"In a fortnight at the earliest," said the Clown. "The making up of ladies' minds, as of Christmas puddings, requires plenty of thought and preparation." "Good!" said the Hansom-driver. Then he got up upon the seat of his hansom, whipped up his horse, and drove off. Now, during the fortnight he was, if possible, more conceited than ever. He never ceased making vain speeches respecting his looks, and could indeed be induced to speak of nothing else. "I have not the slightest fear as to the ladies' decision," he boastfully remarked. "When I look in the glass I see how impossible it is that they should have anything but one opinion. By the by, a most curious little incident occurred last night. I was sauntering about my end of the counter, when the white Polar Bear walked right up against me. 'Hulloa!' I said, 'look out where you are going.' 'I beg your pardon, I'm sure,' said he; 'It was a little mistake. I was trying to find my way home, and catching sight of your right eye, mistook it for the Polar Star and guided myself by its light.' 'Very flattering,' I said, 'but I'd prefer you not to tread on my toes.' Strange, wasn't it?" "Most strange!" the Butcher jeered. "The Polar Bear has never been able to see clearly since the shopwoman's baby poked out both his eyes. Your story is a little far-fetched, my good chap." "Oh, what a surprise!" laughed the Clown, as the Hansom-driver, unable to avoid looking a little silly, turned his head aside and pretended to sneeze. "I've a piece of news for you," said the Baker; "another surprise. The ladies have made up their minds already. Instead of a fortnight they have only taken a week to decide. They have but one opinion, and the Clown has been instructed to deliver it to you to-morrow morning when you come to give your orders. I may warn you that you will find a great crowd of Toys waiting to hear it." "Let come who will," vaunted the Hansom-driver. "_I_ fear no crowd. The more Toys to witness my moment of triumph, the better." And it was in this frame of mind that, on the following morning, he drove to the Butcher's shop, outside of which a large crowd was gathered. "Well," he said with a smile to the Clown who headed the crowd; "well, and what is the ladies' opinion about my beauty?" "The ladies have decided," said the Clown, nodding his head and speaking very rapidly, "the ladies have all decided--mind you, _all_ decided--that you _are_ a hansom man. And so say I." The Hansom-driver climbed down from his seat. "Shake hands," he said. "One doesn't find a fellow of sense like you every day." The Clown shook hands, then turned a somersault and grinned from ear to ear. "Handsome," he said slowly, "but _without_ the _d_ and the _e_. Mark that, my child. No _beauty, but a hansom man_. Ho-la! What's the time of day? Time to go away?" For the Hansom-driver had mounted to his seat, and, whipping up his horse, was driving off as fast as he could. CHAPTER VII