Part 6 (1/2)

The Wolf ran off as fast as he could, and was first at the door of the marble cottage. The butler informed him that Madame was not at home, but he sprang through the door, knocking the servant over, and ran upstairs to Madame's boudoir.

”Who's there?” asked the grandmother, when the Wolf tapped at the door.

”Your grandchild, Little Red Riding-Hood,” replied the Wolf, counterfeiting the child's voice, ”who has brought you a filet and a little pot of foie gras.”

II

The good grandmother, who had eaten nothing for two days except a mallard, with a pint of champagne, cried out hungrily, ”Come in, my dear.”

The Wolf ran in, and, falling upon the old lady, ate her up in a hurry, for he had not tasted food for a whole week. He then got into the bed, and presently Little Red Riding-Hood tapped at the door.

The Wolf pitched his voice as high and unpleasant as he could, and called out, ”What is it, Hawkins?”

”It isn't Hawkins,” replied Little Red Riding-Hood. ”It is your grandchild, who has brought you a filet and a little pot of foie gras.”

”Come in, my dear,” responded the Wolf. And when the child entered he said: ”Put the filet and the little pot of foie gras on the gold tabouret, and come and lie down with me.”

Little Red Riding-Hood did not think it good form to go to bed so very, very late in the morning, but as she expected to inherit her grandmother's millions she obediently took off her gold-flowered frock, and her pretty silk petticoat, and her dear little diamond stomacher, and got into bed, where, amazed at the change for the better in her grandmother's appearance, she said to her:

”Grandmother, how thin your arms have got!”

”I have been dieting, my dear.”

”Grandmother, how thin your legs have got!”

”The doctor makes me walk every day.”

”Grandmother, how quiet you are!”

”This isn't a symphony concert hall, my dear.”

”Grandmother, what has become of your diamond-filled teeth?”

”These will do, my dear.”

And saying these words the wicked Wolf fell upon Little Red Riding-Hood and ate her all up.

JACK AND THE BEANSTALK.

I

Once upon a time there was a very wealthy widow who lived in a marble cottage approached by a driveway of the same stone, bordered with rhododendrons. She had an only son, Jack--a giddy, thoughtless boy, but very kindhearted, as many a hard-working chorus girl had reason to remember. Jack was an idle fellow, whose single accomplishment was driving an automobile, in which he displayed remarkable skill and recklessness; there was hardly a day he did not run over something or somebody. One day he b.u.mped a very heavy workingman, whose remains messed up the car so badly that Jack's mother lost patience with him.

”My dear,” she said, ”why don't you put your skill and energy to some use? If only you would slay the giant Ennui, who ravages our country, you would be as great a hero in our set as St. George of England was in his.”

Jack laughed. ”Let him but get in the way of my car,” said he, ”and I'll knock him into the middle of next month.”