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And well might he ask that, for the man, not knowing the Clown was in his pocket, hurried on down town to his office.

CHAPTER VI

IN THE OFFICE

The Man, into whose pocket the Calico Clown had fallen from the tree, hurried along the street, not knowing a thing of what had happened. He was anxious to get to his office to look after his business, for he was a very busy Man. He kept other folks busy, too–clerks and office boy and a girl to write letters on the typewriter.

Now, as it happened, the Man was a little late that morning, and when he reached his office he was in such haste that he did not take time to do anything before he sat down in his big chair to look over his mail.

“Please write some letters for me on the typewriter,” he said to Miss Jones, who worked the machine.

Miss Jones sat down and became very busy. The Man told her what to write and she banged away on the machine. Every once in a while she would look at the Man when he paused to think of something else to say. And once, as she did this, a queer look came over the face of Miss Jones. Then she smiled and next she burst right out into a loud laugh.

And the funny part of it was that just then the Man was telling her to put in a letter something like this:

“I am very, very sorry to tell you that I can not do as you want me to.”

And, just as he said the word “sorry,” Miss Jones laughed her very hardest.

“Eh! What’s the matter? What is so very funny about my saying I am sorry?” asked the Man. The girl typewriter and the office boy called him “the Boss” behind his back, and they liked him very much, for he was kind and good to them.

“Oh, dear! I MUST laugh!” said Miss Jones.

Miss Jones pointed to something sticking out of his side coat pocket. The Man put his hand there and pulled out–the Calico Clown!

You should have seen the strange look come over the Man’s face. Then he laughed as hard as Miss Jones, and the office boy in the next room, hearing them, laughed also.

“Well, how in the world did that Calico Clown come to be in my pocket?” exclaimed the man. He took the toy out, turned it over and looked at it from all sides. As he did so he happened to punch the Clown in the chest, and of course the Clown banged his cymbals together, as he had been taught to do in the workshop of Santa Claus, where he had been made.

And as the cymbals tinkled and clanged the typewriter girl laughed harder than ever. Then the man happened to pull one of the strings, and the Clown kicked up his legs. The office boy was looking into the room just then, and, seeing this antic of the jolly red and yellow chap, the office boy laughed out loud.

“Dear me! I’m glad every one in this office is so good-natured,” thought the Clown to himself. “And I certainly am glad to get out of that Man’s pocket. I was nearly smothered there, but of course it was better than being in the tree. I’ll do some more tricks for them if the Man pulls more strings.”

And the Man did. He pulled the strings fastened to the Clown’s arms, and they jiggled and joggled in a merry fashion, so the girl and the office boy laughed harder than ever.

“Well, how in the world did that Clown toy come to be in my pocket? That’s what I want to know,” said the Man, very much puzzled.

“Maybe one of the children put it in,” suggested the girl. She knew the Man had children at home.

“No, I hardly think it was any of MY children,” said the Man. “Arnold has no toy like this. He has a Bold Tin Soldier, as he calls him, and some soldier men. And my little girl, Mirabell, has a Lamb on Wheels. But neither of them has a Calico Clown.”