terryweide
Smarter Than I Look
Oscar was an unlikely name for a dragon and, unlike most dragons, he usually didn't enjoy breathing fire. He did, however, have a penchant for smoking fine cigars and lounging about in a red, silk robe while sitting in a comfortable overstuffed chair in his den with his feet propped up on a small hassock. Oscar, you see, was a human-sized dragon, somewhat taller than an average man, but not as large as the dragons you read about in storybooks.
His den was also not heaped with treasure, but was lined with shelves of books. Next to the chair a floor lamp provided illumination, and as was his custom, Oscar was reading a paperback novel, The Hobbit, no less, while taking an occasional puff on his cigar.
I say, thought Oscar, what a cad that Smaug was. I'd have run him through myself. He was interrupted from further ruminations by a knock on his door.
"Who could it be at this hour," he grumbled aloud, getting slowly to his feet. The knock came again.
"Very well, don't get your bellows in a uproar, I'm coming," said Oscar.
He opened the door to behold little Jimmy Dragon and his sister Annie Sue standing beside him.
"Excuse us, Mister Oscar," said Jimmy, "but we're selling cookies for our school and wondered if you'd like to buy some?"
"They're chocolate dragon treats," Annie added.
"Certainly not!" said Oscar. "I bought some from your brother Billy last year. The most horrid cookies I've tasted! Gah! The taste is still with me."
"But they've improved the flavor," said Jimmy, in a high-pitched plea. "And they're only two shillings a box."
"My boy," said Oscar, gravely, "a shilling saved is a shilling earned. In my day, we did not spend our money on such frivolous items as cookies. I had to work long hours in a shop for the few shillings I did earn. That was after I walked five miles home from school."
"What did you spend your money on?" asked Jimmy.
"Clothes for the family and food for the table," said Oscar. He stuck out his chest. "I was expected to contribute."
"But please, sir," said Annie, starting to sniffle, "if we can't raise money for the school, our parents won't be able to afford to send us there anymore. Then we won't be able to better ourselves, the way you have." A single tear trickled down Annie's face.
Is it possible this child could be right, thought Oscar? He felt some of his bluster begin to deflate. Could selling these horrible cookies be her chance for a better life? If so, who was he to stand in her way?
"Oh, very well," he said at last. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out some coins. "Here are your two shillings. Now, if you do not mind, I shall return to my reading." He started to close his door.
"Wait, Mister Oscar," said Jimmy, "don't you want your cookies?" He started to hand them to Oscar.
"Ick! Keep them for yourselves," said Oscar, hurriedly shutting the door before Jimmie could find a way to force the box into his hands. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, The Hobbit," and he returned to his chair and picked up his book.
As Jimmy and Annie went down the walk from Oscar's den, Annie's tears disappeared and she laughed delightedly. "That's another box we've sold, Jimmy."
"I know," her brother smiled, "the crying works every time and we don't even have to give them the cookies to get our money."
Together, the children skipped towards the next den, that of Charlie "soft touch" Dragon.
In closing it must be remembered that while Annie was a child, she was still a dragon, and that all dragons, however small, are the most cunning cookie sellers in the world. So the next time one appears on your doorstep, you may as well give them your two shillings and be done with it. Otherwise, you never will get to finish that novel.
His den was also not heaped with treasure, but was lined with shelves of books. Next to the chair a floor lamp provided illumination, and as was his custom, Oscar was reading a paperback novel, The Hobbit, no less, while taking an occasional puff on his cigar.
I say, thought Oscar, what a cad that Smaug was. I'd have run him through myself. He was interrupted from further ruminations by a knock on his door.
"Who could it be at this hour," he grumbled aloud, getting slowly to his feet. The knock came again.
"Very well, don't get your bellows in a uproar, I'm coming," said Oscar.
He opened the door to behold little Jimmy Dragon and his sister Annie Sue standing beside him.
"Excuse us, Mister Oscar," said Jimmy, "but we're selling cookies for our school and wondered if you'd like to buy some?"
"They're chocolate dragon treats," Annie added.
"Certainly not!" said Oscar. "I bought some from your brother Billy last year. The most horrid cookies I've tasted! Gah! The taste is still with me."
"But they've improved the flavor," said Jimmy, in a high-pitched plea. "And they're only two shillings a box."
"My boy," said Oscar, gravely, "a shilling saved is a shilling earned. In my day, we did not spend our money on such frivolous items as cookies. I had to work long hours in a shop for the few shillings I did earn. That was after I walked five miles home from school."
"What did you spend your money on?" asked Jimmy.
"Clothes for the family and food for the table," said Oscar. He stuck out his chest. "I was expected to contribute."
"But please, sir," said Annie, starting to sniffle, "if we can't raise money for the school, our parents won't be able to afford to send us there anymore. Then we won't be able to better ourselves, the way you have." A single tear trickled down Annie's face.
Is it possible this child could be right, thought Oscar? He felt some of his bluster begin to deflate. Could selling these horrible cookies be her chance for a better life? If so, who was he to stand in her way?
"Oh, very well," he said at last. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out some coins. "Here are your two shillings. Now, if you do not mind, I shall return to my reading." He started to close his door.
"Wait, Mister Oscar," said Jimmy, "don't you want your cookies?" He started to hand them to Oscar.
"Ick! Keep them for yourselves," said Oscar, hurriedly shutting the door before Jimmie could find a way to force the box into his hands. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, The Hobbit," and he returned to his chair and picked up his book.
As Jimmy and Annie went down the walk from Oscar's den, Annie's tears disappeared and she laughed delightedly. "That's another box we've sold, Jimmy."
"I know," her brother smiled, "the crying works every time and we don't even have to give them the cookies to get our money."
Together, the children skipped towards the next den, that of Charlie "soft touch" Dragon.
In closing it must be remembered that while Annie was a child, she was still a dragon, and that all dragons, however small, are the most cunning cookie sellers in the world. So the next time one appears on your doorstep, you may as well give them your two shillings and be done with it. Otherwise, you never will get to finish that novel.
