Jennifer Murdley's Toad (Magic Shop Books) Read Free

toad.
    "Home."
    "Good. This box is uncomfortable. I trust you have a nice place ready for me."
    "Not exactly," said Jennifer, feeling uncomfortable
    15
    herself. "After all, I didn't know you were coming."
    The toad sighed heavily.
    "But I'm sure we can fix something up," added Jennifer quickly.
    "I certainly hope so," said the toad.
    Jennifer entered the house quietly. For one thing, she wanted to get the toad settled in her room. For another, she didn't want to face Skippy any sooner than she had to.
    She could hear her father out in the garage, twanging away at the piano he was restoring.
    The rest of the house was silent.
    She took the toad up to her room and let him out of the box. He was a handsome specimen, almost as large as the palm of her hand. His bumpy skin was not the typical dusty brown, but instead seemed to have all the colors of well-grained wood. His eyes were bright and clear, and his legs were strong. All in all, a fine figure of a toad. Jennifer said so.
    "Why, thank you," responded the toad. "I'm glad you have an eye for bufine beauty."
    "Pardon me?"
    "My toadlike qualities."
    Jennifer paused. She had never particularly thought of "toadlike" and "beauty" as words that belonged together. "What kind of a cage would you like?" she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.
    "Cage?" croaked Bufo. His eyes bulged out as
    16
    [blank page]
    17
    if he were being squeezed. "Cage? What is this--a home or a prison?"
    "I don't understand," said Jennifer, taken aback by his reaction. "You were in a cage at the magic shop."
    Bufo hopped across the desk, pointed a finger (Or is it a toe? she wondered) at Jennifer, and shook it under her nose.
    "That was a temporary condition," he said fiercely. "If we are to get along, you had better understand that I am not a pet. I am, for the moment, a guest. Possibly a friend. Certainly a responsibility, since you removed me from the shop. But I am most certainly not, never have been, and have no intention of ever becoming"--at this point he shivered, as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth--"a pet!"
    "But--," began Jennifer.
    "Moreover," interrupted the toad, "I did not think of my place in the shop as a cage. It was my apartment. Tiny, true, but my own. It's all a matter of how you look at things. And we are not going to look at my home here as a cage. Nor are we going to look at me as a pet! Is that clear?"
    "Perfectly," said Jennifer, who was beginning to wonder if having a talking toad was going to be much fun.
    "Good. Then let's try this again. A comfortable terrarium would be just fine. A big one, please-- I've been feeling cramped long enough. A cozy armchair would be nice, too. Do you have one that would suit me?"
    18
    Jennifer thought of the pile of doll furniture buried in one corner of her closet. It had been there ever since the event that her family still spoke of as "Dad's Great TV Tantrum."
    Actually, the tantrum hadn't been entirely Mr. Murdley's fault. He had been driven to his act of destruction when he entered the living room one Saturday morning and saw Jennifer staring at the TV set with tears rolling down her cheeks.
    Wondering what his daughter found so moving, he turned to the screen, where he saw a commercial for an impossibly beautiful fashion doll.
    "That was when I lost it," he explained later that afternoon. "I was just sick of that television telling Jennifer that only beautiful people matter. I love her too much for that."
    Which was why he had bellowed with rage and thrown his coffee cup through the TV screen.
    The next morning Mr. Murdley had appeared at Jennifer's door, holding a bumpy, brown rock that appeared to be almost perfectly round.
    "What's that?" asked Jennifer.
    "A geode," he said, turning the rock over so that she could see the beautiful crystals inside. They sat and talked for a long time about appearances. Later that afternoon they buried a Barbie doll in the backyard, under a tombstone that said Beauty Victim.
    It was around