“He eats enough to get fat, I’m sure,” said the boy, gravely.
“Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I’ve had today?” growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb’s speech.
“None of us has had breakfast,” said the boy; “and in a time of danger like this it’s foolish to talk about eating.”
“Nothing is more dangerous than being without food,” declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; “and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!”
“COME ON, JIM! IT’S ALL RIGHT.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground.”
“Why don’t you walk down?” asked Eureka. “I’m as hungry as the horse is, and I want my milk.”
“Will you try it, Zeb” asked the girl, turning to her companion.
Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof.
Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them.
“Come on, Jim!” called the boy. “It’s all right.”
Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred.
“Well, well!” said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, “What a strange country this is.”
People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. They simply stared at the strangers, paying most attention to Jim and Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves.
Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller than Dorothy:
“Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?”
For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered:
“No, sir; we didn’t cause anything. It was the earthquake.”
The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then he asked:
“What is an earthquake?”
“I don’t know,” said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered:
“It’s a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell through — horse and buggy, and all — and the stones got loose and came down with us.”
The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes.
“The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city,” he said; “and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence.”
“How can we do that?” asked the girl.
“That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth.”
“Where is the House of the Sorcerer?” the girl enquired.
“I will lead you to it. Come!”
He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment’s hesitation Dorothy caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat beside her and said: “Gid-dap, Jim.”
As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner.
CHAPTER 3.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE WIZARD
THE doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall.
“Come to us, oh, Gwig!” called the man, in a loud voice.
Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before Jim’s nose. He was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him.
The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant.
“Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land of the Mangaboos?” he asked, sternly.
“‘Cause we couldn’t help it,” said Dorothy.
“Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break our houses?” he continued.
“We didn’t,” declared the girl.
“Prove it!” cried the Sorcerer.
“We don’t have to prove it,” answered Dorothy, indignantly. “If you had any sense at all you’d known it was the earthquake.”
“We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and soon after it you appeared among us.”
“By the way,” said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer, “you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?”
“My sorcery does tell the truth!” declared the thorn-covered man. “I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them.”
“Will there be any more Rains?” asked the man with the star.
“No, my Prince.”
“Neither stones nor people?”
“No, my Prince.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so.”
Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after making a low bow.
“More wonders in the air, my Lord,” said he.
Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran
after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his throne.
Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air — so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move.
The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer, with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy.
Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties.
In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement.
Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around him. He was quite an old little man, and his head was long and entirely bald.
“Why,” cried Dorothy, in amazement, “it’s Oz!”
The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But he smiled and bowed as he answered:
“Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well.”
“Who did you say it was?” whispered Zeb to the girl.
“It’s the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven’t you heard of him?”
Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard.
“Sir,” said he, “why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?”
“Didn’t know what land it was, my son,” returned the other, with a pleasant smile; “and, to be honest, I didn’t mean to visit you when I started out. I live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, I’ll go with pleasure. Sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn’t be helped.”
The Prince had listened with attention. Said he:
“This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?”
“It’s better,” replied Oz, promptly. “One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers.”
“Ah, you shall prove that,” said the Prince. “We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?”
“Never!” declared the Wizard, boldly.
“Oh, Oz!” said Dorothy; “you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous Land of Oz.”
“Nonsense!” said the little man, turning red — although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face.
“Come with me,” said the Prince to him. “I wish you to meet our Sorcerer.”
The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also.
There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles.
“What an absurd creature!” he exclaimed.
“He may look absurd,” said the Prince, in his quiet voice; “but he is an excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often wrong.”
“I am never wrong,” answered the Sorcerer.
“Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of People,” said the Prince.
“Well, what then?”
“Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong.”
“One person cannot be called ‘people,’“ said the Sorcerer. “If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right.”
“Very clever,” said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. “I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?”
“No,” said the Sorcerer.
“You ought to join one,” declared the little man seriously. “I belong to Bailum & Barney’s Great Consolidated Shows — three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It’s a fine aggregation, I assure you.”
“What do you do?” asked the Sorcerer.
“I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. But I’ve just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than I intended. But never mind. It isn’t everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos.”
“Mangaboos,” said the Sorcerer, correcting him. “If you are a Wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names.”
“Oh, I’m a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a Sorcerer.”
“That remains to be seen,” said the other.
“If you are able to prove that you are better,” said the Prince to the little man, “I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise — ”
“What will happen otherwise?” asked the Wizard.
“I will stop you from living, and forbid you to be planted,” returned the Prince.
“That does not sound especially pleasant,” said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. “But never mind. I’ll beat Old Prickly, all right.”
“My name is Gwig,” said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. “Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform.”
He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall.
The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer.
Now was the Wizard’s turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked:
“Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?”
No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air.
“Ahem!” said the Wizard, “will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?”
But they had no handkerchiefs, either.
“Very good,” remarked the Wizard. “I’ll use my own hat, if you please. Now, good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty.” He took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly.
“Let me see it,” said the Sorcerer.
He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the Wizard.
“Now,” said the little man, “I will create something out of nothing.”
He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice.
The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled i
t apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant.
He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way.
“Now,” said the Wizard of Oz, “having created something from nothing, I will make something nothing again.”
With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely.
The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice:
“You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my Sorcerer.”
“He will not be a wonderful Wizard long,” remarked Gwig.
“Why not?” enquired the Wizard.
“Because I am going to stop your breath,” was the reply. “I perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive.”
The little man looked troubled.
“How long will it take you to stop my breath?” he asked.
“About five minutes. I’m going to begin now. Watch me carefully.”
He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to take effect.
So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 42
