rainbow
drops
There
was a man selling candy. Like the ice-cream man, only not with a truck.
He just had a box on ribbons that he held in front of him as he walked up
and down the sidewalks.
“Rainbow
drops! Gummi sunsets! White chocolate moonbeams!”
And
it was hot, the kind of hot that lets you know it’s July, with no compromise
and no relief. Sticky and scorching
and bright, and hardly any shadows at all, never mind shade.
There was an awful lot of bustle in the streets, though. But nobody
except the kids from the brownstone on 20th seemed to be noting the
candy-seller.
“It’s
too hot for candy anyway,” said Julia, the cynic of the group.
She had nine kinds of stains on her cutoffs already today, from God knows
what.
“Not
ice cream,” said James. James had a lot of answers for things. He wore
glasses, which didn’t help. “Ice
cream’s candy.”
“No
it’s not, James.” Julia rolled her eyes.
She did that a lot. “And
it’s cold. Cold stuff is
different anyway.”
“It’s
almost candy,” said Abby, the diplomat. “You
can get it right next to the candy. And it’s sweet. Anything
sweet kinda counts.” She brushed
out her jumper, which was blue and very, very clean. Abby didn’t sit down ouside much.
“Anyway,”
said Julia, who had moved on, “it’s just dumb.
Nobody wants sticky candy now.”
The
candy seller was closer now, and they could see him more clearly.
He wasn’t even dressed very well for summer, in long black pants and
long sleeves and an itchy-looking vest buttoned up behind the candy box, with a
funny bowler hat on his head and big, shiny black shoes. He had wild, scruffy
hair and a scratchy beard, both salt-and-peppered in black and gray.
He stopped when he saw them.
“Rainbow
drops! Made from real rainbows! And
chocolate moonbeams, fresh out of the sky. Accept no imitations.”
“I’m
not to buy candy with my money,” said James immediately.
“What’s
your name?” said Julia, fearless.
“I’m
Mr. Pook,” said the man, tipping his hat.
“Is
it really moonbeams and rainbows?” said Abby. Her eyes were wide.
“Oh
yes, and many things besides,” said Mr.Pook..
“I
bet it’s not,” said Julia. “I
bet it’s all just dumb junk. There’s
no such things anyway.”
“Oh, but there are, my friend,” said Mr.Pook. “Oh yes, there are.” And when he said that they really heard how his voice was funny and foreign; he said it “arrrr,” almost like a pirate. And he looked a little like a pirate when he winked then, too.