Mr. Whitewash didn’t say anything for a little while, and then he remarked:
“Please get me a dusting brush!”
And he certainly needed it, for the soot from the stovepipe had scattered all over him, and instead of being a pure white bear, he was speckled black and white now, like those dogs which always run along under a carriage.
But when Aunt Piffy and Mrs. Stubtail tried to brush the black soot off Mr. Whitewash, they found they were only making it worse. The brush scattered the black all over him instead of leaving it only in spots.
“I guess you had better not try,” said Mr. Whitewash. “I’ll take a bath after I get this pipe up.”
“Can you get it up?” asked Mrs. Stubtail.
“Of course I can,” said Mr. Whitewash.
So up on the stepladder the polar bear gentleman got again, and he tried to fix the stovepipe. He almost had it in the chimney hole, and he was just getting ready to holler “Hurray!” when, all of a sudden, there was a growling noise at the back door, and Mrs. Stubtail screamed:
“Oh, a lion! Here’s a lion coming after us!” and she and Aunt Piffy ran in the parlor and hid under the sofa.
“Bur-r-r-r-r-r!” roared the lion. “I’m a bad chap from the circus; and I’ve come after Beckie and Neddie!”