“Why,” continued the man, with growing excitement, “he ordered me from his office, and had me put out of the building by the janitor! What do you think of such treatment as that from the ‘best papa in the world,’ eh?” “I think he was quite right,” said Jane Gladys. “Oh, you do? Well,” said the man, “I resolved to be revenged for the insult. So, as your father is big and strong and a dangerous man, I have decided to be revenged upon his little girl.” Jane Gladys shivered. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “I’m going to present you with this book,” he answered, taking it from under his arm. Then he sat down on the edge of a chair, placed his hat on the rug and drew a fountain pen from his vest pocket. “I’ll write your name in it,” said he. “How do you spell Gladys?” “G-l-a-d-y-s,” she replied. “Thank you. Now this,” he continued, rising and handing her the book with a bow, “is my revenge for your father’s treatment of me. Perhaps he’ll be sorry he didn’t buy the ‘Complete Works of Peter Smith.’ Good-by, my dear.” He walked to the door, gave her another bow, and left the room, and Jane Gladys could see that he was laughing to himself as if very much amused. When the door had closed behind the queer little man the child sat down in the window again and glanced at the book. It had a red and yellow cover and the word “Thingamajigs” was across the front in big letters. Then she opened it, curiously, and saw her name written in black letters upon the first white leaf. “He was a funny little man,” she said to herself, thoughtfully. She turned the next leaf, and saw a big picture of a clown, dressed in green and red and yellow, and having a very white face with three-cornered spots of red on each cheek and over the eyes. While she looked at this the book trembled in her hands, the leaf crackled and creaked and suddenly the clown jumped out of it and stood upon the floor beside her, becoming instantly as big as any ordinary clown. After stretching his arms and legs and yawning in a rather impolite manner, he gave a silly chuckle and said: “This is better! You don’t know how cramped one gets, standing so long upon a page of flat paper.” Perhaps you can imagine how startled Jane Gladys was, and how she stared at the clown who had just leaped out of the book. “You didn’t expect anything of this sort, did you?” he asked, leering at her in clown fashion. Then he turned around to take a look at the room and Jane Gladys laughed in spite of her astonishment. “What amuses you?” demanded the clown. “Why, the back of you is all white!” cried the girl. “You’re only a clown in front of you.” “Quite likely,” he returned, in an annoyed tone. “The artist made a front view of me. He wasn’t expected to make the back of me, for that was against the page of the book.” “But it makes you look so funny!” said Jane Gladys, laughing until her eyes were moist with tears. The clown looked sulky and sat down upon a chair so she couldn’t see his back.