One time the monster was seated on a box behind the stable basking in the rays of the afternoon sun. A heavy crêpe veil was swathed about its head.

Little Jimmie and many companions came around the corner of the stable. They were all in what was popularly known as the baby class, and consequently escaped from school a half-hour before the other children. They halted abruptly at sight of the figure on the box. Jimmie waved his hand with the air of a proprietor.

“There he is,” he said.

“O-o-o!” murmured all the little boys—“o-o-o-!” They shrank back, and grouped according to courage or experience, as at the sound the monster slowly turned its head. Jimmie had remained in the van alone. “Don’t be afraid! I won’t let him hurt you,” he said, delighted.

“Huh!” they replied, contemptuously. “We ain’t afraid.”

Jimmie seemed to reap all the joys of the owner and exhibitor of one of the world’s marvels, while his audience remained at a distance—awed and entranced, fearful and envious.

One of them addressed Jimmie gloomily. “Bet you dassent walk right up to him.” He was an older boy than Jimmie, and habitually oppressed him to a small degree. This new social elevation of the smaller lad probably seemed revolutionary to him.

“Huh!” said Jimmie, with deep scorn. “Dassent I? Dassent I, hey? Dassent I?”

The group was immensely excited. It turned its eyes upon the boy that Jimmie addressed. “No, you dassent,” he said, stolidly, facing a moral defeat. He could see that Jimmie was resolved. “No, you dassent,” he repeated, doggedly.

“Ho?” cried Jimmie. “You just watch!—you just watch!”

Amid a silence he turned and marched toward the monster. But possibly the palpable wariness of his companions had an effect upon him that weighed more than his previous experience, for suddenly, when near to the monster, he halted dubiously. But his playmates immediately uttered a derisive shout, and it seemed to force him forward. He went to the monster and laid his hand delicately on its shoulder. “Hello, Henry,” he said, in a voice that trembled a trifle. The monster was crooning a weird line of negro melody that was scarcely more than a thread of sound, and it paid no heed to the boy.

Jimmie strutted back to his companions. They acclaimed him and hooted his opponent. Amid this clamor the larger boy with difficulty preserved a dignified attitude.

“I dassent, dassent I?” said Jimmie to him. “Now, you’re so smart, let’s see you do it!”

This challenge brought forth renewed taunts from the others. The larger boy puffed out his cheeks. “Well, I ain’t afraid,” he explained, sullenly. He had made a mistake in diplomacy, and now his small enemies were tumbling his prestige all about his ears. They crowed like roosters and bleated like lambs, and made many other noises which were supposed to bury him in ridicule and dishonor. “Well, I ain’t afraid,” he continued to explain through the din.

Jimmie, the hero of the mob, was pitiless. “You ain’t afraid, hey?” he sneered. “If you ain’t afraid, go do it, then.”

“Well, I would if I wanted to,” the other retorted. His eyes wore an expression of profound misery, but he preserved steadily other portions of a pot-valiant air. He suddenly faced one of his persecutors. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you go do it?” This persecutor sank promptly through the group to the rear. The incident gave the badgered one a breathing-spell, and for a moment even turned the derision in