The Rubber Clown moved over to the edge of the shelf on which he had been standing for several weeks, as no one seemed to care to buy him. Below him was the platform—or floor—of the show window, where, at this time, the Woolly Dog was the only toy.
“Wait a minute,” barked the Woolly Dog, as he looked up at the Clown, who was about to jump.
“What’s the matter?” the Rubber Clown wanted to know.
“I want to move over a little closer to you,” went on the Dog. “You might not land on my back where I am.”
The Dog, who had fat little stuffed legs, moved them slowly to and fro, and walked over just beneath the end of the toy shelf.
“One,” began the Clown, counting before he leaped. “Two——”
“Wait a minute!” barked the Woolly Dog again.
“What’s the matter now?” the Clown asked.
“Mind the needles and pins,” warned the Dog. “If you land on them you’ll be stuck.”
“I intend to land on your soft, woolly back,” laughed the Clown. “Three!” he cried, finishing his count. “Here I come!”