“Yes, they were halfway up to the moon. And that night looking at the moon, they saw it move, and they said to each other, ‘We must stop the moon moving,’ and they said later, ‘We don’t know how to stop the moon moving.’
“And the bricklayers and the mortar men and the iron riveters and the wheelbarrowers and the plasterers said to each other, ‘If we go on now and make this skyscraper, it will miss the moon, and we will never go up in the elevator and sit on the roof and eat supper on the moon.’
“So they took the skyscraper down and started making it over again, aiming it straight at the moon again. And one night standing looking at the moon, they saw it move, and they said to each other, ‘We must stop the moon moving,’ saying later to each other, ‘We don’t know how to stop the moon moving.’
“And now they stand in the streets at night there in the Village of Eggs Up, stretching their necks looking at the moon and asking each other, ‘Why does the moon move, and how can we stop the moon moving?’
“Whenever I saw them standing there stretching their necks looking at the moon, I had a zigzag ache in my left hind foot, and I wanted to tell them what the baby alligator told me, the secret of how to stop the moon moving. One night that ache zigzagged me so—way inside my left hind foot—it zigzagged so I ran home here a thousand miles.”
The Potato Face Blind Man wriggled his shoe—and the green rat wriggled—and the long white swipe from the end of the nose to the end of the tail of the green rat wriggled.
“Is your rheumatism better?” the old man asked.
The rat answered, “Any rheumatism is better if you run a thousand miles twice.”
And Blixie Bimber going home with the fifteen-cent hash hatchet for her mother to chop hash, Blixie said to herself, “It is a large morning to be thoughtful about.”
SLIPFOOT AND HOW HE NEARLY ALWAYS NEVER GETS WHAT HE GOES AFTER
BLIXIE BIMBER FLIPPED out of the kitchen one morning, first saying good-by to the dishpan, good-by to the dishrag, good-by to the dish towel for wiping dishes.
Under one arm she put a basket of peonies she picked; under the other arm she put a basket of jonquils she picked.
Then she flipped away up the street and downtown, where she put the baskets of peonies and jonquils one on each side of the Potato Face Blind Man.
“I picked the pink and lavender peonies and I picked the yellow jonquils for you to be smelling one on each side of you this fine early summer morning,” she said to the Potato Face. “Have you seen anybody good to see lately?”
“Slipfoot was here this morning,” said the old man.
“And who is Slipfoot?” asked Blixie.
“I don’t know. He says to me, ‘I got a foot always slips. I used to wash windows—and my foot slips. I used to be king of the collar buttons, king of a million dollars—and my foot slips. I used to be king of the peanuts, king of a million dollars again. I used to be king of the oyster cans, selling a million cans a day. I used to be king of the peanut sacks, selling ten million sacks a day. And every time I was a king, my foot slips. Every time I had a million dollars, my foot slips. Every time I went high and put my foot higher, my foot slips. Somebody gave me a slipfoot. I always slip.’”
“So you call him Slipfoot?” asked Blixie.
“Yes,” said the old man.
“Has he been here before?”
“Yes, he was here a year ago, saying, ‘I marry a woman, and she runs away. I run after her—and my foot slips. I always get what I want—and then my foot slips.
“‘I ran up a stairway to the moon one night. I shoveled a big sackful of little gold beans, little gold bricks, little gold bugs, on the moon, and I ran down the stairway from the moon. On the last step of the stairway, my foot slips—and all the little gold beans, all the little gold bricks, all the little gold bugs, spill out and spill away. When I get down the stairway, I am holding the sack, and the sack holds nothing. I am all right always till my foot slips.
“‘I jump on a trapeze, and I go swinging, swinging, swinging out where I am going to take hold of the rainbow and bring it down where we can look at it close. And I hang by my feet on the trapeze, and I am swinging out where I am just ready to take hold of the rainbow and bring it down. Then my foot slips.’”
“What is the matter with Slipfoot?” asks Blixie.
“He asks me that same question,” answered the Potato Face Blind Man. “He asks me that every time he comes here. I tell him all he needs is to get his slipfoot fixed so it won’t slip. Then he’ll be all right.”
“I understand you,” said Blixie. “You make it easy. You always make it easy. And before I run away, will you promise me to smell of the pink and lavender peonies and the yellow jonquils all day today?”
“I promise,” said the Potato Face. “Promises are easy. I like promises.”
“So do I,” said the little girl. “It’s promises pushing me back home to the dishpan, the dishrag, and the dish towel for wiping dishes.”
“Look out you don’t get a slipfoot,” warned the old man as the girl flipped up the street going home.
Two Stories About Bugs and Eggs
PEOPLE:
Little bugs
Big bugs
The Rag Doll
The Broom Handle
Hammer and Nails
The Hot Cookie Pan
The Ice Tongs
The Coal Bucket
The Potato Sack
The Bushel Basket
Jack Knife
Kindling Wood
Splinters
Shush Shush
The postmaster
The hardware man
The policeman
The postmaster’s hat
A buff banty egg
MANY, MANY WEDDINGS IN ONE CORNER HOUSE
THERE WAS A corner house with corners every way it looked. And up in the corners were bugs with little bug houses, bug doors to open, bug windows to look out of.
In the summertime if the evening was cool or in the wintertime if the evening was warm, they played games—bugs-up, bugs-down, run-bugs-run, beans-bugs-beans.
This corner house was the place the Rag Doll and the Broom Handle came to after their wedding. This was the same time those old people, Hammer and Nails, moved into the corner house with all the little Hammers and all the little Nails.
So there they were, the young couple, the Rag Doll and the Broom Handle, and that old family, Hammer and Nails, and up in the corners among the eave troughs and the roof shingles, the bugs with little bug houses, bug doors to open, bug windows to look out of, and bug games—bugs-up, bugs-down, run-bugs-run, or beans-bugs-beans.
Around the corner of the house every Saturday morning came the Hot Cookie Pan with a pan of hot cookies for Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and the rest of the week.
The Ice Tongs came with ice, the Coal Bucket came with coal, the Potato Sack came with potatoes. And the Bushel Basket was always going or coming and saying under his breath, “Bushels, bushels, bushels.”
One day the bugs in the little bug houses opened the bug doors and looked out of the bug windows and said to each other, “They are washing their shirts and sewing on buttons—there is going to be a wedding.”
And the next day the bugs said, “They are going to have a wedding and a wedding breakfast for Jack Knife and Kindling Wood. They are asking everybody in the kitchen, the cellar, and the backyard to come.”
The wedding day came. The people came. From all over the kitchen, the cellar, the backyard, they came. The Rag Doll and the Broom Handle were there. Hammer and Nails and all the little Hammers and all the little Nails were there. The Ice Tongs, the Coal Bucket, the Potato Sack, were all there—and the Bushel Basket going and coming and saying under his breath, “Bushels, bushels, bushels.” And, of course, the Hot Cookie Pan was there hopping up and down with hot cookies.
So Jack Knife and Kindling Wood began living in the corner house. A child came. They named her Splinters. And the Hot Cooki
e Pan and Splinters met and kissed each other and sat together in cozy corners close to each other.
And the bugs high up in the corners in the little bug houses, they opened the bug doors, looked out of the bug windows, and said, “They are washing their shirts and sewing on buttons. There is a wedding again—the Hot Cookie Pan and Splinters.”
And now they have many, many children, the Hot Cookie Pan and Splinters. Their children have gone all over the world, and everybody knows them.
“Whenever you find a splinter or a sliver or a shiny little shaving of wood in a hot cookie,” the bugs in the little bug houses say, “whenever you find a splinter or a sliver or a shiny little shaving of wood in a hot cookie, it is the child of the Hot Cookie Pan and the girl named Splinters, the daughter of Jack Knife and Kindling Wood, who grew up and married the Hot Cookie Pan.”
And sometimes if a little bug asks a big bug a queer, quivvical, quizzical question hard to answer, the big bug opens a bug door, looks out of a bug window, and says to the little bug, “If you don’t believe what we tell you, go and ask Hammer and Nails or any of the little Hammers and Nails. Then run and listen to the Bushel Basket going and coming and saying under his breath, ‘Bushels, bushels, bushels.’”
SHUSH SHUSH, THE BIG BUFF BANTY HEN WHO LAID AN EGG IN THE POSTMASTER’S HAT
SHUSH SHUSH WAS a big buff banty hen. She lived in a coop. Sometimes she marched out of the coop and went away and laid eggs. But always she came back to the coop.
And whenever she went to the front door and laid an egg in the doorbell, she rang the bell once for one egg, twice for two eggs, and a dozen rings for a dozen eggs.
Once Shush Shush went into the house of the Sniggers family and laid an egg in the piano. Another time she climbed up in the clock and laid an egg in the clock. But always she came back to the coop.
One summer morning Shush Shush marched out through the front gate, up to the next corner and the next, till she came to the post office. There she walked into the office of the postmaster and laid an egg in the postmaster’s hat.
The postmaster put on his hat, went to the hardware store, and bought a keg of nails. He took off his hat, and the egg dropped into the keg of nails.
The hardware man picked up the egg, put it in his hat, and went out to speak to a policeman. He took off his hat, speaking to the policeman, and the egg dropped on the sidewalk.
The policeman picked up the egg and put it in his police hat. The postmaster came past; the policeman took off his police hat, and the egg dropped down on the sidewalk.
The postmaster said, “I lost that egg—it is my egg,” picked it up, put it in his postmaster’s hat, and forgot all about having an egg in his hat.
Then the postmaster, a long, tall man, came to the door of the post office, a short, small door. And the postmaster didn’t stoop low, didn’t bend under, so he bumped his hat and his head on the top of the doorway. And the egg broke and ran down over his face and neck.
And long before that happened, Shush Shush was home in her coop, standing in the door saying, “It is a big day for me because I laid one of my big buff banty eggs in the postmaster’s hat.”
There Shush Shush stays, living in a coop. Sometimes she marches out of the coop and goes away and lays eggs in pianos, clocks, hats. But she always come back to the coop.
And whenever she goes to the front door and lays an egg in the doorbell, she rings the bell once for one egg, twice for two eggs, and a dozen rings for a dozen eggs.
Five Stories About Hatrack the Horse, Six Pigeons, Three Wild Babylonian Baboons, Six Umbrellas, Bozo the Button Buster
PEOPLE:
Hatrack the Horse
Peter Potato Blossom Wishes
Ragbag Mammy
Gimmes
Wiffle the Chick
Chickamauga
Chattanooga
Chattahoochee
Blue Mist
Bubbles
Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming
Telegrams
The three wild Babylonian Baboons
Three umbrellas
The night policeman
Six umbrellas
The big umbrella
Straw hats
Dippy the Wisp
Bozo the Button Buster
A mouse
Deep Red Roses
The Beans Are Burning
Sweeter Than the Bees Humming
HOW RAGBAG MAMMY KEPT HER SECRET WHILE THE WIND BLEW AWAY THE VILLAGE OF HATPINS
THERE WAS A horseface man in the Village of Cream Puffs. People called him Hatrack the Horse.
The skin stretched tight over his bones. Once a little girl said, “His eyes look like lightning bugs lighting up the summer night coming out of two little doors.”
When Hatrack the Horse took off his hat, he reached his hand around behind and hung the hat on a shoulder bone sticking out.
When he wanted to put on his hat, he reached his hand around and took it off from where it was hanging on the shoulder bone sticking out behind.
One summer Hatrack said to Peter Potato Blossom Wishes, “I am going away up north and west in the Rootabaga Country to see the towns different from each other. Then I will come back east as far as I went west, and south as far as I went north, till I am back again where my little pal, Peter Potato Blossom Wishes, lives in the Village of Cream Puffs.”
So he went away, going north and west and coming back east and south till he was back again in his home town, sitting on the front steps of his little red shanty, fixing a kite to fly.
“Are you glad to come back?” asked Peter.
“Yes, this is home; this is the only place where I know how the winds act up so I can talk to them when I fly a kite.”
“Tell me what you saw and how you listened and if they handed you any nice packages.”
“They handed me packages, all right, all right,” said Hatrack the Horse.
“Away far to the west I came to the Village of Hatpins,” he went on. “It is the place where they make all the hatpins for the hats to be pinned on in the Rootabaga Country. They asked me about the Village of Cream Puffs and how the winds are here, because the winds here blow so many hats off that the Village of Hatpins sells more hatpins to the people here than anywhere else.
“There is an old woman in the Village of Hatpins. She walks across the town and around the town every morning and every afternoon. On her back is a big ragbag. She never takes anything out of the ragbag. She never puts anything in. That is, nobody ever sees her put anything in or take anything out. She has never opened the ragbag telling people to take a look and see what is in it. She sleeps with the ragbag for a pillow. So it is always with her, and nobody looks into it unless she lets them. And she never lets them.
“Her name? Everybody calls her Ragbag Mammy. She wears aprons with big pockets. And though she never speaks to big grownup people, she is always glad to meet little growing people, boys and girls. And especially, most of all, she likes to meet boys and girls who say, ‘Gimme’ (once, like that) or ‘Gimme, gimme’ (twice, like that) or ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme’ (three times) or ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme’ (more times than we can count). She likes to meet the gimmes because she digs into her pockets and brings out square chocolate drops and round chocolate drops and chocolate drops shaped like a half-moon, barber-pole candy with red and white stripes wrapped around it, all-day suckers so long they last not only all day but all this week and all next week, and different kinds of jackstones, some that say chink-chink on the sidewalks and some that say teentsy-weentsy chink-chink when they all bunch together on the sidewalk. And sometimes if one of the gimmes is crying and feeling bad, she gives the gimme a doll only as big as a child’s hand, but the doll can say the alphabet and sing little Chinese-Assyrian songs.
“Of course,” said Hatrack the Horse, reaching his hand around to see if his hat was hanging on behind, “of course, you have to have sharp ears and listen close up and be nice when y
ou are listening if you are going to hear a doll say the alphabet and sing little Chinese-Assyrian songs.”
“I could hear them,” said Peter Potato Blossom Wishes. “I am a nice listener. I could hear those dolls sing the little Chinese-Assyrian songs.”
“I believe you, little pal of mine,” said Hatrack. “I know you have the ears, and you know how to put your ears so you hear.”
“Of course, every morning and every afternoon when Ragbag Mammy walks across the town and around the town in the Village of Hatpins, people ask her what is in the ragbag on her back. And she answers, ‘It is a nice day we are having,’ or, ‘I think the rain will stop when it stops raining, don’t you?’ Then if they ask again and beg and plead, ‘What is in the ragbag? What is in the ragbag?’ she tells them, ‘When the wind blows away the Village of Hatpins and blows it so far away it never comes back, then—then, then, then—I will tell you what is in the ragbag.’”
The Sandburg Treasury Page 10