“And who is Slipfoot?” asked Blixie. “I don’t know. He says to me, ‘I got a foot always slips. I used to wash windows—and my foot slips. I used to be king of the collar buttons, king of a million dollars—and my foot slips. I used to be king of the peanuts, king of a million dollars again. I used to be king of the oyster cans, selling a million cans a day. I used to be king of the peanut sacks, selling ten million sacks a day. And every time I was a king my foot slips. Every time I had a million dollars my foot slips. Every time I went high and put my foot higher my foot slips. Somebody gave me a slipfoot. I always slip.’” [Illustration: On the last step of the stairway my foot slips] “So you call him Slipfoot?” asked Blixie. “Yes,” said the old man. “Has he been here before?” “Yes, he was here a year ago, saying, ‘I marry a woman and she runs away. I run after her—and my foot slips. I always get what I want—and then my foot slips.’ “I ran up a stairway to the moon one night. I shoveled a big sack full of little gold beans, little gold bricks, little gold bugs, on the moon and I ran down the stairway from the moon. On the last step of the stairway, my foot slips—and all the little gold beans, all the little gold bricks, all the little gold bugs, spill out and spill away. When I get down the stairway I am holding the sack and the sack holds nothing. I am all right always till my foot slips. “I jump on a trapeze and I go swinging, swinging, swinging out where I am going to take hold of the rainbow and bring it down where we can look at it close. And I hang by my feet on the trapeze and I am swinging out where I am just ready to take hold of the rainbow and bring it down. Then my foot slips.” “What is the matter with Slipfoot?” asks Blixie. “He asks me that same question,” answered the Potato Face Blind Man. “He asks me that every time he comes here. I tell him all he needs is to get his slipfoot fixed so it won’t slip. Then he’ll be all right.” “I understand you,” said Blixie. “You make it easy. You always make it easy. And before I run away will you promise me to smell of the pink and lavender peonies and the yellow jonquils all day to-day?” “I promise,” said the Potato Face. “Promises are easy. I like promises.” “So do I,” said the little girl, “It’s promises pushing me back home to the dish-pan, the dish-rag, and the dish-towel for wiping dishes.” “Look out you don’t get a slipfoot,” warned the old man as the girl flipped up the street going home. [Illustration] 2. Two Stories About Bugs and Eggs. _People_: Little Bugs Big Bugs The Rag Doll The Broom Handle Hammer and Nails The Hot Cookie Pan The Ice Tongs The Coal Bucket The Bushel Basket Jack Knife Kindling Wood