gloves, and I want her arrested!”
While he paused for breath the inspector glared at him in amazement.
“Is everybody going crazy at the same time?” he inquired, sarcastically. “How could a wax dummy run away?”
“I don’t know; but she did. When my janitor opened the door this morning he saw her run out.”
“Why didn’t he stop her?” asked Mugg.
“He was too frightened. But she’s stolen my property, your honor, and I want her arrested!” declared the storekeeper.
The inspector thought for a moment.
“You wouldn’t be able to prosecute her,” he said, “for there’s no law against dummies stealing.”
Mr. Floman sighed bitterly.
“Am I to lose that $19.98 costume and the $4.25 hat and—”
“By no means,” interrupted Inspector Mugg. “The police of this city are ever prompt to act in defense of our worthy citizens. We have already arrested the wax lady, and she is locked up in cell No. 16. You may go there and recover your property, if you wish, but before you prosecute her for stealing you’d better hunt up a law that applies to dummies.”
“All I want,” said Mr. Floman, “is that $19.98 costume and—”
“Come along!” interrupted the policeman. “I’ll take you to the cell.”
But when they entered No. 16 they found only a lifeless dummy lying prone upon the floor. Its wax was cracked and blistered, its head was badly damaged, and the bargain costume was dusty, soiled and much bedraggled. For the mischief-loving Tanko-Mankie had flown by and breathed once more upon the poor wax lady, and in that instant her brief life ended.
“It’s just as I thought,” said Inspector Mugg, leaning back in his chair contentedly. “I knew all the time the thing was a fake. It seems sometimes as though the whole world would go crazy if there wasn’t some level-headed man around to bring ’em to their senses. Dummies are wood an’ wax, an’ that’s all there is of ’em.”
“That may be the rule,” whispered the policeman to himself, “but this one were a dummy as lived!”
