“Someone has stolen her,” said the Wizard. “Do you happen to have any talented magician among your people — one who is especially clever, you know?”
“No, none especially clever. We do some magic, of course, but it is all of the ordinary kind. I do not think any of us has yet aspired to stealing Rulers, either by magic or otherwise.”
“Then we’ve come a long way for nothing!” exclaimed Trot regretfully.
“But we are going farther than this,” asserted the Patchwork Girl, bending her stuffed body backward until her yarn hair touched the floor and then walking around on her hands with her feet in the air.
The High Coco-Lorum watched Scraps admiringly.
“You may go farther on, of course,” said he, “but I advise you not to. The Herkus live back of us, beyond the thistles and the twisting lands, and they are not very nice people to meet, I assure you.”
“Are they giants?” asked Betsy.
“They are worse than that,” was the reply. “They have giants for their slaves and they are so much stronger than giants that the poor slaves dare not rebel, for fear of being torn to pieces.”
“How do you know?” asked Scraps.
“Everyone says so,” answered the High Coco-Lorum.
“Have you seen the Herkus yourself?” inquired Dorothy.
“No, but what everyone says must be true; otherwise, what would be the use of their saying it?”
“We were told, before we got here, that you people hitch dragons to your chariots,” said the little girl.
“So we do,” declared the High Coco-Lorum. “And that reminds me that I ought to entertain you, as strangers and my guests, by taking you for a ride around our splendid City of Thi.”
He touched a button and a band began to play; at least, they heard the music of a band, but couldn’t tell where it came from.
“That tune is the order to my charioteer to bring around my dragon-chariot,” said the High Coco-Lorum. “Every time I give an order it is in music, which is a much more pleasant way to address servants than in cold, stern words.”
“Does this dragon of yours bite?” asked Button-Bright.
“Mercy, no! Do you think I’d risk the safety of my innocent people by using a biting dragon to draw my chariot? I’m proud to say that my dragon is harmless — unless his steering-gear breaks — and he was manufactured at the famous dragon-factory in this City of Thi. Here he comes and you may examine him for yourselves.”
They heard a low rumble and a shrill squeaking sound and, going out to the front of the house, they saw coming around the corner a car drawn by a gorgeous jeweled dragon, which moved its head to right and left and flashed its eyes like the headlights of an automobile and uttered a growling noise as it slowly moved toward them.
When it stopped before the High Coco-Lorum’s house Toto barked sharply at the sprawling beast, but even tiny Trot could see that the dragon was not alive. Its scales were of gold and each one was set with sparkling jewels, while it walked in such a stiff, regular manner that it could be nothing else than a machine. The chariot that trailed behind it was likewise of gold and jewels, and when they entered it they found there were no seats. Everyone was supposed to stand up while riding.
The charioteer was a little diamond-headed fellow who straddled the neck of the dragon and moved the levers that made it go.
“This,” said the High Coco-Lorum, pompously, “is a wonderful invention. We are all very proud of our auto-dragons, many of which are in use by our wealthy inhabitants. Start the thing going, charioteer!”
The charioteer did not move.
“You forgot to order him in music,” suggested Dorothy.
“Ah, so I did.” He touched a button and a music-box in the dragon’s head began to play a tune. At once the little charioteer pulled over a lever and the dragon began to move — very slowly and groaning dismally as it drew the clumsy chariot after it. Toto trotted between the wheels. The Sawhorse, the Mule, the Lion and the Woozy followed after and had no trouble in keeping up with the machine; indeed, they had to go slow to keep from running into it. When the wheels turned another music-box concealed somewhere under the chariot played a lively march tune which was in striking contrast with the dragging movement of the strange vehicle and Button-Bright decided that the music he had heard when they first sighted this city was nothing else than a chariot plodding its weary way through the streets.
All the travelers from the Emerald City thought this ride the most uninteresting and dreary they had ever experienced, but the High Coco-Lorum seemed to think it was grand. He pointed out the different buildings and parks and fountains, in much the same way that the conductor of an American “sight-seeing wagon” does, and being guests they were obliged to submit to the ordeal. But they became a little worried when their host told them he had ordered a banquet prepared for them in the City Hall.
“What are we going to eat?” asked Button-Bright suspiciously.
“Thistles,” was the reply; “fine, fresh thistles, gathered this very day.”
Scraps laughed, for she never ate anything, but Dorothy said in a protesting voice:
“Our insides are not lined with gold, you know.”
“How sad!” exclaimed the High Coco-Lorum; and then he added, as an afterthought: “But we can have the thistles boiled, if you prefer.”
“I’m ‘fraid they wouldn’t taste good, even then,” said little Trot. “Haven’t you anything else to eat?”
The High Coco-Lorum shook his diamond-shaped head.
“Nothing that I know of,” said he. “But why should we have anything else, when we have so many thistles? However, if you can’t eat what we eat, don’t eat anything. We shall not be offended and the banquet will be just as merry and delightful.”
Knowing his companions were all hungry the Wizard said:
“I trust you will excuse us from the banquet, sir, which will be merry enough without us, although it is given in our honor. For, as Ozma is not in your city, we must leave here at once and seek her elsewhere.”
“Sure we must!” agreed Dorothy, and she whispered to Betsy and Trot: “I’d rather starve somewhere else than in this city, and — who knows? — we may run across somebody who eats reg’lar food and will give us some.”
So, when the ride was finished, in spite of the protests of the High Coco-Lorum they insisted on continuing their journey.
“It will soon be dark,” he objected.
“We don’t mind the darkness,” replied the Wizard.
“Some wandering Herku may get you.”
“Do you think the Herkus would hurt us?” asked Dorothy.
“I cannot say, not having the honor of their acquaintance. But they are said to be so strong that, if they had any other place to stand upon, they could lift the world.”
“All of them together?” asked Button-Bright wonderingly.
“Any one of them could do it,” said the High Coco-Lorum.
“Have you heard of any magicians being among them?” asked the Wizard, knowing that only a magician could have stolen Ozma in the way she had been stolen.
“I am told it is quite a magical country,” declared the High Coco-Lorum, “and magic is usually performed by magicians. But I have never heard that they have any invention or sorcery to equal our wonderful auto-dragons.”
They thanked him for his courtesy and, mounting their own animals, rode to the farther side of the city and right through the Wall of Illusion out into the open country.
“I’m glad we got away so easily,” said Betsy. “I didn’t like those queer-shaped people.”
“Nor did I,” agreed Dorothy. “It seems dreadful to be lined with sheets of pure gold and have nothing to eat but thistles.”
“They seemed happy and contented, though,” remarked the little Wizard, “and those who are contented have nothing to regret and nothing more to wish for.”
CHAPTER 10
For a while the
travelers were
&nbs
p; constantly losing
their direction,
for beyond
the thistle fields they again found themselves upon the turning-lands, which swung them around in such a freakish manner that first they were headed one way and then another. But by keeping the City of Thi constantly behind them the adventurers finally passed the treacherous turning-lands and came upon a stony country where no grass grew at all. There were plenty of bushes, however, and although it was now almost dark the girls discovered some delicious yellow berries growing upon the bushes, one taste of which set them all to picking as many as they could find. The berries relieved their pangs of hunger, for a time, and as it now became too dark to see anything they camped where they were.
The three girls lay down upon one of the blankets — all in a row — and then the Wizard covered them with the other blanket and tucked them in. Button-Bright crawled under the shelter of some bushes and was asleep in half a minute. The Wizard sat down with his back to a big stone and looked at the stars in the sky and thought gravely upon the dangerous adventure they had undertaken, wondering if they would ever be able to find their beloved Ozma again. The animals lay in a group by themselves, a little distance from the others.
“I’ve lost my growl!” said Toto, who had been very silent and sober all that day. “What do you suppose has become of it?”
“If you had asked me to keep track of your growl, I might be able to tell you,” remarked the Lion sleepily. “But, frankly, Toto, I supposed you were taking care of it yourself.”
“It’s an awful thing to lose one’s growl,” said Toto, wagging his tail disconsolately. “What if you lost your roar, Lion? Wouldn’t you feel terrible?”
“My roar,” replied the Lion, “is the fiercest thing about me. I depend on it to frighten my enemies so badly that they won’t dare to fight me.”
“Once,” said the Mule, “I lost my bray, so that I couldn’t call to Betsy to let her know I was hungry. That was before I could talk, you know, for I had not yet come into the Land of Oz, and I found it was certainly very uncomfortable not to be able to make a noise.”
“You make enough noise now,” declared Toto. “But none of you has answered my question: Where is my growl?”
“You may search me” said the Woozy. “I don’t care for such things myself.”
“You snore terribly,” asserted Toto.
“It may be,” said the Woozy. “What one does when asleep one is not accountable for. I wish you would wake me up, some time when I’m snoring, and let me hear the sound. Then I can judge whether it is terrible or delightful.”
“It isn’t pleasant, I assure you,” said the Lion, yawning.
“To me it seems wholly unnecessary,” declared Hank the Mule.
“You ought to break yourself of the habit,” said the Sawhorse. “You never hear me snore, because I never sleep. I don’t even whinny, as those puffy meat horses do. I wish that whoever stole Toto’s growl had taken the Mule’s bray and the Lion’s roar and the Woozy’s snore at the same time.”
“Do you think, then, that my growl was stolen?”
“You have never lost it before, have you?” inquired the Sawhorse.
“Only once, when I had a sore throat from barking too long at the moon.”
“Is your throat sore now?” asked the Woozy.
“No,” replied the dog.
“I can’t understand,” said Hank, “why dogs bark at the moon. They can’t scare the moon, and the moon doesn’t pay any attention to the bark. So why do dogs do it?”
“Were you ever a dog?” asked Toto.
“No, indeed,” replied Hank. “I am thankful to say I was created a mule — the most beautiful of all beasts — and have always remained one.”
The Woozy sat upon his square haunches to examine Hank with care.
“Beauty,” said he, “must be a matter of taste. I don’t say your judgment is bad, friend Hank, or that you are so vulgar as to be conceited. But if you admire big waggly ears, and a tail like a paint-brush, and hoofs big enough for an elephant, and a long neck and a body so skinny that one can count the ribs with one eye shut — if that’s your idea of beauty, Hank — then either you or I must be much mistaken.”
“You’re full of edges,” sneered the Mule. “If I were square, as you are, I suppose you’d think me lovely.”
“Outwardly, dear Hank, I would,” replied the Woozy. “But to be really lovely one must be beautiful without and within.”
The Mule couldn’t deny this statement, so he gave a disgusted grunt and rolled over so that his back was toward the Woozy. But the Lion, regarding the two calmly with his great yellow eyes, said to the dog:
“My dear Toto, our friends have taught us a lesson in humility. If the Woozy and the Mule are indeed beautiful creatures, as they seem to think, you and I must be decidedly ugly.”
“Not to ourselves,” protested Toto, who was a shrewd little dog. “You and I, Lion, are fine specimens of our own races. I am a fine dog and you are a fine lion. Only in point of comparison, one with another, can we be properly judged, so I will leave it to the poor old Sawhorse to decide which is the most beautiful animal among us all. The Sawhorse is wood, so he won’t be prejudiced and will speak the truth.”
“I surely will,” responded the Sawhorse, wagging his ears, which were chips set in his wooden head. “Are you all agreed to accept my judgment?”
“We are!” they declared, each one hopeful.
“Then,” said the Sawhorse, “I must point out to you the fact that you are all meat creatures, who tire unless they sleep, and starve unless they eat, and suffer from thirst unless they drink. Such animals must be very imperfect, and imperfect creatures cannot be beautiful. Now, I am made of wood.”
“You surely have a wooden head,” said the Mule.
“Yes, and a wooden body and wooden legs — which are as swift as the wind and as tireless. I’ve heard Dorothy say that ‘handsome is as handsome does,’ and I surely perform my duties in a handsome manner. Therefore, if you wish my honest judgment, I will confess that among us all I am the most beautiful.”
The Mule snorted and the Woozy laughed; Toto had lost his growl and could only look scornfully at the Sawhorse, who stood in his place unmoved. But the Lion stretched himself and yawned, saying quietly:
“Were we all like the Sawhorse we would all be Sawhorses, which would be too many of the kind; were we all like Hank, we would be a herd of mules; if like Toto, we would be a pack of dogs; should we all become the shape of the Woozy, he would no longer be remarkable for his unusual appearance. Finally, were you all like me, I would consider you so common that I would not care to associate with you. To be individual, my friends, to be different from others, is the only way to become distinguished from the common herd. Let us be glad, therefore, that we differ from one another in form and in disposition. Variety is the spice of life and we are various enough to enjoy one another’s society; so let us be content.”
“There is some truth in that speech,” remarked Toto reflectively. “But how about my lost growl?”
“The growl is of importance only to you,” responded the Lion, “so it is your business to worry over the loss, not ours. If you love us, do not inflict your burdens on us; be unhappy all by yourself.”
“If the same person stole my growl who stole Ozma,” said the little dog, “I hope we shall find him very soon and punish him as he deserves. He must be the most cruel person in all the world, for to prevent a dog from growling when it is his nature to growl is just as wicked, in my opinion, as stealing all the magic in Oz.”
CHAPTER 11
The Patchwork
Girl, who never
slept and who
could see very
well in the
dark, had wandered among the rocks and bushes all night long, with the result that she was able to tell some good news the next morning.
“Over the crest of the hill before us,” she said, “is a big grove of trees of many
kinds, on which all sorts of fruits grow. If you will go there you will find a nice breakfast awaiting you.”
This made them eager to start, so as soon as the blankets were folded and strapped to the back of the Sawhorse they all took their places on the animals and set out for the big grove Scraps had told them of.
As soon as they got over the brow of the hill they discovered it to be a really immense orchard, extending for miles to the right and left of them. As their way led straight through the trees they hurried forward as fast as possible.
The first trees they came to bore quinces, which they did not like. Then there were rows of citron trees and then crab apples and afterward limes and lemons. But beyond these they found a grove of big golden oranges, juicy and sweet, and the fruit hung low on the branches, so they could pluck it easily.
They helped themselves freely and all ate oranges as they continued on their way. Then, a little farther along, they came to some trees bearing fine red apples, which they also feasted on, and the Wizard stopped here long enough to tie a lot of the apples in one end of a blanket.
“We do not know what will happen to us after we leave this delightful orchard,” he said, “so I think it wise to carry a supply of apples with us. We can’t starve as long as we have apples, you know.”
Scraps wasn’t riding the Woozy just now. She loved to climb the trees and swing herself by the branches from one tree to another. Some of the choicest fruit was gathered by the Patchwork Girl from the very highest limbs and tossed down to the others.
Suddenly Trot asked: “Where’s Button-Bright?” and when the others looked for him they found the boy had disappeared.
“Dear me!” cried Dorothy. “I guess he’s lost again, and that will mean our waiting here until we can find him.”
“It’s a good place to wait,” suggested Betsy, who had found a plum tree and was eating some of its fruit.
“How can you wait here, and find Button-Bright, at one and the same time?” inquired the Patchwork Girl, hanging by her toes on a limb just over the heads of the three mortal girls.
“Perhaps he’ll come back here,” answered Dorothy.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 153
