Then the Woggle-Bug was escorted to the tents, where he suddenly remembered his precious plaids, and asked that the cloth he restored to him.
Thereupon the Shiek got up and made a long speech, in which he described his grief at being obliged to refuse the request.
At the end of that time one of the women came op to them with a lovely waistcoat which she had manufactured out of the Wagnerian plaids; and when the Shiek saw it he immediately ordered all the tom-toms and kettle-drums in the camp destroyed, as they were no longer necessary. Then he put on the gorgeous vestment, and turned a deaf ear to the Woggle-Bug’s agonized wails.
But there were some scraps of cloth left, and to show that he was liberal and good-natured, the Shiek ordered these manufactured into a handsome necktie, which he presented Woggle-Bug in another long speech.
Our hero, realizing a larger part of his darling was lost to him, decided to be content with the smaller share; so he put on the necktie, and felt really proud of its brilliance and aggressive elegance.
Then, bidding the Arabs farewell, he strode across the desert until he reached the borders of a more fertile and favored country.
Indeed, he found before him a cool and enticing jungle, which at first seemed deserted. But while he stared about him a sound fell upon his ear, and he saw approaching a young lady Chimpanzee. She was evidently a personage of some importance, for her hair was neatly banged just over her eyes, and she wore a clean white pinafore with bows of pink ribbon at the shoulders.
“Good morning, Mr. Beetle,” said she, with merry laughter.
“Do not, I beg of you, call me a beetle,” exclaimed our hero, rather peevishly; “for I am actually a Woggle-Bug, and Highly-Magnified at that!”
“What’s in a name?” laughed the gay damsel. “Come, let me introduce you to our jungle, where strangers of good breeding are always welcome.”
“As for breeding,” said the Woggle-Bug, “my father, although of ordinary size, was a famous Bug-Wizard in his day, and claimed descent from the original protoplasm which constituted the nucleus of the present planetary satellite upon which we exist.”
“That’s all right,” returned Miss Chim. “Tell that to our king, and he’ll decorate you with the medal of the Omnipotent Order of Onerous Orthographers, Are you ready to meander?”
The Woggle-Bug did not like the flippant tone in which maiden spoke; but he at once followed her.
Presently they came to a tall hedge surrounding the Inner Jungle, and without this hedge stood a patrol of brown bears who wore red soldier-caps and carried gold-plated muskets in their hands.
“We call this the bearier,” said Miss Chim, pointing to the soldiers, “because they oblige all strangers to paws.”
“I should think it was a bearicade,” remarked the Woggle-Bug.
But when they approached the gateway the officer in charge saluted respectfully to Miss Chim, and permitted her to escort the Woggle-Bug into the sacred precincts of the Inner Jungle.
Here his eyes were soon opened to their widest capacity in genuine astonishment.
The Jungle was as clean and as well-regulated as any city of men the Insect had ever visited. Just within the gate a sleek antelope was running a pop-corn stand, and a little further on a screech-owl stood upon a stump playing a violin, while across her breast was a sign reading: “I am blind — at present.”
As they walked up the street they came to a big grey monkey turning a hand-organ, and attached to a cord was a little nigger-boy whom the monkey sent into the crowd of animals, standing by to gather up the pennies, pulling him back every now and then by means of the cord.
“There’s a curious animal for you,” said Miss Chim, pointing to the boy. “Those horrid things they call men, whether black or white, seem to me the lowest of all created beasts.”
“I have seen them in a highly civilized state,” replied the Woggle-Bug, “and they’re really further advanced than you might suppose.”
But Miss Chim gave a scornful laugh, and pulled him away to where a hippopotamus sat under the shade of a big tree, mopping his brow with a red handkerchief — for the weather was somewhat sultry. Before the hip was a table covered with a blue cloth, and upon the cloth was embroidered the words: “Professor Hipmus, Fortune Teller.”
“Want your fortune told?” asked Miss Chim.
“I don’t mind,” replied the Woggle-Bug.
“I’ll read your hand,” said the Professor, with a yawn that startled the insect. “To my notion palmistry is the best means of finding out what nobody knows or cares to know.”
He took the upper-right hand of the Woggle-Bug, and after adjusting his spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom.
“You have been in love,” announced the Professor; “but you got it in the neck.”
“True!” murmured the astonished Insect, putting up his left lower hand to feel of the beloved necktie.
“You think you have won,” continued the Hip; “but there are others who have 1, 2. You have many heart throbs before you, during your future life. Afterward I see no heart throbs whatever. Forty cents, please.”
“Isn’t he just wonderful?” asked Miss Chim, with enthusiasm. “He’s the greatest fortune teller in the jungle.”
“On account of his size, I suppose,” returned the Woggle-Bug, as they walked on.
Soon they came to the Royal Palace, which was a beautiful bower formed of vines upon which grew many brilliant-hued forest flowers. The entrance was guarded by a Zebra, who barred admission until Miss Chim whispered the password in his ear. Then he permitted them to enter, and the Chimpanzee immediately ushered the Woggle-Bug into the presence of King Weasel.
This monarch lay coiled upon a purple silk cushion, half asleep and yet wakeful enough to be smoking a big cigar. Beside him crouched two prairie-dogs who were combing his hair very carefully, while a red squirrel perched near his head and fanned him with her bushy tail.
“Dear me, what have we here?” exclaimed the King of the Jungle, in a querulous tone, “Is it an over-grown pinch-bug, or is it a kissing-bug?”
“I have the honor to be a Woggle-Bug, your Majesty!” replied our hero, proudly.
“Sav, cut out that Majesty,” snapped the King, with a scowl. “If you can find anything majestic about me, I’d like to know what it is.”
“Don’t treat him with any respect,” whispered Miss Chim to the Insect, “or you’ll get him riled. Sneer at him, and slap his face if you get a chance.”
The Woggle-Bug took the hint.
“Really,” he told the King. “I have never seen a more despicable creature than you. The admirable perspicacity inherent in your tribe seems to have deteriorated in you to a hyperbolated insousancy.” Then he reached out his arms and slapped the king four times, twice on one side of his face and twice on the other.
“Thanks, my dear June-Bug,” said the monarch; “I now recognize you to be a person of some importance.”
“Sire, I am a Woggle-Bug, highly magnified and thoroughly educated. It is no exaggeration to say I am the greatest Woggle-Bug on earth.”
“I fully believe it, so pray do not play any more foursomes on my jaw. I am sufficiently humiliated at this moment to recognize you as a Sullivanthauros, should you claim to be a member of that extinct race.”
Then two little weasels — a boy weasel and a girl weasel — came into the bower and threw their school-books at the squirrel so cleverly that one hit the King upon the nose and smashed his cigar and the other caught him fairly in the pit of his stomach.
At first the monarch howled a bit; then he wiped the tears from his face and said:
“Ah, what delightful children I have! What do you wish, my darlings?”
“I want a cent for chewing gum,” said the Girl Weasel.
“Get it from the Guinea-Pig; you have my assent. And what does my dear boy want?”
“Pop,” went the Weasel, “our billy-goat has swallowed the hare you gave me to play with.”
“Dear me,” sighed the King, “how often I find a hair in the butter! Whenever I reign people carry umbrellas; and my son, although quite polished, indulges only in monkey-shines! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown! but if one is scalped, the loss of the crown renders the head still more uneasy.”
“Couldn’t they find a better king than you?” enquired the Woggle-Bug, curiously, as the children left the bower.
“Yes; but no worse,” answered the Weasel; “and here in the jungle honors are conferred only upon the unworthy. For if a truly great animal is honored he gets a swelled head, and that renders him unbearable. They now regard the King of the Jungle with contempt, and that makes all my subjects self-respecting.”
“There is wisdom in that,” declared the Woggle-Bug, approvingly; “a single glance at you makes me content with being so excellent a bug.”
“True,” murmured the King, yawning. “But you tire me, good stranger. Miss Chim, will you kindly get the gasoline can? It’s high time to eradicate this insect.”
“With pleasure,” said Miss Chim, moving away with a smile.
But the Woggle-Bug did not linger to be eradicated. With one wild bound he cleared the door of the palace and sprinted up the entrance of the Jungle. The bear soldiers saw him running away, and took careful aim and fired. But the gold-plated muskets would not shoot straight, and now the Woggle-Bug was far distant, and still running with all his might.
Nor did he pause until he had emerged from the forest and crossed the plains, and reached at last the city from whence he had escaped in the balloon. And, once again in his old lodgings, he looked at himself in the mirror and said:
“After all, this necktie is my love — and my love is now mine forevermore! Why should I not be happy and content?”
THE END
OZMA OF OZ
Ozma of Oz was Baum’s third OZ book, published in 1907 by Reilly & Britton and illustrated by John R. Neill. Although most of the action takes place outside of Oz, it was with this book that Baum began to plan a series. The novel begins as vacationing Dorothy Gale and her Uncle Henry board a steamship bound for Australia. Dorothy falls overboard during a violent storm and, along with a yellow hen named Billina, drifts away in a large poultry crate. They arrive on the shore of a strange land and discover that Billina is able to talk. Lunch pails grow on trees and there are strange creatures known as Wheelers, with wheels instead of hands or feet. As they travel through the land of Ev, they meet Tik-Tok, a mechanical man, and are captured by the head-changing Princess Langwidere. Ozma of Oz comes to their rescue, along with old friends, the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion. In order to rescue the royal family of Ev, Dorothy and her friends must travel to the land of the Nome King. Readers also meet the Nome King, Roquat the Red, for the first time. After more adventures, Ozma officially names Dorothy a Princess of Oz.
A first edition copy of Ozma of Oz
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
1. The Girl in the Chicken Coop
2. The Yellow Hen
3. Letters in the Sand
4. Tiktok the Machine Man
5. Dorothy Opens the Dinner Pail
6. The Heads of Langwidere
7. Ozma of Oz to the Rescue
8. The Hungry Tiger
9. The Royal Family of Ev
10. The Giant with the Hammer
11. The Nome King
12. The Eleven Guesses
13. The Nome King Laughs
14. Dorothy Tries to be Brave
15. Billina Frightens the Nome King
16. Purple, Green, and Gold
17. The Scarecrow Wins the Fight
18. The Fate of the Tin Woodman
19. The King of Ev
20. The Emerald City
21. Dorothy’s Magic Belt
An edition prior to 1935 featuring color plates
A copy of the 1959 edition
OZMA OF OZ
A Record of Her Adventures with Dorothy Gale of
Kansas, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Tin
Woodman, Tiktok, the Cowardly Lion and
the Hungry Tiger; Besides Other Good
People too Numerous to Mention
Faithfully Recorded Herein
by
L. Frank Baum
Author’s Note
My friends the children are responsible for this new “Oz Book,” as they were for the last one, which was called The Land of Oz. Their sweet little letters plead to know “more about Dorothy”; and they ask: “What became of the Cowardly Lion?” and “What did Ozma do afterward?”--meaning, of course, after she became the Ruler of Oz. And some of them suggest plots to me, saying: “Please have Dorothy go to the Land of Oz again”; or, “Why don’t you make Ozma and Dorothy meet, and have a good time together?” Indeed, could I do all that my little friends ask, I would be obliged to write dozens of books to satisfy their demands. And I wish I could, for I enjoy writing these stories just as much as the children say they enjoy reading them.
Well, here is “more about Dorothy,” and about our old friends the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and about the Cowardly Lion, and Ozma, and all the rest of them; and here, likewise, is a good deal about some new folks that are queer and unusual. One little friend, who read this story before it was printed, said to me: “Billina is REAL OZZY, Mr. Baum, and so are Tiktok and the Hungry Tiger.”
If this judgment is unbiased and correct, and the little folks find this new story “real Ozzy,” I shall be very glad indeed that I wrote it. But perhaps I shall get some more of those very welcome letters from my readers, telling me just how they like “Ozma of Oz.” I hope so, anyway.
L. FRANK BAUM.
MACATAWA, 1907.
1. The Girl in the Chicken Coop
The wind blew hard and joggled the water of the ocean, sending ripples across its surface. Then the wind pushed the edges of the ripples until they became waves, and shoved the waves around until they became billows. The billows rolled dreadfully high: higher even than the tops of houses. Some of them, indeed, rolled as high as the tops of tall trees, and seemed like mountains; and the gulfs between the great billows were like deep valleys.
All this mad dashing and splashing of the waters of the big ocean, which the mischievous wind caused without any good reason whatever, resulted in a terrible storm, and a storm on the ocean is liable to cut many queer pranks and do a lot of damage.
At the time the wind began to blow, a ship was sailing far out upon the waters. When the waves began to tumble and toss and to grow bigger and bigger the ship rolled up and down, and tipped sidewise--first one way and then the other--and was jostled around so roughly that even the sailor-men had to hold fast to the ropes and railings to keep themselves from being swept away by the wind or pitched headlong into the sea.
And the clouds were so thick in the sky that the sunlight couldn’t get through them; so that the day grew dark as night, which added to the terrors of the storm.
The Captain of the ship was not afraid, because he had seen storms before, and had sailed his ship through them in safety; but he knew that his passengers would be in danger if they tried to stay on deck, so he put them all into the cabin and told them to stay there until after the storm was over, and to keep brave hearts and not be scared, and all would be well with them.
Now, among these passengers was a little Kansas girl named Dorothy Gale, who was going with her Uncle Henry to Australia, to visit some relatives they had never before seen. Uncle Henry, you must know, was not very well, because he had been working so hard on his Kansas farm that his health had given way and left him weak and nervous. So he left Aunt Em at home to watch after the hired men and to take care of the farm, while he traveled far away to Australia to visit his cousins and have a good rest.
Dorothy was eager to go with him on this journey, and Uncle Henry thought she would be good company and help cheer him up; so he decided to take her along. The little girl was quite an experienced traveller,
for she had once been carried by a cyclone as far away from home as the marvelous Land of Oz, and she had met with a good many adventures in that strange country before she managed to get back to Kansas again. So she wasn’t easily frightened, whatever happened, and when the wind began to howl and whistle, and the waves began to tumble and toss, our little girl didn’t mind the uproar the least bit.
“Of course we’ll have to stay in the cabin,” she said to Uncle Henry and the other passengers, “and keep as quiet as possible until the storm is over. For the Captain says if we go on deck we may be blown overboard.”
No one wanted to risk such an accident as that, you may be sure; so all the passengers stayed huddled up in the dark cabin, listening to the shrieking of the storm and the creaking of the masts and rigging and trying to keep from bumping into one another when the ship tipped sidewise.
Dorothy had almost fallen asleep when she was aroused with a start to find that Uncle Henry was missing. She couldn’t imagine where he had gone, and as he was not very strong she began to worry about him, and to fear he might have been careless enough to go on deck. In that case he would be in great danger unless he instantly came down again.
The fact was that Uncle Henry had gone to lie down in his little sleeping-berth, but Dorothy did not know that. She only remembered that Aunt Em had cautioned her to take good care of her uncle, so at once she decided to go on deck and find him, in spite of the fact that the tempest was now worse than ever, and the ship was plunging in a really dreadful manner. Indeed, the little girl found it was as much as she could do to mount the stairs to the deck, and as soon as she got there the wind struck her so fiercely that it almost tore away the skirts of her dress. Yet Dorothy felt a sort of joyous excitement in defying the storm, and while she held fast to the railing she peered around through the gloom and thought she saw the dim form of a man clinging to a mast not far away from her. This might be her uncle, so she called as loudly as she could:
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 28
