“Don’t you see,” he inquired, “that I am very starchy. Think me some ball bearings in the joints.” So Santa Claus did, and then he was all right. Oh, they had a fine time, while Santa Claus left them all alone to go and pack an order of toys for some little children in Bombay. But just when the fun was at its height Maida heard a tremendous roar. She turned around to see what made such a noise, and her hair stood on end with fright, for there stood a great big white Polar Bear. The Candy Kid climbed into his box. Maida flew wildly about the room and finally shut herself in a cupboard, but poor Jack—just as he was about to make his escape, he ran down. The bear slowly drew near Jack-in-the-Box and Maida’s heart flew up in her mouth for she was afraid it would eat him. But it didn’t. It wound him up. Then Jack-in-the-Box said “thank you,” and the Bear bowed politely. The Candy Kid saw that the Bear wasn’t hungry, so he came out of his box and tickled the Bear behind the left ear, and the Bear liked it so well he began to hop about and dance. The Candy Kid began to dance, then Jack-in-the-Box began to dance, and they laughed and danced and jumped about till they reached the door, and danced out of it; and the last Maida saw of the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box and the friendly Bear, they were dancing away, together.
Chapter VIII
Well, it does make one feel bad to have playmates run away like that, and Maida was heartbroken. She could see the three capering over the ice and snow far, far away, having, oh such a good time, and the Bear seemed so friendly and polite she had lost all fear of him. Just then she heard a tinkling of bells and looked outside the window to see what caused it. There was a sledge drawn by some beautiful Eskimo dogs, moving along and going in the direction taken by the friends. She gave no thought to Santa Claus, or the Disconsolate Lover, or the Man with the Growly Voice, or even Billy, but rushed out of the door and leaped on the sledge which was slowly moving away. “Hurry,” she gasped, “hurry, or they’ll get away.”
To her joy she found the little Eskimo girl, Kokomo, was the only passenger, and Kankakee, her father, was driving the dogs. Kokomo turned and smiled at her, saying something that sounded very much like “muk-a-luk-a-chuk-a-grwokzbski.” (That last word is a terrible thing, isn’t it? It’s very hard to spell, and I haven’t an idea how it sounds;—it must be a very hard word, but Kokomo said it, so I have to put it in.)
Faster and faster they flew till they were going like the wind. Behind them were some more people, on sledges drawn by dogs, but Maida didn’t care who they were or where they were going. All she thought of was finding the Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid. “Suppose,” she moaned to Kokomo, “suppose he should get lost and should run down.” “Blik-a-tik-a-zik-a-rikow-bik ski,” said Kokomo sadly. (Isn’t it awful, the way those Eskimos talk? And I don’t see how they ever learn to spell.)
It seemed an age to Maida, and it must have been several hours before she saw her two friends. They were standing in the midst of a field of ice, and poor Jack-in-the-Box hung limp and dejected on a block of ice, while the Candy Kid seemed to be trying to help him. She could see nothing of the Bear. “Stop, stop!” she called to Kankakee; but either he did not hear or he was in too great a hurry, for he only snapped his long dog whip and howled “Mush!” to the dogs. When an Eskimo says “Mush” to his dogs, he means what you mean when you say, “Get up!” to pony. Well, Maida couldn’t bear to see her friends left alone, so she rolled off the sledge into a soft snow-bank, and it didn’t hurt her a bit. Then while she was picking herself up and digging the snow out of her eyes, all the sledges rushed by her without stopping. She ran quickly to the Candy Kid. “Oh, dear, dear,” she sobbed, “what is the matter with him?” “He’s run down,” replied the Candy Kid. “Well, why don’t you wind him up?” retorted Maida angrily, stamping her foot. “Can’t do it,” said the Candy Kid, “we’ve lost the key.” Then overcome by his feelings the Candy Kid sat down and began to cry at the top of his voice. Which was perfectly natural. A huge white mound, which Maida had mistaken for a snow-bank, reared up beside the Candy Kid, and Maida stepped back in surprise. It was the Bear. Maida was very uneasy. He hadn’t eaten the Candy Kid. Well, perhaps he didn’t care for sweets, and of course he couldn’t eat an overgrown alarm-clock like Jack-in-the-Box, but she had heard that bears like little girls as well as little girls like chocolate creams, and she felt a strong desire to run. But the Bear didn’t attack her. No indeed, he wasn’t that kind of a Bear. He laid his head on the shoulder of the Candy Kid and lifted up his voice and wept, which was very nice of him. Maida was so overcome by his grief she ran to him and wiped his eyes with her handkerchief. Then they all had a good cry together. At last the Bear put his arm about Maida (I call it his arm, though it was really his foreleg), and patted her on the shoulder. So she felt better, and stopped crying.
“By the way,” said Maida to the Candy Kid, “I’ve never been properly introduced to the Bear. Do you mind making us acquainted?”
So the Candy Kid presented the Bear, who made a lovely bow,—really, for a Polar Bear who had never been in any sort of society, he was very, very polite.
And then Maida found the key. Wasn’t that lovely? Ah, I tell you, it didn’t take her long to wind up Jack-in-the-Box, and how the four of them did laugh and cry and dance about, all through pure happiness.