The Bad Man

by L. Frank Baum

(Copyrighted, 1900, by L. Frank Baum)

    IT was a legal holiday, and the bank being closed I resolved to pass the afternoon in my library at home re-reading Emerson.

    Thoughts of the quiet, delightful hours before me had brought me to a happy and contented frame of mind when, soon after luncheon, as I was about to settle myself with my book, Magdalen came to me and said :

    "I'm so glad, dear, you are going to be home this afternoon.  Sarah is away and I've just remembered an appointment with the dressmaker.  So you can keep an eye on the children while I'm gone; it will only be a short time, you know."

    "But, my dear ," I answered, in a disappointed tone," I was going to read Emerson, and the children--"

    "Oh, they'll be as good as gold," she declared, interrupting my protest; "they really need no looking after at all, but I shall be easier to know you're in the same room with them.  They won't interfere with your reading a particle."

    "Send them here, then," said I, resignedly; and presently they came--Kitty, Maebelle and Charlieboy--as lovely a trio as ever delighted a proud father's heart.  But Emerson--

    "Good-bye, dear," cried Magdalen, appearing in hat and jacket, and kissing us all briskly in turn.  "The children won't bother you--will you, darlings?--and you can have a lovely, quiet time in their company.  It's so seldom you can enjoy them, you know."

    "Yes," said I, but doubtfully, "they can play about the library without annoying me at all.  And if one of them breaks a leg I'll send for the doctor.  So don't worry, dear."

    She laughed at the idea of accidents and bustled away, saying she would not be long.  The little ones were examining my collection of shells, so I lighted my pipe, leaned back in my lounging chair, and began reading.

    Suddenly there was a gasp, a shrill cry of alarm from Kitty, and I sprang to my feet to find Charlieboy choking desperately and quite black in the face.  I slapped him on the back, held his head downward by the heels, and use other vigorous measures, with the satisfactory result of seeing him again breathe freely.

    "What was it ?" I asked, trembling slightly from nervous excitement at the narrowness of the escape.

    "He swallowed a shell," said Kitty. "One of those teenty pointed ones."

    "Didn't 'wallow it!" exclaimed  Charlie, indignantly; "I coughed it up."

    I closed the cabinet and locked it. Then I glanced around, and seeing nothing else that seemed liable to be swallowed, I returned to my book.

    Presently I noticed Kitty, my demure little woman, standing by my chair.  For a man whose time is almost constantly occupied by business cares I believe myself to be an especially fond and considerate father.  But then I have a family of  remarkably bright and attractive children.

    "Won't you read to us, papa?" asked Kitty, as I looked up.

    "You wouldn't care for Emerson," I answered.

    "But I've a new fairy book," said she, "that Uncle Harry gave me on my birthday."

    "He will probably want to read it to you himself, dear," I replied.  Then, as she still lingered, I added:  "I'm very much engaged just now, little one."

    She went back to the others, and I had a few moments of peace.

    Then Maebelle sprang into my lap, her yellow curls sweeping my face and her chubby arm knocking the book from my grasp.

    "Oh, papa!" she cried, with enthusiasm, "let's play dames !"

    "I don't know any games, chick."

    "Kitty knows," answered the elf, clapping her hands; "we'll play 'ring-a-round-a-rosy.'"

    "Can't you play it without me?" I inquired, somewhat brusquely.

    "When you's away we has to," said she. "But it'll be such fun to play wiz a big man.  Come on, pop!  I dess we won't play 'ring-a-round-a-rosy.'  I dess we'll play 'London Bridge!"

    "I guess you'll run away, chick, and not bother papa," I returned, as gently as I could.  "I want to be quiet and read my book."

    She slid from my lap pouting and stamped her foot.  Maebelle really has something of a temper.

    "You ain't a bit o' fun," she declared.  "I wis' mamma was here.  She's fun. "

    I did not answer.  Certainly I was not in a mood to be "fun" at that moment.  There was a short period of quiet before some one nudged my elbow.  Charlieboy was standing beside me.  He stared into my face with his big blue eyes in a rather embarrassing fashion but did not speak.

    After awhile I was nudged again.  This is annoying when one is reading.  I looked down.

    "I want to 'moke a pipe," said Charlieboy, in a sweet and subdued voice.

    "You are too young, my son."

    He eyed my pipe and the curling smoke thoughtfully.

    "My mouf's big 'nough," he said.

    "Certainly," I answered.  "But children never smoke.  Only big grown-up men smoke."

    He seemed to he considering this clear and positive statement with much earnestness; so I raised my book again.

    "I want to 'moke a pipe," said Charlieboy.

    I paid no attention.

    " I want to 'moke a pipe!" more loudly.

    "Charlieboy!" said I, sternly, "if you don't let me alone I'll spank you.  You can't smoke a pipe!"

    The blue eyes never flinched, but regarded me intently.

    "I want to 'moke--"

    "Charlieboy!"

    Here Kitty came up and seized his hand.

    "Come, Charlieboy ," she said, gently, "we're going to play doll by the window.  Papa isn't--isn't comf'table to-day."

    "He's cross," declared my son, frankly; but he let Kitty lead him to the window, where with the aid of two mussed and much bedraggled dolls they seemed able to amuse themselves perfectly.

    Somehow the various interruptions had rendered me nervous and destroyed my desire to read.  I leaned back in my chair and dreamily regarded the three blessed infants their mother had declared would cause me "no trouble at all."

    I think I must have sunk into a doze when my attention was aroused by hearing Kitty say:

    "Well, then, I'll tell you a story."

    Charlieboy clapped his hands and climbed to the arm of the little woman's chair, while Maebelle curled up on the window seat and prepared to listen earnestly.

    "Once on a time," began Kitty, "there was a Bad Man."

    "Ah-h-h!" exclaimed Charlieboy, gleefully, and I felt his big eyes were turned my way.

    "He didn't like to do anything that anybody wanted him to," continued Kitty, "but he liked to sit in a big chair and read a book that wouldn't int'rest anybody else."

    "An' 'moke a pipe !" added Charlieboy.

    "Yes.  When anyone asked him to join in a game, so he wouldn't get dull and stupid, he told 'em to run away."

    "An' not bother him!" said Maebelle, sitting up and shaking her curls indignantly.

    "Yes.  He didn't want to be happy.  He just wanted to he bad, an' an'--"

    "An' 'moke a pipe," said Charlieboy,

    "Well," resumed Kitty', "this Bad Man by-an'-by got to be so dis'greeable that folks didn't want him 'round.  So what do you s'pose they did?"

    "'Panked him!" said Charlieboy.

    "Took away his horrid book," said Maebelle.

    "No; they put him in a big cage, where he could stay all by himself, an' not be bothered."

    "An' where there was no little girl to love him," said Maebelle.

    "An' they 'mashed his nasty pipe!" added Charlieboy, with intense delight.

    "Of course," continued Kitty, demurely, "he couldn't bother anyone else while he was in the cage, an' he had time to think how bad he was to his children, which their own mother said was as good as gold an' perfec' treasures."

    "Serve him right!" cried Maebelle, emphatically.

    "An' there he stayed 'til--'til he was sorry," concluded the story teller.

    I wondered, as I sat there listening, if I ought not to get up and redeem myself by playing and romping with those youngsters to their hearts' content.  But, I reflected, they were a mischievous lot, and their precious story was not only unfilial but of a blackmailing character.  I resolved, therefore, not to be influenced by their slanderous insinuations.

    "Ah-h-h!" gasped Charlieboy, in a hushed but tragic tone.

    His sisters looked at him inquiringly.

    "Let's build the cage," he whispered.

    I closed my eyes lest the conspirators should learn I had overheard them, and soon I detected a soft, scraping sound as a chair was slowly pushed over the floor toward the place where I sat.  There were subdued giggles and an occasional bang as the furniture struck together, but I gave no evidence of being awake.

    Finally I heard Maebelle whisper, hoarsely:

    "He's caged!  The Bad Man can't get out 'til he's sorry."

    Then I unclosed my lids just far enough to peek between them, and found myself surrounded by a circle of chairs, stools and settees--fairly hemming me in.

    Suddenly I heard a crash, a chorus of horrified exclamations, and I knew my writing-table had gone over and its contents scattered far and wide.  Still I did not move a hair's breadth, but sat quietly and reflected that the table had contained my tobacco-jar, several bottles of ink and a student lamp; all of which must make a rather pretty muss on the rug.

    The children at last were quiet, and peeping at them again I saw them in a huddled and frightened group by the window.   I knew they were being more punished by my inaction than had I scolded them severely; so I maintained my pretended composure, while they looked at me and each other in dismay.

    The ominous silence was broken by Magdalen's fresh, brisk voice, and I gave a sigh of relief as my wife appeared in the doorway.

    "What does all this mean, sweetcakes?  What game are you playing with papa?" she asked, pleasantly, without seeming to observe the overturned table.

    "We're playin' Bad Man," said Maebelle, in her softest voice.

    "An' papa's it," yelled Charlieboy.

    Their mother actually smiled upon the disreputable rabble, and then she turned to me and inquired, sweetly:

    "Have you had a good time, dear?"

    "I haven't read a page."

    "Were the children good?" she continued, anxiously.

    I glanced around upon the wreck and disorder.

    "As good as gold!" said I.