Part 14 (1/2)

_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 fas.h.i.+oned 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.”