Her dress was badly torn and
soiled. Her left ear was entirely gone, and the left side of her
head was caved in; but she quickly scrambled to her feet and asked
for her hat. This a gentleman had already picked up, and when the
policeman handed it to her and noticed the great hole in her head
and the hollow place it disclosed, the poor fellow trembled so
frightfully that his knees actually knocked together.
"Why--why, ma'am, you're killed!" he gasped.
"What does it mean to be killed?" asked the wax lady.
The policeman shuddered and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.
"You're it!" he answered, with a groan.
The crowd that had collected were looking upon the lady wonderingly,
and a middle-aged gentleman now exclaimed:
"Why, she's wax!"
"Wax!" echoed the policeman.
"Certainly. She's one of those dummies they put in the windows,"
declared the middle-aged man.
The people who had collected shouted: "You're right!" "That's what
she is!" "She's a dummy!"
"Are you?" inquired the policeman, sternly.
The wax lady did not reply. She began to fear she was getting into
trouble, and the staring crowd seemed to embarrass her.
Suddenly a bootblack attempted to solve the problem by saying: "You
guys is all wrong! Can a dummy talk? Can a dummy walk? Can a dummy
live?"
"Hush!" murmured the policeman.
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