Adventures in Toyland/VI.
When the tale was ended the little girl took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
"Come, this won't do," said the little Marionette. "I should not have told you the story if I had thought you were going to take it so much to heart."
"I am very sorry for the poor Little Dancer," she replied sadly; "I wish that the Bicycle-man had not been so unkind."
"Well, well, it is all over now. Wipe your eyes; you can't do any good by crying, and I don't like seeing tears," said her friend.
"Never mind; I rather like feeling sad," Molly answered politely, though tearfully.
"Still, a little sadness goes a long way," remarked the Marionette. "There is no doubt of that. I think I had better tell you something to amuse you now." She thought a moment and then she laughed.
"What are you laughing at?" asked the little girl with curiosity.
"At the remembrance of the Hansom-driver," she answered. "I never can think of him without laughing. Shall I tell you his story? I shall have time to do so this evening, for it is short, like the one I have just finished." And she began the story of:
"THE HANSOM-DRIVER."
The Hansom-driver was indeed very plain, but he fancied himself very beautiful. 'Tis thus that we are liable to make errors of judgment; especially respecting ourselves.
His cheeks were crimson and his nose was the same hue, yet he was quite convinced that all the young lady dolls envied him his complexion. His eyes were dull as lead, but in his boundless conceit he always compared them to sparkling diamonds.
In a word, his appearance was terribly against him, yet his constant complaint was that he attracted so much attention, and won so much admiration wherever he went, that he could almost find it in his heart to wish he had been born ugly.
His own looks were his constant topic of conversation, till at length the other Toys quaked when he opened his mouth, knowing very well how they were going to suffer.
Amongst those who suffered the most from his talk were the Butcher, the Baker, and the Clown. They lived at the opposite side of the counter, where he drove every morning to give his orders for bread and meat. He never thought of driving away at once when he had done this, but always stopped to make remarks upon his own appearance; till at length, in common with the rest of the world, they became wearied to death of the subject. The Butcher and Baker tried to put a stop to it by making uncivil remarks, and the clown by making rude jests. But the conceit of the Hansom-driver still remained.
One day when he was talking to his three acquaintances, the Butcher happened to remark on the beauty of the sunset-glow the previous evening.
"Some people," said the Hansom-driver at once, "admire the beautiful glow of the sunset sky, some the beautiful glow of the healthy countenance. By the by, a chap I met yesterday told me my face was simply glowing with health."
"Especially your nose, my pretty fellow," remarked the Clown.
"From my brow to my chin, I am, I believe, suffused with the glow of a pretty color," replied the Hansom-driver. "Naturally it does not skip my nose. And very glad I am it does not; I should not like any feature to feel neglected or left out in the cold."
"He becomes quite unbearable," whispered one lady doll to another.
"Quite," she replied in the same tone.
The Hansom-driver smiled as he saw them whisper. He did not doubt but that they were making some flattering remarks about himself.
"Speak out, ladies," he said.
But they turned away in silent anger.
Most people would have been annoyed at this behavior. Not so the Hansom-driver. In his great vanity he completely misread their silence.
"A compliment about me," he laughed. "Doubtless too great a one to be said aloud."
"You needn't fancy that," said the Butcher rudely. "You hear a good many compliments, I don't deny, but they all come from the same source—your own block of a head. When you are absent you get few enough, that I know for a positive fact."
"Not that there is anything surprising in it," the Baker said to the Hansom-driver in quite as rude a manner as the Butcher. "I am not yet aware that you are a subject for compliments."
"'My face is my fortune, sir, he said'," misquoted the Hansom-driver with great conceit; "and a very handsome fortune, too," he added.
"Your face!" exclaimed the Butcher. "Why, a sheep's face is more to be admired than yours."
"I beg to differ," the Hansom-driver said, shaking his head. "I've never yet seen a really good-looking face amongst a flock of sheep."
"So you actually think yours is good-looking?" sneered the Baker. "Why, I could make a better-looking one out of a piece of dough."
"I defy you to," the Hansom-driver replied. "A face like mine is not easily copied. Nor am I the only person of that opinion. All the ladies think that I am beautiful. And of course I go by what they think."
"And who," he asked, with a bow towards a little group of lady dolls, "who can be better judges of the matter?"
"Do you think they consider you good-looking?" inquired the Clown. "Get along, you dreamer!"
"I do not think it, I know it," he replied.
"We don't," said the Butcher and the Baker. "Put it to the proof. We challenge you. Let the ladies vote upon the matter and they will prove you mistaken."
"Very well," answered the Hansom-driver. "The result will be favorable to me. Of that I have no doubt."
"All right! To business," said the Butcher. "What about the ladies' decision as to this fellow's claim of beauty?"
"Ay; when shall it be given?" inquired the Hansom-driver, anxious to lose no time.
"In a fortnight at the earliest," said the Clown. "The making up of ladies' minds, as of Christmas puddings, requires plenty of thought and preparation."
"Good!" said the Hansom-driver. Then he got up upon the seat of his hansom, whipped up his horse, and drove off.
Now, during the fortnight he was, if possible, more conceited than ever. He never ceased making vain speeches respecting his looks, and could indeed be induced to speak of nothing else.
"I have not the slightest fear as to the ladies' decision," he boastfully remarked.
"When I look in the glass I see how impossible it is that they should have anything but one opinion. By the by, a most curious little incident occurred last night. I was sauntering about my end of the counter, when the white Polar Bear walked right up against me. 'Hulloa!' I said, 'look out where you are going.' 'I beg your pardon, I'm sure,' said he; 'It was a little mistake. I was trying to find my way home, and catching sight of your right eye, mistook it for the Polar Star and guided myself by its light.' 'Very flattering,' I said, 'but I'd prefer you not to tread on my toes.' Strange, wasn't it?"
"Most strange!" the Butcher jeered. "The Polar Bear has never been able to see clearly since the shopwoman's baby poked out both his eyes. Your story is a little far-fetched, my good chap."
"Oh, what a surprise!" laughed the Clown, as the Hansom-driver, unable to avoid looking a little silly, turned his head aside and pretended to sneeze.
"I've a piece of news for you," said the Baker; "another surprise. The ladies have made up their minds already. Instead of a fortnight they have only taken a week to decide. They have but one opinion, and the Clown has been instructed to deliver it to you to-morrow morning when you come to give your orders. I may warn you that you will find a great crowd of Toys waiting to hear it."
"Let come who will," vaunted the Hansom-driver. "I fear no crowd. The more Toys to witness my moment of triumph, the better."
And it was in this frame of mind that, on the following morning, he drove to the Butcher's shop, outside of which a large crowd was gathered.
"Well," he said with a smile to the Clown who headed the crowd; "well, and what is the ladies' opinion about my beauty?"
"The ladies have decided," said the Clown, nodding his head and speaking very rapidly, "the ladies have all decided—mind you, all decided—that you are a hansom man. And so say I."
The Hansom-driver climbed down from his seat.
"Shake hands," he said. "One doesn't find a fellow of sense like you every day."
The Clown shook hands, then turned a somersault and grinned from ear to ear.
"Handsome," he said slowly, "but without the d and the e. Mark that, my child. No beauty, but a hansom man. Ho-la! What's the time of day? Time to go away?"
For the Hansom-driver had mounted to his seat, and, whipping up his horse, was driving off as fast as he could.
