LITMIR.BIZ

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body of the baker, and so left the shop, closing the front door behind him.

      Madame saw him passing the windows, stepping along briskly and swinging the cane in his left hand.

      Then the good lady imitated her husband's example. She gave a shrill scream, threw up her hands, and tumbled over unconscious.

      John Dough Begins his Adventures

      Now, when John Dough left Madame Grogrande's shop and wandered up the street, he was reeking with the delightful odor of fresh gingerbread. Indeed, he was still so hot from the oven that I am positive you could not have held your hand against him for more than a second. The Great Elixir had brought him to life, and given him a certain standing in the world; but during the first half-hour of his existence John Dough was very hot-headed. Also he was hot-footed, for he discovered that, by walking fast, the contact with the fresh morning air drew the heat from his body and made him feel much more comfortable.

      One virtue lent by the Great Elixir was knowledge, and while John Dough felt that he possessed unlimited knowledge (having had an overdose of the Elixir), he could not very well apply it to his surroundings because he lacked experience with the world, which alone renders knowledge of any value to mankind. John Dough could speak all languages – modern and classic. He had a logical and clear mind – what is called a "level head," you know; and this was coupled with good sense, fair judgment, and a tangled mass of wisdom that had been dumped into him in a haphazard fashion. But these rare qualities were as yet of no use to our man because he had acquired no experience. It was like putting tools into a scholar's hands and asking him to make a watch. John Dough might accomplish wonders in time, if he did not grow stale and crumble; but just now he was the freshest individual that ever came out of a bake-room.

      It was still early morning, and most folks were in bed. A prowling dog smelled the gingerbread and came trotting up with the intention of having a bite of it; but John Dough raised his candy cane and hit the dog a clip on the end of its nose that sent the animal in another direction with its tail between its legs. Then, whistling merrily, the gingerbread man walked on. He knew no tune whatever, but he could whistle, and so he managed to express an erratic mixture of notes that would have made Herr Wagner very proud.

      His flesh (or bread, rather) was cooling off beautifully now. He was growing hard and crisp and felt much more substantial than at first. The baker had made him light and the Elixir had made him strong and vigorous. A great future lay before John Dough, if no accident happened to him.

      Presently some one said, "Hello!" John stopped short, for in front of him stood a bright-eyed boy with a piece of lighted punk in one hand and a bunch of firecrackers in the other. It was Ned Robbins, who had been up since daybreak celebrating the Glorious Fourth.

      "You skeered me at first," said the boy, with a look of amazement that he tried to cover with a laugh.

      "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," returned John Dough, politely.

      "Been to a masquerade?" asked Ned, staring hard at the gingerbread man.

      "No, indeed," replied the other. "I am not disguised, I assure you. You see me as I am."

      "G'wan!" exclaimed Ned. But he could smell the gingerbread, and he began to grow frightened. So he touched the punk to the fuse of his biggest firecracker, dropped it on the ground at the feet of John Dough, and then turned and scampered up an alley as fast as he could go.

      The gingerbread man stood still and looked after Ned until the cracker suddenly exploded with a bang that caused John's candy teeth to chatter. His whole body was terribly jarred and he nearly fell backward in the shock of surprise. Then he, also, started to run. It was not fear, so much as ignorance of what might happen next, that caused him to fly from the spot; but he ran with a speed that was simply wonderful, considering that his limbs were of gingerbread. Truly, that Arabian Elixir was a marvelous thing!

      Bang! He had run plump into another group of boys, knocking two of them over before they could get out of his way. His silk hat was jammed over his eyes and the candy cane struck the wheel of a toy cannon and broke off a good two inches from its end.

      As he pulled off his hat he heard a shout and saw the boys all scrambling for the broken end of the candy cane. One of them grabbed it and ran away, and the others followed in a mad chase and were soon out of sight.

      John Dough looked after them wonderingly. Then he drew himself up, pulled down his fine vest, sighed at discovering a slight crack in his shirt-front, and walked slowly along the street again. His first experience of life was not altogether pleasant.

      "Good gracious!" said a voice.

      He paused, and saw a woman leaning over a gate beside him and glaring at him in mingled surprise and terror. She held a broom in her hand, for she had been sweeping the walk. John lifted his hat politely.

      "Good morning, madam," said he.

      "Why, it's really alive!" gasped the woman.

      "Is a live person so very unusual?" asked John, curiously.

      "Surely, when he's made of cake!" answered the woman, still staring as if she could not believe her eyes.

      "Pardon me; I am not cake, but gingerbread," he answered, in a rather dignified way.

      "It's all the same," she answered. "You haven't any right to be alive. There's no excuse for it."

      "But how can I help it?" he asked, somewhat puzzled by this remark.

      "Oh, I don't suppose it's your fault. But it isn't right, you know. Who made you?"

      "Jules Grogrande, the baker," he said, for he had read the name over the door.

      "I always knew there was something wrong with those Frenchies," she declared. "Are you done?"

      Before he could reply she had drawn a large straw from the broom and stuck it several inches into his side.

      "Don't do that!" he cried, indignantly, as she drew out the bit of broom again.

      "I was only tryin' you," she remarked. "You're done to a turn, and ought to make good eating while you're fresh."

      John gazed at her in horror.

      "Good eating!" he cried; "woman, would you murder me?"

      "I can't say it would be exactly murder," she replied, looking at him hungrily.

      "To destroy life is murder?" he said, sternly.

      "But to destroy gingerbread isn't," she rejoined. "And I can't see that it's cannibalism to eat a man if he happens to be cake, and fresh baked. And that frosting looks good. Come inside while I get a knife."

      She opened the gate and tried to grab John Dough by an arm. But he gave a sudden backward leap and then sped down the street at a furious run, looking neither to right nor left in his eager flight.

      Luckily, he was not in the center of the town, but near the outskirts, and the houses were few and scattered.

      By and by he saw a deserted barn near the roadside. The door was half open and sagged on its hinges, so it could not be closed.

      John darted into the barn and hid behind some hay in the far side. He was thoroughly frightened, and believed he must avoid mingling with the people of the town if he would escape instant destruction.

      A knife! A knife! The word kept ringing in his ears and filled him with horror. A knife could slice him into pieces easily. He imagined himself sliced and lying on a plate ready for hungry folks to eat, and the picture made him groan aloud.

      All through the day he kept securely hidden behind the hay. Toward evening he decided to revisit the bakery. It was a difficult task, for he had passed through many streets and lanes without noticing where he was going, and it grew darker every minute. But at last, just as he was beginning to despair, he saw a dim light in a window and read over the door the sign: "Jules Grogrande, Baker."

      He opened the door so softly that the little bell scarcely tinkled. But no one would have heard it had it rung loudly, for there was a confused murmur of fierce voices coming from the little room Madame usually occupied.

      John Dough skipped behind the counter, where he could see into

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