THE TROUBLESOME PHONOGRAPH
CHAP. 7
When the boy opened his eyes next morning he looked carefully around theroom. These small Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in them.That in which Ojo now found himself had three beds, set all in a row onone side of it. The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in thesecond, and the third was neatly made up and smoothed for the day. Onthe other side of the room was a round table on which breakfast wasalready placed, smoking hot. Only one chair was drawn up to the table,where a place was set for one person. No one seemed to be in the roomexcept the boy and Bungle.
Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a toilet stand at the head ofhis bed he washed his face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he wentto the table and said:
"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"
"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, so near that Ojo jumped. But noperson could he see.
He was hungry, and the breakfast looked good; so he sat down and ate allhe wanted. Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the Glass Cat.
"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go."
He cast another glance about the room and, speaking to the air, he said:"Whoever lives here has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."
There was no answer, so he took his basket and went out the door, thecat following him. In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork Girl,playing with pebbles she had picked up.
"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I thought you were nevercoming out. It has been daylight a long time."
"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.
"Sat here and watched the stars and the moon," she replied. "They'reinteresting. I never saw them before, you know."
"Of course not," said Ojo.
"You were crazy to act so badly and get thrown outdoors," remarkedBungle, as they renewed their journey.
"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn'thave seen the stars, nor the big gray wolf."
"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.
"The one that came to the door of the house three times during thenight."
"I don't see why that should be," said the boy, thoughtfully; "there wasplenty to eat in that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I slept ina nice bed."
"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork Girl, noticing that the boyyawned.
"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well."
"And aren't you hungry?"
"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good breakfast, and yet I thinkI'll now eat some of my crackers and cheese."
Scraps danced up and down the path. Then she sang:
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore; The wolf is at the door, There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat, And a bill from the grocery store."
"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.
"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what comes into my head, but ofcourse I know nothing of a grocery store or bones without meat or--verymuch else."
"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring, raving crazy, and her brainscan't be pink, for they don't work properly."
"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares for 'em, anyhow? Have younoticed how beautiful my patches are in this sunlight?"
Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps pattering along the pathbehind them and all three turned to see what was coming. To theirastonishment they beheld a small round table running as fast as its fourspindle legs could carry it, and to the top was screwed fast aphonograph with a big gold horn.
"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for me!"
"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the Crooked Magician scatteredthe Powder of Life over," said Ojo.
"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of voice; and then, as thephonograph overtook them, the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are youdoing here, anyhow?"
"I've run away," said the music thing. "After you left, old Dr. Pipt andI had a dreadful quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if Ididn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that, because atalking-machine is supposed to talk and make a noise--and sometimesmusic. So I slipped out of the house while the Magician was stirring hisfour kettles and I've been running after you all night. Now that I'vefound such pleasant company, I can talk and play tunes all I want to."
Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome addition to their party. Atfirst he did not know what to say to the newcomer, but a little thoughtdecided him not to make friends.
"We are traveling on important business," he declared, "and you'llexcuse me if I say we can't be bothered."
"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.
"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'll have to go somewhereelse."
"This is very unkind treatment, I must say," whined the phonograph, inan injured tone. "Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended toamuse people."
"It isn't you we hate, especially," observed the Glass Cat; "it's yourdreadful music. When I lived in the same room with you I was muchannoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls and grumbles and clicks andscratches so it spoils the music, and your machinery rumbles so that theracket drowns every tune you attempt."
"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my records. I must admit that Ihaven't a clear record," answered the machine.
"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said Ojo.
"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This music thing interests me. Iremember to have heard music when I first came to life, and I would liketo hear it again. What is your name, my poor abused phonograph?"
"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.
"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said the Patchwork Girl. "Goahead and play something."
"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.
"I'm crazy now, according to your statement. Loosen up and reel out themusic, Vic."
"The only record I have with me," explained the phonograph, "is one theMagician attached just before we had our quarrel. It's a highlyclassical composition."
"A what?" inquired Scraps.
"It is classical music, and is considered the best and most puzzlingever manufactured. You're supposed to like it, whether you do or not,and if you don't, the proper thing is to look as if you did.Understand?"
"Not in the least," said Scraps.
"Then, listen!"
At once the machine began to play and in a few minutes Ojo put his handsto his ears to shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and Scraps beganto laugh.
"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."
But the phonograph continued playing the dreary tune, so Ojo seized thecrank, jerked it free and threw it into the road. However, the momentthe crank struck the ground it bounded back to the machine again andbegan winding it up. And still the music played.
"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all started and ran down the path asfast as they could go. But the phonograph was right behind them andcould run and play at the same time. It called out, reproachfully:
"What's the matter? Don't you love classical music?"
"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We will passical the classical andpreserve what joy we have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness,but your music makes my cotton shrink."
"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time tune on the other side,"said the machine.
"What's rag-time?"
"The opposite of classical."
"All right," said Scraps, and turned over the record.
The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble of sounds which provedso bewildering that after a moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork aproninto the gold horn and cried: "Stop--stop! That's the other extreme.It's extremely bad!"
Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.
"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash your record," threatenedOjo.
The music stopped, at that, and the machine turned its horn from one toanother and said with great indignation: "What's the matter now? Is itpossible you can't
appreciate rag-time?"
"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," said the cat; "but I simply can'tstand it; it makes my whiskers curl."
"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, with a shudder.
"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad," murmured the Patchwork Girl."I'll tell you what, Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron andput it on again, "for some reason or other you've missed your guess.You're not a concert; you're a nuisance."
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," asserted the phonographsadly.
"Then we're not savages. I advise you to go home and beg the Magician'spardon."
"Never! He'd smash me."
"That's what we shall do, if you stay here," Ojo declared.
"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else," advised Scraps. "Find someone who is real wicked, and stay with him till he repents. In that wayyou can do some good in the world."
The music thing turned silently away and trotted down a side path,toward a distant Munchkin village.
"Is that the way _we_ go?" asked Bungle anxiously.
"No," said Ojo; "I think we shall keep straight ahead, for this path isthe widest and best. When we come to some house we will inquire the wayto the Emerald City."
The Patchwork Girl of Oz Page 8
