Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Wampus,” she said, “let me into the limousine, please. The night is so perfect I’ve decided to sleep here in the car.”

  The chauffeur jumped down and opened the door.

  “One moment an’ I make up the beds for all,” he said.

  “Never mind that,” Beth answered. “The others are all asleep, I’m sure.”

  Wampus shook his head.

  “They all be here pretty soon,” he predicted, and proceeded to deftly prepare the interior of the limousine for the expected party. When Beth had entered the car Wampus pitched the lean-to tent and arranged the cots as he was accustomed to do when they “camped out.”

  Scarcely had he completed this task when Patsy and Myrtle appeared. They began to explain their presence, but Wampus interrupted them, saying:

  “All right, Miss Patsy an’ Miss Myrtle. Your beds he made up an’ Miss

  ‘Lizbeth already asleep in him.”

  So they crept inside with sighs of relief, and Wampus had just mounted to the front seat again and disposed himself to rest when Uncle John trotted up, clad in his trousers and shirt, with the balance of his apparel clasped in his arms. He looked at the tent with pleased approval.

  “Good boy, Wampus!” he exclaimed. “That room they gave me is an inferno. I’m afraid our young ladies won’t sleep a wink.”

  “Oh, yes,” returned Wampus with a nod; “all three now inside car, safe an’ happy.”

  “I’m glad of it. How was your own room, Wampus?”

  “I have not seen him, sir. But I have suspect him; so I sleep here.”

  “You are a wise chauffeur — a rare genus, in other words. Good night,

  Wampus. Where’s the Major?”

  Wampus chuckled.

  “In hotel. Sir, do the Major swear sometime?”

  Uncle John crept under the tent.

  “If he does,” he responded, “he’s swearing this blessed minute.

  Anyhow, I’ll guarantee he’s not asleep.”

  Wampus again mounted to his perch.

  “No use my try to sleep ‘til Major he come,” he muttered, and settled himself to wait.

  It was not long.

  Presently some one approached on a run, and a broad grin overspread the chauffeur’s features. The Major had not delayed his escape long enough to don his trousers even; he had grabbed his belongings in both arms and fled in his blue and white striped undergarments.

  Wampus leaped down and lifted the flap of the tent. The Major paused long enough in the moonlight to stare at the chauffeur and say sternly:

  “If you utter one syllable, you rascal, I’ll punch your head!”

  Wampus was discreet. He said not a word.

  CHAPTER XVII

  YELLOW POPPIES

  “So this is California!” exclaimed Patsy gleefully, as the automobile left Parker and crossed the Arizona line.

  “But it doesn’t look any different,” said Myrtle, peering out of the window.

  “Of course not,” observed Uncle John. “A State boundary is a man-made thing, and doesn’t affect the country a bit. We’ve just climbed a miniature mountain back in Arizona, and now we must climb a mate to it in California. But the fact is, we’ve entered at last the Land of Enchantment, and every mile now will bring us nearer and nearer to the roses and sunshine.”

  “There’s sunshine here now,” declared the Major. “We’ve had it right along. But I haven’t seen the roses yet, and a pair of ear muffs wouldn’t be uncomfortable in this cutting breeze.”

  “The air is rather crisp,” admitted Uncle John. “But we’re still in the mountainous district, and Haggerty says — ”

  The Major coughed derisively and Mumbles barked and looked at Uncle

  John sagaciously.

  “Haggerty says — ”

  “Is that a rabbit or a squirrel? Something has caught the eye of our

  Mumbles,” interrupted the Major, pointing vaguely across the mesa.

  “Haggerty says — ”

  “I wonder if Mumbles could catch ‘em,” remarked the Major, with complacence.

  “He says that every mile we travel brings us nearer the scent of the orange blossoms and the glare of the yellow poppies,” persisted Uncle John. “You see, we’ve taken the Southern route, after all, for soon we shall be on the Imperial road, which leads to San Diego — in the heart of the gorgeous Southland.”

  “What is the Imperial road?” inquired Beth.

  “The turnpike through Imperial Valley, said to be the richest bit of land in all the world, not excepting the famous Nile banks of Egypt. There is no railway there yet, but the Valley is settling very fast, and Haggerty says — ”

  “How remarkable!” exclaimed the Major, gazing straight ahead. And again Mumbles, curled in Patsy’s lap, lifted his shaggy head and gave a wailing bark.

  Uncle John frowned, but was loyal to Haggerty.

  “He says that if America was now unknown to all the countries of the world, Imperial would soon make it famous. They grow wonderful crops there — strawberries and melons the year around, as well as all the tropical and semi-tropical fruits and grains, flowers and vines known to any country yet discovered.”

  “Do we go to Imperial?” asked Myrtle, eagerly.

  “I think not, my dear; we just skirt the edge of the Valley. It’s rather wild and primitive there yet; for although many settlers are flocking to that favored district Imperial is large enough to be an empire by itself. However, we shall find an ideal climate at Coronado, by the edge of the blue Pacific, and there and at Los Angeles we shall rest from our journey and get acquainted with the wonders of the Golden State. Has the trip tired you, girls?”

  “Not me,” answered Beth, promptly. “I’ve enjoyed every mile of the way.”

  “And so have I,” added Patsy; “except perhaps the adventure with the remittance men. But I wouldn’t care to have missed even that, for it led to our acquaintance with old Dan’l.”

  “For my part,” said Myrtle softly, “I’ve been in a real fairyland. It has seemed like a dream to me, all this glorious journey, and I shall hate to wake up, as I must in time.”

  “Don’t worry just yet about the awakening, dear,” returned Patsy, leaning over to kiss her little friend. “Just enjoy it while you can. If fairylands exist, they were made for just such as you, Myrtle.”

  “One of the greatest marvels of our trip,” said the Major, with a smile, “is the improvement in our dear little invalid. It isn’t the same Myrtle who started out with us, believe me. Can’t you all see the change?”

  “I can feel it,” returned Myrtle, happily. “And don’t you notice how well I walk, and how little use I have now for the crutches?”

  “And can you feel the rosy cheeks and bright eyes, too?” asked Uncle

  John, regarding her with much satisfaction.

  “The trip was just the thing for Myrtle,” added Patsy. “She has grown stronger every day; but she is not quite well yet, you know, and I depend a good deal upon the genial climate of California to insure her complete recovery.”

  Uncle John did not reply. He remembered the doctor’s assertion that a painful operation would be necessary to finally restore Myrtle to a normal condition, and his kindly heart disliked to reflect upon the ordeal before the poor girl.

  Haggerty proved a prophet, after all. Each mile they covered opened new vistas of delight to the eager travelers. The air grew more balmy as they left the high altitudes and came upon the level country to the north, of the San Bernardino range of mountains, nor was it long before they sighted Imperial and sped through miles of country carpeted with the splendid yellow poppies which the State has adopted as the emblems of California. And behind this golden robe loomed the cotton fields of Imperial, one of the most fascinating sights the traveler may encounter. They made a curve to the right here, and headed northerly until they came to Salton. Skirting the edge of the curious Salton Sea they now headed directly west toward Escondido, finding the roads remarkably good and
for long stretches as smooth and hard as an asphalt boulevard. The three days it took them to cross the State were days of wonder and delight.

  It was not long before they encountered the roses and carnations growing on every side, which the Major had persistently declared to be mythical.

  “It seems all wrong,” asserted Patsy’s father, moodily, “for such delicate flowers to be growing out of doors in midwinter. And look at the grass! Why, the seasons are changed about. It’s Springtime just now in California.”

  “The man at the last stop we made told me his roses bloomed the year round,” said Patsy, “And just smell the orange blossoms, will you! Aren’t they sweet, and don’t they remind you of brides?”

  From Escondido it was a short run to the sea and their first glimpse of the majestic Pacific was from a high bluff overhanging the water. From this point the road ran south to San Diego, skirting the coast along a mountain trail that is admitted to be one of the most picturesque rides in America.

  Descending the hills as they neared San Diego they passed through fields of splendid wild flowers so extensive and beautiful that our girls fairly gasped in wonder. The yellow and orange poppies predominated, but there were acres of wild mustard throwing countless numbers of gorgeous saffron spikes skyward, and vistas of blue carconnes, white daisies and blood-red delandres. The yucca was in bloom, too, and added its mammoth flower to the display.

  They did not halt at San Diego, the southernmost city of California, from whence the Mexican line is in plain sight, but drove to the bay, where Wampus guided the limousine on to the big ferryboat bound for Coronado. They all left the car during the brief voyage and watched the porpoises sporting in the clear water of the bay and gazed abstractedly at the waving palms on the opposite shore, where lies nestled “the Crown of the Pacific” — Coronado.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE SILENT MAN

  Even the Major smiled benignantly when he reached his appointed room in the magnificent Hotel del Coronado, which is famed throughout the world.

  “This,” said he, “reminds me of New York; and it’s the first thing that has, since I left home.”

  “Why, Daddy, it isn’t like New York at all,” protested Patsy, standing beside him at the broad window overlooking the ocean. “Did you ever see a palm tree waving in New York; or daisy bushes as tall as a man; or such masses of roses and flowering vines? And then just notice the mountains over there — they’re in Mexico, I’m told — and this great headland in the other direction; it’s called Point Loma. Oh, I never imagined any place could be so beautiful!”

  The others were equally excited, and Uncle John said, smiling broadly:

  “Well, we’re here at last, my dears, and I’m sure we are already well paid for our trip across the continent. What pleasant rooms these are. If the hotel table is at all to be compared with the house itself we shall have a happy time here, which means we will stay as long as possible.”

  But the table was another surprise, for the meals were equal to any served in the great Eastern metropolis. Uncle John complimented the landlord, a cheery faced, fat little man who had at one time managed a famous New York hotel and had brought his talents and experience to far California.

  “I’m sorry,” said this gentle boniface, “that I could not reserve better rooms for you — for there are some choice views from some locations. I had a corner suite saved for your party, a suite I consider the most desirable in the hotel; but an eccentric individual arrived yesterday who demanded the entire suite, and I had to let him have it. He will not stay long, and as soon as he goes you shall have the rooms.”

  “Who is he?” asked Uncle John.

  “A rich miner; a most melancholy and peculiar person, by the way,” replied landlord Ross. “I believe his name is Jones.”

  Mr. Merrick started.

  “Jones, and a miner?” he said. “What’s his other name — Anson?”

  “We’ll look and see,” replied Mr. Ross, turning to the hotel register.

  “No; not Anson. He is registered as C.B. Jones, of Boston.”

  “Oh; that’s not the Jones at all,” said Uncle John, disappointed.

  “It’s the Jones who is our guest,” replied the landlord, smiling.

  Meantime the three girls had gone for a walk along the coast. The beach is beautiful at Coronado. There is a high sea wall of rock, and the path runs along its edge almost the length of the promontory. The rocks are sloping, however, and it is not very difficult to climb down them to where the waves break against the wall.

  Near the hotel they met straggling groups, strolling in either direction, but half a mile away the promenade was practically deserted. It was beginning to grow dark, and Beth said, regretfully:

  “We must get back, girls, and dress for dinner — an unusual luxury, isn’t it? Our trunks arrived at the hotel two weeks ago, and are now in our rooms, doubtless, awaiting us to unpack them.”

  “Don’t let’s return just yet,” begged Myrtle. “I want to see the sun set.”

  “It will be gorgeous,” said Patsy, glancing at the sky; “but we can see it from our windows, and as we’re a long way from the hotel now I believe Beth’s suggestion is wise.”

  So they began to retrace their steps. Myrtle still walked with some difficulty, and they had not proceeded far when Beth exclaimed:

  “Look at that man down there!”

  Her companions followed her direction and saw standing upon a huge pile of rocks at the water’s edge a slight, solitary figure. Something in the poise, as he leaned forward staring at the darkened waves — for the sun was low and cast shadows aslant the water — struck Myrtle as familiar.

  “Oh, girls!” she exclaimed; “it’s the Grand Canyon man.”

  “Why, I believe it is,” agreed Patsy. “What is he doing?”

  “Nothing,” said Beth, briefly. “But he is going to do something, I think.”

  While they stared at him from their elevation the man straightened an instant and cast a hasty glance to either side. The place seemed to him deserted, for he failed to observe the group of three intently watching his motions from the high bank overhead. Next moment he turned back to the water and leaned over the edge of rock again.

  “Don’t!” cried Myrtle, her clear voice ringing over the lap of the waves; “please don’t!”

  He swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the young girl leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of distress upon her sweet face.

  “Don’t!” she repeated, pleadingly.

  He passed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked at Myrtle again — this time quite steadily. She was trembling in every limb and her cheeks were white with fear.

  Slowly — very slowly — the man turned and began to climb the rocks; not directly upward to where the girls stood, but diagonally, so as to reach the walk some distance ahead of them. They did not move until he had gained the path and turned toward the hotel. Then they followed and kept him in sight until he reached the entrance to the court and disappeared within.

  “I wonder,” said Patsy, as they made their way to their rooms, “whether he really was thinking of plunging into the ocean; or whether that time at the Grand Canyon he had a notion of jumping into the chasm.”

  “If so,” added Beth, “Myrtle has saved his life twice. But she can’t be always near to watch the man, and if he has suicidal intentions, he’ll make an end of himself, sooner or later, without a doubt.”

  “Perhaps,” said Myrtle, hesitatingly, “I am quite wrong, and the strange man had no intention of doing himself an injury. But each time I obeyed an impulse that compelled me to cry out; and afterward I have been much ashamed of my forwardness.”

  They did not see the melancholy man at dinner; but afterward, in the spacious lobby, they discovered him sitting in a far corner reading a magazine. He seemed intent on this occupation and paid no attention to the life around him. The girls called Uncle John’s attention to him, a
nd Mr. Merrick at once recognized him as the same individual they had met at the Grand Canyon.

  “But I am not especially pleased to encounter him again,” he said with a slight frown; “for, if I remember aright, he acted very rudely to Myrtle and proved unsociable when I made overtures and spoke to him.”

  “I wonder who he is?” mused Patsy, watching the weary, haggard features as his eyes slowly followed the lines of his magazine.

  “I’ll inquire and find out,” replied her uncle.

  The cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby, pausing here and there to interchange a word with his guests. Uncle John approached him and said:

  “Can you tell me, Mr. Ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?”

  The landlord looked around at the corner and smiled.

  “That,” said he, “is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon — Mr.

  C.B. Jones — the man who usurped the rooms intended for you.”

  “Rooms?” repeated Uncle John. “Has he a large party, then?”

  “He is alone; that is the queer part of it,” returned the landlord. “Nor has he much baggage. But he liked the suite — a parlor with five rooms opening out of it — and insisted upon having them all, despite the fact that it is one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. I said he was eccentric, did I not?”

  “You were justified,” said Mr. Merrick, thought fully. “Thank you, sir, for the information.”

  Even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad divan, the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down the room, evidently headed for the elevator. But with a start he recognized the girl who had accosted him on the beach, and the others with her, and for an instant came to a full stop before the group, his sad eyes fixed intently upon Myrtle’s face.