The Piper scowled at the nurse.  “Say!  What do you think you’re doin’?” he demanded.  “Singin’ a duet with yourself?” Then turning upon the Policeman, “Off your beat, ain’t you?” he inquired impudently; when, without waiting for an answer, he swung round upon the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.  “Old gent,” he began tauntingly, “I can’t collect real money for that dozen ears.”  And threw out an arm toward the object on the driver’s seat.

Gwendolyn looked a second time.  And saw a horrid and unnatural sight.  For the object was a man, straight enough, broad-shouldered enough, with arms and legs, feet and hands, and a small head; but a man shockingly disfigured.  For down either side of him, projecting from head and shoulders and arms, were ears—­long, hairy, mulish ears, that wriggled horribly, one moment unfolding themselves to catch every sound, the next flopping about ridiculously.

“Why, he’s all ears!” she gasped.

The little old gentleman started forward.  “It’s that dozen I boxed!” he announced.  “Hey!  Come out of there!”

Gwendolyn’s heart sank.  Now she knew.  From the first her fear had been that one of the dreaded three would come and fetch her out of the Land before she could find her parents.  And here, at the very moment when she hoped to leave the worst of the trio behind, here was another!—­to hamper and tattle and thwart.

For the rubber plant was Thomas!

And now all at once there was the greatest excitement.  The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seized Thomas by an ear and dragged him to the ground, all the while upbraiding him loudly.  And while these two were occupied, the Piper swaggered toward the Policeman, his pipes and implements striking and jangling together.

“I want my money,” he bellowed.

“I don’t owe you anything!” retorted the Policeman.

All this gave Jane the opportunity she wished.  She advanced upon Gwendolyn.  “Come, sweetie,” she wheedled.  “Rich little girls don’t hike along the streets like common poor little girls.  So jump in, and pretend you’re a Queen, and have a grand ride—­”

Now all of a sudden a terrible inclination to obey seized Gwendolyn.  There yawned that door—­here burned those reddish eyes, compelling her forward into a dreaded grasp—­

She screamed, covering her face.

In that moment of danger it was the Policeman who came to her rescue.  Eluding the Piper, he ran, hand over hand, to the side of the car, balanced himself on his level head, and waved his club.

“Move on!” he ordered in a deep voice (precisely as Gwendolyn had heard officers order at crowded crossings); “move on, there!”

The limousine obeyed!  With no one touching the steering-gear, the engine began to chug, the wheels to whirr.  And purring again, like some great good-natured live thing, it gained momentum, took the road in a cloud of pink dust, and, rounding a distant turn, disappeared from sight.