The Man with the Growly Voice was disgusted. “Kankakee,” he said, “you talk too much.” Then there was quite a scene. Aurora called some of her minions, who looked very threatening; Kankakee grew angry, because he had been deceived; so the Man with the Growly Voice felt very ill at ease. It happened that he was standing close to the Wishing Post.
“My goodness!” he said, “I wish I was out of this!” And off he flew into the air, out of sight, before any one could say “Jack Robinson”!
Chapter XXIII
Maida was grown up. There was no doubt about that. She could go anywhere she liked—she could do anything she chose—but it occurred to her there wasn’t any place she wanted to go—nor anything she cared to do. So she yawned.
Her sensations were most peculiar. She could recollect just how she felt when she was a little girl,—and she realized that she felt very different since the great change had taken place,—and to be perfectly frank, she wasn’t sure that she liked the new feeling. Of course, one always hates to admit one has been wrong or made a mistake. Still—when one is sure of it—why it’s lots better to come out plump and confess it at once. Try it yourself next time and see.
Well, it seemed to Maida as she sat there and tried to puzzle it out that there were two Maidas hidden away in her. One was the little girl she used to be, who always had such lots of fun and who enjoyed a good time. A little girl who liked everybody and whom everyone liked, but this little girl was hidden away down deep out of sight—bound some way so she couldn’t move. The other Maida was older and wiser, didn’t care to have a good time—that is, the old kind of a good time—and was all stiff and starchy;—and really it’s terrible to have to feel dignified, and to have to do things you don’t care to do just because people expect them of you.
Of course she made a mistake in not wishing her dress to be grown up too. Still, she reflected, it wouldn’t take long to set that right when once she returned home. Home—that was the thing—how was she to get home?
She realized with great embarrassment—to the new Maida—that for a grown-up lady to sit about under the North Pole with a lot of strangers was a most improper proceeding. Did you ever have one of those dreams in which you found yourself out on the street in a nightie and a fur cap—or in a ballroom in a bathing-suit? And you couldn’t get away, and you couldn’t get clothes—my! it was just dreadful!—and you woke up blushing for shame?—That’s just the way Maida felt.
She didn’t know where the dressmakers lived, and she had no chaperone nor any place to go and shut herself in and say “not at home” if anyone called.