“If I did, I—I’ve forgotten,” he stammered regretfully.
“Try to think!” pleaded Shaggy, anxiously. “Please try to think!”
Ruggedo ruffled his hair with both hands, sighed, slapped his chest, rubbed his ear, and stared stupidly around the group.
“I’ve a faint recollection that there was one thing that would break the charm,” said he; “but misfortune has so addled my brain that I can’t remember what it was.”
“See here, Ruggedo,” said Betsy, sharply, “we’ve treated you pretty well, so far, but we won’t stand for any nonsense, and if you know what’s good for yourself you’ll think of that charm!”
“Why?” he demanded, turning to look wonderingly at the little girl.
“Because it means so much to Shaggy’s brother. He’s dreadfully ashamed of himself, the way he is now, and you’re to blame for it. Fact is, Ruggedo, you’ve done so much wickedness in your life that it won’t hurt you to do a kind act now.”
Ruggedo blinked at her, and sighed again, and then tried very hard to think.
“I seem to remember, dimly,” said he, “that a certain kind of a kiss will break the charm of ugliness.”