“The police don’t take no for an answer! At the count of three, we’re coming in!”
Still no answer.
“One two three,” she roared, and smashed the door down.
But no one was home. There was a note on the kitchen table.
Dear Friends,
I couldn’t stand worrying you any more, so I went to the circus disguised as the Cannonball Chimp. That was me you sent shooting through the roof of the tent! I’ve moved on. It was nice knowing you.
So What
The gorilla raced as fast as she could go to the circus. When she got there, she didn’t have enough money for a ticket. So she arrested the ticket seller and locked him up in handcuffs. Then she rushed into the tent anyway.
Inside, the giraffes were just finishing their acrobatics. Limber and Nimble were riding unicycles on the high wire. Orangelight and Jackielantern were swaying on the flying trapeze, tossing Kimberly back and forth between them. Pumpkin and Goldskin were getting the cannon ready for the finale.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen!” cried the ringmaster, who as you remember was the hunter whom the gorilla queen had fired. “For your delight and terror! A feat never before attempted in circus history! Our new star, the Cannonball Chimp, is going to be shot out of the cannon, between the jaws of a lion, over the tank of piranhas, and through the hoop of fire! All without a safety net! All without life insurance! Sit back, hush, and prepare to be amazed! The Cannonball Chimp is the strongest one of all!”
Pumpkin and Goldskin helped the Cannonball Chimp into the cannon. They should have recognized him, for he was wearing his silvery athletic shorts repaired with a safety pin. But they were too hard at work to notice the similarity between him and their houseboy.
“On your mark!” called the ringmaster, lighting the fuse.
“Stop!” cried the gorilla queen. “That Cannonball Chimp is under arrest!”
“The show must go on!” answered the ringmaster. “Get set!”
“It’s the gorilla queen!” yelled Kimberly. “She’s after the Cannonball Chimp! It must be—”
“SO WHAT!” the other giraffes cried.
“GO!” shouted the ringmaster.
The cannon fired. So What shot out so fast that his silvery athletic shorts came off, and the lion ate them.
So What zipped over the piranhas, whose mouths were watering. He zoomed through the hoop of fire, whose flames licked at him. But he went so fast and so high that it looked as if he was going to rip a hole right through the tent and keep on going.
“Oh no, you don’t!” screamed the gorilla queen. She picked up a chair used for taunting the lion. She hurled it through the air.
It wasn’t a floor lamp, but it did the trick. It intercepted So What and clobbered him on the noggin. He fell with a splash into the tank of piranhas. They would have eaten him up if they hadn’t been all washed out in the huge wave that drenched the gorilla queen in her policewoman’s costume. They ate her up instead.
But So What was out cold, and it seemed that he was dead.
The seven giraffes knelt around the chimp and tried everything. But nothing would work. Weeping salty tears of grief, they carried him home to their tall house in the big woods. There they set So What in a coffin under a banana tree, and one of them kept watch over him by night and day while the other six performed in the circus.
“Even though you used to get our toothbrushes mixed up, I miss you,” said Pumpkin.
“Even though you left the lettuce out in the rain to wilt, I miss you,” said Orangelight.
“Even though you broke the springs on my bed by jumping on it, I miss you,” said Nimble.
“Even though you put itching powder in my sky blue sequinned tights, I miss you,” said Limber.
“Even though you glued my feet together while I was asleep, I miss you,” said Goldskin.
“Even though you broke the vacuum cleaner by trying to suck up the backyard with it, I miss you,” said Kimberly.
“I don’t miss you at all. So you’re dead. So what?” said Jackielantern. But everyone knew she was just saying that.
As the years went by, many princesses of different varieties came by the coffin. They looked in the glass lid. Whoever was on duty that day would say, “Would you like to give our little houseboy a kiss? He’s been dead a long time.”
But the princesses always answered, “So what?” and went on their way.
Finally one gloomy evening an old baboon with a hearing trumpet came by. It was the former king. He had retired from his job and spent his golden years mourning for his first wife and his long-dead son. When he came into the clearing, he wandered nearer to say hello to the seven giraffes. Because the evening was pleasant, they were having a picnic. They had spread a checkered tablecloth over the glass lid of the coffin. On top of the cloth they had put their plastic picnic plates piled high with lettuce.
“Would you like a bite to eat, old baboon?” they asked.
“Eh?” said the baboon. He put his ear trumpet to his head. “Come again?”
“Food?” they shouted.
“Sorry, can’t catch what you’re saying. I’m an old baboon,” he said.
“Are you hungry?” they screamed at the top of their giraffe lungs. They yelled so loudly that the picnic tablecloth blew off. There was the chimp, lying in a state of calm. He hadn’t aged a day.
“What’s this?” cried the baboon.
“Our houseboy. He’s dead,” the giraffes answered.
“I recognize him!” said the baboon. He tore the glass lid off the coffin and reached inside. He pulled the limp body of the chimp toward him and kissed him tenderly. “I love you!” he said.
The chimp opened his eyes. “Papa?” he said.
“It is you!” sobbed his father.
“So What,” the chimp agreed.
“That’s what,” said his father firmly, and kissed him again. “You’re coming home with me, son, and we’re going to change your name. I’m so delighted and surprised to have you back with me again, I’m going to call you Slap Me Silly.”
“Slap Me Silly,” said the chimp. And all the giraffes did.
Slap Me Silly and his father went home. And whenever anyone asked, “What’s your name?” the chimp had to answer “Slap Me Silly.” And everyone did.
The chimp found he was a lot less inclined to misbehave once everyone had gotten into the habit of slapping him silly at the drop of a hat. He became a good obedient son and remained a whiz at housework, too.
Slap Me Silly also got a new pair of attractive silver shorts. He went to work in the circus with the seven giraffes. Once a year the chimp and his father and the giraffes all took a long vacation together—usually to someplace they had read about in Baboons’ Home Journal.
LITTLE RED ROBIN HOOD
There was once a little robin who lived with his mother in a cozy nest on the very top of a telephone pole in the middle of the forest.
The little robin was called Little Red Robin Hood, because he was a red robin. Also, when he grew up, he wanted to rob the rich birds of the forest and give their worms to the poor birds of the forest.
Little Red Robin Hood pretended he was a superhero with special superpowers. Sometimes he wore a little red cape with a red hood. It was his superhero costume. It made a nice fluttering noise when he flew, like the sound of baseball cards slapping against a rotating bicycle wheel.
One day Mother Robin got a phone call. It was from Grandma Robin. She lived in a retirement village for old birds on the other side of the forest. She had her own apartment, but she took catered meals in the canteen with the other old birds to save herself the trouble of cooking and washing up.
“What’s up, you old darling?” said Mother Robin.
“I’m feeling poorly,” said Grandma Robin. “It’s the flu, maybe. Could you send that little tyke of yours over with some fresh worm salad or something? The cooking here is not worth discussing. I need some building up.”
“Of course,” said Mother Robin. “How about I make up a basket of wormy goodies? Little Red Robin Hood can fly them over later on in the day.”
“I’ll leave the key under the mat,” said Grandma Robin, “in case I’m taking a nap or watching my soaps. I don’t always hear the apartment doorbell.”
“Do you need some medicine?” asked Mother Robin.
“A look at my little grandson will perk me right up,” said Grandma Robin. “Can’t get enough of him. What a sweetheart he is. And so kind. Always wanting to rob from the rich and give to the poor.”
“He had better not. Charity is charity, but robbing is robbing,” said Mother Robin, crooking the phone receiver under her beak as she began to rummage through the fridge for some worms she’d got on sale the day before. “Someday he’s going to get into trouble with all this superhero stuff.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t come here,” said Grandma Robin. “I don’t want to be a burden. Never mind me. I’ll go droop on my perch and wait for good health to return.”
“Don’t tire yourself out worrying, old darling,” said Mother Robin. “Go sit down and rest your weary wings. He’ll be there very soon.”
“I’ll try not to be dead yet,” said Grandma Robin, and hung up.
Little Red Robin Hood loved his grandmother dearly. He was happy to help her out, especially if she had the flu. When Mother Robin had the basket of wormy goodies ready, he put on his red hood and cape and a black mask, too. He looked a little bit like a robin who had flown into a plate-glass window and gotten two black eyes out of it.
“My little superhero,” said Mother Robin, and kissed her boy fondly. “Now see if you can carry this little basket.”
Little Red Robin Hood tried. It was too heavy.
Mother Robin took out the worm fritters, the worm egg rolls, and the jar of worm-and-walnut sauce. “Try now, dearie,” she said.
But it was still too heavy. Little Red Robin Hood could just about get off the floor with it, but he couldn’t move backward or forward.
So Mother Robin took out the worm grits, the worm gravy, and the worm-and-orange marmalade.
Little Red Robin Hood could pick this up. “Now you’re flapping your wings,” said Mother Robin proudly. “There’s still the worm brandy, the worm casserole, and the wormy cheese. That’ll hold the old bird over till next weekend. Now be a good little robin, son, and remember our family rule. Don’t fly away from the sight of the telephone wires. The forest is dark and deep, and you never know what you’ll find there.”
“I know what you’ll find there,” murmured Little Red Robin Hood. “Evil villains. I’m going to beat them up with my superpowers.” But his mother couldn’t hear what he was saying because the handle of the basket of goodies was clenched in his beak.
Off through the forest flew Little Red Robin Hood. It was a beautiful day. For a while Little Red Robin Hood flew alongside the telephone wires. He could never get lost if he just followed the phone lines from his nest to Grandma’s retirement apartment.
But after a while the basket began to seem very heavy. His mother had forgotten all about an old wormy pound cake tucked under a napkin at the bottom of the basket. It weighed more than a pound. Little Red Robin Hood decided to set the basket down and rest for a while.
He perched himself on the handle of the basket and tweeted to keep himself brave. After all, it was much darker down here on the ground, underneath the dense branches of the trees.
Suddenly Little Red Robin Hood heard the voice of a female chickadee. “Oh help!” cried the chickadee from the shadowy reaches of the thicket. “Oh my! Woe is me!”
“This is a job for a superhero!” said Little Red Robin Hood. “I’ll save you!”
He valiantly flew into the thicket. But he could find no blushing chickadee girl. Restlessly he fluttered from twig to twig, but the voice seemed to be farther away. “Oh goodness! What an unlucky day for me! Yikes!” twittered the hapless chickadee.
Little Red Robin Hood didn’t want to get lost. But he couldn’t leave a poor defenseless chickadee alone in the dark woods. “Keep tweeting. I’ll find you!” he called, and plunged deeper into the murky forest.
“Glory be! Is there no one to save me? I’m a goner for sure!” screeched the distant chickadee, a bit hysterically.
“Here I come to save the day!” sang Little Red Robin Hood. With cape flapping, he dove into the deepest shadowy depths of the woods.
There he came upon a cat, who had one great paw on the wing of a mockingbird.
“Thank heavens!” said the mockingbird to the cat. “Here’s something juicier than I am. Eat him if you’re hungry. Let me go.”
“Have either of you seen a little chickadee, desperately in need of a superhero?” screamed Little Red Robin Hood.
The cat winked one eye slowly. The mockingbird sighed, and said in a sultry way—imitating the voice of a chickadee girl—“My hero!”
Little Red Robin Hood was stunned. He hadn’t known that mockingbirds could imitate chickadees.
“Why, you dastardly villain!” he cried. “You’ve made me lose my way in the forest! My mother will kill me! And my poor grandma will be looking for her basket of goodies! She lives all alone in a retirement apartment, and she’s left the key for me under the mat! She has the flu! How dare you!”
“I do need saving,” the mockingbird pointed out. “This cat intends to eat me.”
“Purr,” said the cat. “Meow. Yum. Any minute now. I’m just waiting till my stomach wakes up.”
In the distance a blast of brass music sounded: ta-ra, ta-ra. It made Little Red Robin Hood feel as if he really were a superhero. “Unhand that bird, you cat! I mean cad!” cried Little Red Robin Hood.
“Never.” The cat sighed. “Unless you let me eat you instead. I’m almost hungry enough.”
Little Red Robin Hood didn’t think that was such a good idea.
“I’ll go and look for my basket of goodies, and then I’ll come back and drop them on your captor’s head,” he said to the mockingbird. “There’s a whole pound cake in there. It’ll hurt like crazy.”
“We don’t have time for that,” said the mockingbird. “Can’t you think of something else?”
The trumpet music sounded again, closer this time. It stirred Little Red Robin Hood’s blood. He had another idea. “If I fly back to the phone wires,” said Little Red Robin Hood, “I can pry off the rubber casing with my beak and try to break into someone’s conversation and yell ‘nine-one-one!’”
“By then he’ll have bitten my head off and snapped my bones,” said the mockingbird.
“Quite possibly so,” said the cat. “All this interesting conversation is making me feel a bit peckish.”
“This is a tough one,” said Little Red Robin Hood. “I can’t think what to do. There’s too much music going on in the forest this afternoon. It’s hard for a superhero to concentrate.”
“What is that noise?” said the mockingbird. “It sounds like horns.”
Suddenly Little Red Robin Hood had an idea. “It is horns,” he said, “and that means a hunt is going on! The humans and hounds are chasing a fox! Mockingbird, make the sound of a fox, and the hounds will come!”
“I don’t like hounds any more than I like cats,” said the mockingbird.
“Do what I say!” called Little Red Robin Hood. “We have no time to lose!”
So the mockingbird cried out, in the voice of a vixen, “Oh la, I hope those nasty hounds don’t catch up with me today! I’m hiding here under this big old oak tree, safe as a bug in a rug, I hope!”
“Stop that,” said the cat.
“Oh, what care I for the joys of life anyway,” screamed the mockingbird in a foxy voice, “it’s all going to end in the jaws of some hound! Here I am, boys! Come and get me!”
“Louder!” urged Little Red Robin Hood.
“Going once, going twice,” screeched the mockingbird as the hounds came bounding through the undergrowth. The cat gulped. Quick as twitched whi
skers, the cat let go of the mockingbird and bounded up the trunk of the oak tree. The mockingbird and Little Red Robin Hood flew to the limbs of a nearby spruce tree. The hounds looked puzzled and then ran on.
“How can I ever thank you?” asked the mockingbird.
“This is a holdup. Stick ’em up,” said Little Red Robin Hood.
“No, really,” said the mockingbird.
“No, really,” said Little Red Robin Hood. “I rob from the rich and give to the poor. And besides, you tricked me and I’m lost. Give me all your money.”
“So that’s why you wear a mask,” said the mockingbird. “Well, all I have is a small stock of grubs in a nearby tree. I guess I can show you where they are. I owe it to you.”
The mockingbird showed Little Red Robin Hood where the grubs were. Then the mockingbird led Little Red Robin Hood back to the telephone wires, where they found the basket of goodies on the ground. Little Red Robin Hood gave the mockingbird the wormy pound cake in exchange. “So I’m not really robbing you,” he said. “My mama would wallop me and send me to bed without any worms if she thought I was being a real thief.”
“I hate wormy pound cake,” said the mockingbird.
“Go drop it on the head of that cat then,” said Little Red Robin Hood, and he picked up his basket. It was much lighter since the cake was gone; grubs hardly weigh anything.
The sun was sinking, and Little Red Robin Hood was afraid that his grandmother would be worrying about him. He hurried along. But his grandmother wasn’t worrying about anything. No siree. That was because the cat, in a rage at having lost the mockingbird, had streaked ahead to the apartment house where Grandma Robin lived. The cat had found the key under the mat and let himself in. He had gobbled up Grandma Robin in one big gulp. Then he dressed himself as best he could in Grandma Robin’s nightie and nightcap, climbed in her bed, and used the channel changer to click off the soaps. He preferred talk shows.
When Little Red Robin Hood got to his grandmother’s retirement apartment, he was surprised that the key wasn’t under the mat. But he could hear the TV blaring away, and he saw that the door was unlocked. He came in and set the basket of goodies down on the kitchen table. “Yoo-hoo, Grandma,” he called. “I’m here.”
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