“Now,” said Tip, instructing the Sawhorse, “if you wiggle your legs you will probably swim; and if you swim we shall probably reach the other side.”
The Sawhorse at once began to wiggle its legs, which acted as oars and moved the adventurers slowly across the river to the opposite side. So successful was the trip that presently they were climbing, wet and dripping, up the grassy bank.
Tip’s trouser-legs and shoes were thoroughly soaked; but the Sawhorse had floated so perfectly that from his knees up the boy was entirely dry. As for the Pumpkinhead, every stitch of his gorgeous clothing dripped water.
“The sun will soon dry us,” said Tip, “and, anyhow, we are now safely across, in spite of the ferryman, and can continue our journey.”
“I didn’t mind swimming, at all,” remarked the horse.
“Nor did I,” added Jack.
They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a continuation of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip once more mounted the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Sawhorse.
“If you ride fast,” said he, “the wind will help to dry your clothing. I will hold on to the horse’s tail and run after you. In this way we all will become dry in a very short time.”
“Then the horse must step lively,” said Jack.
“I’ll do my best,” returned the Sawhorse, cheerfully.
Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the Sawhorse, and called loudly: “Get-up!”
The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he decided they could go faster, so he shouted: “Trot!”
Now, the Sawhorse remembered that this word was the command to go as fast as he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous pace, and Tip had hard work—running faster than he ever had before in his life—to keep his feet.
Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call “Whoa!” to the horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then the end of the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead branch, suddenly broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in the dust of the road, while the horse and its pumpkinheaded rider dashed on and quickly disappeared in the distance.
By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his throat so he could say “Whoa!” there was no further need of saying it, for the horse was long since out of sight.
So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a good rest, and afterward began walking along the road.
“Some time I will surely overtake them,” he reflected; “for the road will end at the gates of the Emerald City, and they can go no further than that.”
Meantime Jack was holding fast to the post and the Sawhorse was tearing along the road like a racer. Neither of them knew Tip was left behind, for the Pumpkinhead did not look around and the Sawhorse couldn’t.
As he rode, Jack noticed that the grass and trees had become a bright emerald-green in color, so he guessed they were nearing the Emerald City even before the tall spires and domes came into sight.
At length a high wall of green stone, studded thick with emeralds, loomed up before them; and fearing the Sawhorse would not know enough to stop and so might smash them both against this wall, Jack ventured to cry “Whoa!” as loud as he could.
So suddenly did the horse obey that had it not been for his post Jack would have been pitched off head foremost, and his beautiful face ruined.
“That was a fast ride, dear father!” he exclaimed; and then, hearing no reply, he turned around and discovered for the first time that Tip was not there.
This apparent desertion puzzled the Pumpkinhead, and made him uneasy. And while he was wondering what had become of the boy, and what he ought to do next under such trying circumstances, the gateway in the green wall opened and a man came out.
This man was short and round, with a fat face that seemed remarkably good-natured. He was clothed all in green and wore a high, peaked green hat upon his head and green spectacles over his eyes. Bowing before the Pumpkinhead he said:
“I am the Guardian of the Gates of the Emerald City. May I inquire who you are, and what is your business?”
“My name is Jack Pumpkinhead,” returned the other, smilingly; “but as to my business, I haven’t the least idea in the world what it is.”
The Guardian of the Gates looked surprised, and shook his head as if dissatisfied with the reply.
“What are you, a man or a pumpkin?” he asked, politely.
“Both, if you please,” answered Jack.
“And this wooden horse—is it alive?” questioned the Guardian.
The horse rolled one knotty eye upward and winked at Jack. Then it gave a prance and brought one leg down on the Guardian’s toes.
“Ouch!” cried the man; “I’m sorry I asked that question. But the answer is most convincing. Have you any errand, sir, in the Emerald City?”
“It seems to me that I have,” replied the Pumpkinhead, seriously; “but I cannot think what it is. My father knows all about it, but he is not here.”
“This is a strange affair—very strange!” declared the Guardian. “But you seem harmless. Folks do not smile so delightfully when they mean mischief.”
“As for that,” said Jack, “I cannot help my smile, for it is carved on my face with a jack-knife.”
“Well, come with me into my room,” resumed the Guardian, “and I will see what can be done for you.”
So Jack rode the Sawhorse through the gateway into a little room built into the wall. The Guardian pulled a bell-cord, and presently a very tall soldier—clothed in a green uniform—entered from the opposite door. This soldier carried a long green gun over his shoulder and had lovely green whiskers that fell quite to his knees. The Guardian at once addressed him, saying:
“Here is a strange gentleman who doesn’t know why he has come to the Emerald City, or what he wants. Tell me, what shall we do with him?”
The Soldier with the Green Whiskers looked at Jack with much care and curiosity. Finally he shook his head so positively that little waves rippled down his whiskers, and then he said:
“I must take him to his Majesty, the Scarecrow.”
“But what will his Majesty, the Scarecrow, do with him?” asked the Guardian of the Gates.
“That is his Majesty’s business,” returned the Soldier. “I have troubles enough of my own. All outside troubles must be turned over to his Majesty. So put the spectacles on this fellow, and I’ll take him to the royal palace.”
So the Guardian opened a big box of spectacles and tried to fit a pair to Jack’s great round eyes.
“I haven’t a pair in stock that will really cover those eyes up,” said the little man, with a sigh; “and your head is so big that I shall be obliged to tie the spectacles on.”
“But why need I wear spectacles?” asked Jack.
“It’s the fashion here,” said the Soldier, “and they will keep you from being blinded by the glitter and glare of the gorgeous Emerald City.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “Tie them on, by all means. I don’t wish to be blinded.”
“Nor I!” broke in the Sawhorse; so a pair of green spectacles was quickly fastened over the bulging knots that served it for eyes.
Then the Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them through the inner gate and they at once found themselves in the main street of the magnificent Emerald City.
Sparkling green gems ornamented the fronts of the beautiful houses and the towers and turrets were all faced with emeralds. Even the green marble pavement glittered with precious stones, and it was indeed a grand and marvelous sight to one who beheld it for the first time.
However, the Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse, knowing nothing of wealth and beauty, paid little attention to the wonderful sights they saw through their green spectacles. They calmly followed after the green Soldier and scarcely noticed the crowds of green people who stared at them in surprise. When a green dog ran out and ba
rked at them the Sawhorse promptly kicked at it with its wooden leg and sent the little animal howling into one of the houses; but nothing more serious than this happened to interrupt their progress to the royal palace.
The Pumpkinhead wanted to ride up the green marble steps and straight into the Scarecrow’s presence; but the Soldier would not permit that. So Jack dismounted, with much difficulty, and a servant led the Sawhorse around to the rear while the Soldier with the Green Whiskers escorted the Pumpkinhead into the palace, by the front entrance.
The stranger was left in a handsomely furnished waiting room while the Soldier went to announce him. It so happened that at this hour his Majesty was at leisure and greatly bored for want of something to do, so he ordered his visitor to be shown at once into his Throne Room.
Jack felt no fear or embarrassment at meeting the Ruler of this magnificent city, for he was entirely ignorant of all worldly customs. But when he entered the room and saw for the first time his Majesty, the Scarecrow, seated upon his glittering throne, he stopped short in amazement.
Chapter 7
H is MAJESTY, the SCARECROW
suppose every reader of this book knows what a scarecrow is; but Jack Pumpkinhead, never having seen such a creation, was more surprised at meeting the remarkable King of the Emerald City than by any other one experience of his brief life.
His Majesty, the Scarecrow, was dressed in a suit of faded blue clothes, and his head was merely a small sack stuffed with straw, upon which eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth had been rudely painted to represent a face. The clothes were also stuffed with straw, and that so unevenly or carelessly that his Majesty’s legs and arms seemed more bumpy than was necessary. Upon his hands were gloves with long fingers, and these were padded with cotton. Wisps of straw stuck out from the monarch’s coat and also from his neck and boot-tops. Upon his head he wore a heavy golden crown set thick with sparkling jewels, and the weight of this crown caused his brow to sag in wrinkles, giving a thoughtful expression to the painted face. Indeed, the crown alone betokened majesty; in all else the Scarecrow King was but a simple scarecrow—flimsy, awkward, and unsubstantial.
But if the strange appearance of his Majesty, the Scarecrow, seemed startling to Jack, no less wonderful was the form of the Pumpkinhead to the Scarecrow. The purple trousers and pink waistcoat and red shirt hung loosely over the wooden joints Tip had manufactured, and the carved face on the pumpkin grinned perpetually, as if its wearer considered life the jolliest thing imaginable.
At first, indeed, his Majesty thought his queer visitor was laughing at him, and was inclined to resent such a liberty; but it was not without reason that the Scarecrow had attained the reputation of being the wisest personage in the Land of Oz. He made a more careful examination of his visitor, and soon discovered that Jack’s features were carved into a smile and that he could not look grave if he wished to.
The King was the first to speak. After regarding Jack for some minutes he said, in a tone of wonder:
“Where on earth did you come from, and how do you happen to be alive?”
“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” returned the Pumpkinhead; “but I do not understand you.”
“What don’t you understand?” asked the Scarecrow.
“Why, I don’t understand your language. You see, I came from the Country of the Gillikins, so that I am a foreigner.”
“Ah, to be sure!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “I myself speak the language of the Munchkins, which is also the language of the Emerald City. But you, I suppose, speak the language of the Pumpkinheads?”
“Exactly so, your Majesty” replied the other, bowing; “so it will be impossible for us to understand one another.”
“That is unfortunate, certainly,” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “We must have an interpreter.”
“What is an interpreter?” asked Jack.
“A person who understands both my language and your own. When I say anything, the interpreter can tell you what I mean; and when you say anything the interpreter can tell me what you mean. For the interpreter can speak both languages as well as understand them.”
“That is certainly clever,” said Jack, greatly pleased at finding so simple a way out of the difficulty.
So the Scarecrow commanded the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to search among his people until he found one who understood the language of the Gillikins as well as the language of the Emerald City, and to bring that person to him at once.
When the Soldier had departed the Scarecrow said:
“Won’t you take a chair while we are waiting?”
“Your Majesty forgets that I cannot understand you,” replied the Pumpkinhead. “If you wish me to sit down you must make a sign for me to do so.”
The Scarecrow came down from his throne and rolled an armchair to a position behind the Pumpkinhead. Then he gave Jack a sudden push that sent him sprawling upon the cushions in so awkward a fashion that he doubled up like a jack-knife, and had hard work to untangle himself.
“Did you understand that sign?” asked his Majesty, politely.
“Perfectly,” declared Jack, reaching up his arms to turn his head to the front, the pumpkin having twisted around upon the stick that supported it.
“You seem hastily made,” remarked the Scarecrow, watching Jack’s efforts to straighten himself.
“Not more so than your Majesty,” was the frank reply.
“There is this difference between us,” said the Scarecrow, “that whereas I will bend, but not break, you will break, but not bend.”
At this moment the Soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand. She seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful green eyes and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees, showing silk stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin slippers with bunches of lettuce for decorations instead of bows or buckles. Upon her silken waist clover leaves were embroidered, and she wore a jaunty little jacket trimmed with sparkling emeralds of a uniform size.
“Why, it’s little Jellia Jamb!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as the green maiden bowed her pretty head before him. “Do you understand the language of the Gillikins, my dear?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” she answered, “for I was born in the North Country.”
“Then you shall be our interpreter,” said the Scarecrow, “and explain to this Pumpkinhead all that I say, and also explain to me all that he says. Is this arrangement satisfactory?” he asked, turning toward his guest.
“Very satisfactory indeed,” was the reply.
“Then ask him, to begin with,” resumed the Scarecrow, turning to Jellia, “what brought him to the Emerald City.”
But instead of this the girl, who had been staring at Jack, said to him:
“You are certainly a wonderful creature. Who made you?”
“A boy named Tip,” answered Jack.
“What does he say?” inquired the Scarecrow. “My ears must have deceived me. What did he say?”
“He says that your Majesty’s brains seem to have come loose,” replied the girl, demurely.
The Scarecrow moved uneasily upon his throne, and felt of his head with his left hand.
“What a fine thing it is to understand two different languages,” he said, with a perplexed sigh. “Ask him, my dear, if he has any objection to being put in jail for insulting the Ruler of the Emerald City.”
“I didn’t insult you!” protested Jack, indignantly.
“Tut—tut!” cautioned the Scarecrow “wait until Jellia translates my speech. What have we got an interpreter for, if you break out in this rash way?”
“All right, I’ll wait,” replied the Pumpkinhead, in a surly tone—although his face smiled as genially as ever. “Translate the speech, young woman.”
“His Majesty inquires if you are hungry,” said Jellia.
“Oh, not at all!” answered Jack, more pleasantly, “for it is impossible for me to eat.”
“It’s the same way with me,” remarked the S
carecrow. “What did he say, Jellia, my dear?”
“He asked if you were aware that one of your eyes is painted larger than the other,” said the girl, mischievously.
“Don’t you believe her, your Majesty,” cried Jack.
“Oh, I don’t,” answered the Scarecrow, calmly. Then, casting a sharp look at the girl, he asked:
“Are you quite certain you understand the languages of both the Gillikins and the Munchkins?”
“Quite certain, your Majesty,” said Jellia Jamb, trying hard not to laugh in the face of royalty.
“Then how is it that I seem to understand them myself?” inquired the Scarecrow.
“Because they are one and the same!” declared the girl, now laughing merrily. “Does not your Majesty know that in all the Land of Oz but one language is spoken?”
“Is it indeed so?” cried the Scarecrow, much relieved to hear this; “then I might easily have been my own interpreter!”
“It was all my fault, your Majesty,” said Jack, looking rather foolish, “I thought we must surely speak different languages, since we came from different countries.”
“This should be a warning to you never to think,” returned the Scarecrow, severely. “For unless one can think wisely it is better to remain a dummy—which you most certainly are.”
“I am!—I surely am!” agreed the Pumpkinhead.
“It seems to me,” continued the Scarecrow, more mildly, “that your manufacturer spoiled some good pies to create an indifferent man.”
“I assure your Majesty that I did not ask to be created,” answered Jack.
“Ah! It was the same in my case,” said the King, pleasantly. “And so, as we differ from all ordinary people, let us become friends.”
“With all my heart!” exclaimed Jack.
“What! Have you a heart?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised.
“No; that was only imaginative—I might say, a figure of speech,” said the other.
“Well, your most prominent figure seems to be a figure of wood; so I must beg you to restrain an imagination which, having no brains, you have no right to exercise,” suggested the Scarecrow, warningly.
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