Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  The Woggle-Bug, who was standing outside the paling, saw Jack’s head fall off, and sprang over the fence and upon the track just as the last rider had been bowled over. And by good fortune he saved the head from being smashed or cracked by cleverly catching it in his arms and running with it to Jack, whom he knew to be always uneasy without his head. The Sawhorse, coming first under the wire, had passed abruptly under the judges’ stand, while the other horses had bolted for the stables; but now the dismounted jockeys came running up, angrily protesting against Jack, while the farmers in the grand stand shook their fists at the Sawhorse and yelled.

  Seeing this, the Woggle-Bug, using all his arms and legs to good advantage, crawled up the outside of the judges’ stand, and, making the surprised officials a polite bow, said to them: “It is evident, your honors, that the horses are all disqualified, and it is no race.”

  “That is my opinion,” answered the chief judge; “but be good enough to explain why, under the rules, the horses are disqualified,”

  So the Woggle-Bug whispered the reason in the judge’s ear, and the official nodded his approval and rang the gong furiously to compel the crowd to silence.

  “We have decided,” he shouted, as soon as he could be heard, “to call it no race, and an eminent visitor from Oz, Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., will now explain to you the reason.”

  With one hand on his heart, another waving a flag and a third throwing kisses to the ladies, the Woggle-Bug gracefully removed his hat with his fourth hand and addressed the crowd in a clear, distinct voice.

  Immediately, the greatest confusion prevailed, with joy taking the place of anger; for the occupants of the grand stand shouted gleefully and tossed their hats into the air and everybody shook hands excitedly with everybody else and embraced the persons nearest them without stopping to consider whether they had been previously introduced or not.

  In fact, the entire crowd was happy except one old gentleman who was quite deaf, and therefore uncertain as to what had happened. But he had an ear-trumpet with him, so he held the big horn toward Dorothy, who sat next to him, and inquired, eagerly:

  “What did the Woggle-Bug say?”

  And the little girl had to shout with all her might in order to make the old gentleman hear her answer.

  “The horses were disqualified because when they came under the wire, they were under weight.”

  THE SCARECROW BECOMES A MAN OF MEANS IN SPITE OF THE GIRLS AT A CHURCH FAIR

  It was during a morning ride among the mountains that a strange accident happened to the queer people from the Land of Oz. The Gump hit his left wing against a rocky pinnacle and dumped all our friends into a great Jackdaw’s nest that was perched upon a ledge of rock. At once the Jackdaws began screaming and fighting the intruders, and when at last they were driven away by the efforts of the Tin Woodman and the Woggle-Bug, it was discovered that the birds had stolen every wisp of straw from the Scarecrow’s body and left nothing of him but his head and the clothes and boots he had worn. At first our friends despaired of saving the poor Scarecrow; but Jack Pumpkinhead, on searching the nest, discovered bushels of odds and ends that the thieving Jackdaws had stolen during many years and hidden in their inaccessible nest. Among the treasures were many banknotes, of large and small denominations, and with these the Ozites restuffed the Scarecrow, who was thereby in reality “made of money.”

  Feeling quite proud of their work, they now boarded the Gump and flew away from the nest, landing presently in a pretty town where a Church Fair was being held. All of the party except the Gump and the Sawhorse paid a visit to the Fair, where the pretty girls in attendance soon discovered the money sticking out of the Scarecrow and joyfully decided to sacrifice him to the cause of Charity. Pretty girls at Church Fairs know how to do this neatly and with dispatch, so that presently the Tin Woodman discovered that the unfortunate Scarecrow had been picked as clean by the girls as he had been by the Jackdaws! Calling to his friends to assist him, the Tin Woodman gathered up the Scarecrow’s empty clothes, while the Pumpkinhead carried his head and hat and the Woggle- Bug his boots; and then they marched sorrowfully away to rejoin the waiting Gump.

  Just then the Woggle-Bug, thrusting his hand into one of the boots, drew out five bills that had been crowded into the toe and so escaped the notice of the Church Fair girls. “Good!” cried the Insect, much pleased; “our friend the Scarecrow is saved!”

  “How do you make that out?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.

  “Why, they are luckily very big bills,” returned the wise Woggle-Bug. “Three of them are Unites States banknotes for $1000 each; one is for 500 pounds on the Bank of England; and one for $100 in Canadian money. These we will take to the nearest Bank and have them changed into one-dollar United States bills, and there ought to be enough of the to stuff the Scarecrow in fine shape.”

  So they made haste to reach a Bank, where the Woggle-Bug presented the five bills to the to the cashier and asked to have them changed into the one-dollar United States bills. The cashier made some figures on a piece of paper and the began handing out great bundles of one-dollar bills, which the Tin Woodman and the Woggle-Bug separated and crumpled up and stuffed into the Scarecrow’s clothes. When they had finished he stood before them smiling as genially as ever, and made a speech thanking the Woggle-Bug for rescuing him from ruin.

  “You are not so rich as you were before the girls saw you,” said the Tin Woodman; “but you may yet be considered a wealthy man.”

  “How many one-dollar bills did the cashier give you?” asked the Pumpkinhead.

  The Woggle-Bug looked at the paper on which the cashier had made his figures and started to reply.

  “Stop!” cried the Scarecrow; “I don’t want anyone but myself to know how much I am worth. But you may tell, friend Woggle-Bug, how many dollars you got for that English and Canadian money.” So the Woggle-Bug took him aside and told him that the cashier’s figures added up to $3,431.25.

  HOW THE WOGGLE-BUG PROVED HIS KNOWLEDGE OF CHEMISTRY

  That adventures may be met with in the hamlets of these strange United States, as well as in the wild and unsettled portions of the country, was fully demonstrated by the visitors from Oz when they halted in a quiet little village that the Woggle-Bug might quench his thirst at a well.

  This the Insect quickly did, the water being cool and refreshing; but the others of the party, who never drink anything at all because of their peculiar constitutions, began to exhibit great curiousity as to how the water got into this deep well, and why the sides were built of stone, and a dozen other things that would probably never occur to us who are accustomed to seeing wells.

  Jack Pumpkinhead seemed especially interested, and, although the Scarecrow warned him not to lean too far over the well, he insisted upon gazing down into the depths beneath. The result of this recklessness might well have been anticipated, for the pumpkinhead that Jack wore was merely set upon a wooden pin that served him for a neck, and was constantly getting twisted. Sometimes, indeed, it slipped off entirely; and this was what happened as Jack leaned over the well. Next moment his frightened companions heard a great splash as the pumpkin struck the water far below them.

  “There!” cried the Scarecrow, with a catch in his breath; “our poor friend is indeed ruined!”

  “A person who loses his head so easily as Jack,” growled the Saw-Horse, “is never to be depended upon. All he’s good for now is kindling wood.” This unfeeling speech referred to Jack’s body being made of wood, the various parts being jointed together so that he could use them conveniently. But without a head to direct it, this body was, in truth, of very little worth.

  The Woggle-Bug, although startled by the accident to his friend, had little to say. Instead he was already busily engaged in thinking of a way of rescuing Jack from his watery grave.

  It has been said, with considerable lack of kindness, that the Woggle- Bug’s excellent education is of little acount, because it is applied to a Woggle-Bug intellect; but the wonde
rful insect is constantly proving the falsity of this scandal by doing and saying brilliant things which many people of regulation brains would be very proud of.

  The Woggle-Bug’s learning served him well at this critical moment, for an idea came to him that soon sent him running to a nearby drug store as fast as his slender legs would carry him.

  Presently he returned with two great packets, the mysterious contents of which he quickly dumped into the well. Next moment, to the astonishment of his comrades, who were wondering if the Insect had gone crazy, a great sizzling and bubbling was heard from the depths of the well, accompanied by strong fumes, that made them gasp and sneeze as they withdrew from the edge of the curb.

  Higher and higher rose the water in the well, roaring and spluttering as it came, and Jack’s floating head rose with it, until the pumpkin suddenly popped high into the air and was caught by the Tin Woodman in a nervous but safe embrace.

  Then, as the water slowly subsided again, the adventurers from the Land of Oz cried “Saved!” with one glad voice, and shook the Woggle-Bug’s numerous hands with real gratitude.

  The Scarecrow carefully wiped the moisture from the pumpkin with a wisp of straw taken from his own body, and then restored the head to Jack’s neck; and you may be sure the poor fellow was highly delighted at the reunion.

  As they proceeded merrily upon their journey the Tin Woodman inquired curiously:

  “My dear Wog, what was that powder you so cleverly used to rescue Jack?”

  And the highly magnified Woggle-Bug, with justifiable pride in his achievement, willingly told that it was Seidlitz powder.

  HOW THE WOGGLE-BUG GOT A THANKSGIVING DINNER

  One day, while the Woggle-Bug was walking through the streets of a big city, he came upon a little girl who was crying bitterly. She was dressed in worn and faded garments, and her feet were bare ‹ although the air was frosty and the pavement of the street very cold. Now, the Woggle-Bug would surely have felt the cold himself had not his body been so warmly clothed, so he had pity for the poor child, and removing his hat as politely as if she were a great lady he asked:

  “Tell me, little one, why are you dripping water from between your eyelids?”

  “Because,” she sobbed, “Th-Th-Thanksgiving is c-coming!”

  “Can’t it be stopped?” inquired the Woggle-Bug, sympathetically.

  “I don’t want it s-s-stopped,” replied the child; “only I’d like a turkey for Thanks-giving, like the rich people have.”

  “Oh, turkey, eh?” said the Insect, thoughtfully. “Now, whatever could a little girl like you do with a turkey, I wonder.”

  “Ea-ea-eat it!” she sobbed.

  “To be sure!” exclaimed the Woggle-Bug. “How strange I never thought of eating turkeys for Thanksgiving. But why haven’t you a turkey to eat?”

  “We’re too poo-poor to b-buy one!” she answered.

  “Well, well, my dear,” said the Bug, in a kindly tone, “I’ll promise to bring you all the turkeys you can eat-and I never break a promise. So shut off the water from your eyes, and turn on a few smiles.”

  Then, after inquiring where the girl lived, he left her and went back to his friends from the Land of Oz.

  “I must have a few turkeys for a little girl to eat,” said he. “Now, where would you advise me to get them?”

  “This morning as I rode in the Gump,” announced the Tin Woodman, “I saw great flocks of wild turkeys flying over the woods.”

  “Oh! That gives me an idea,” cried the Insect. “I’ll take the Gump and catch some fine wild turkeys for my little friend.”

  So he climbed into the Gump, which was always ready and willing to serve the queer people from Oz, and in less than an hour the Woggle-Bug was floating over the forests where the wild turkeys lived.

  Several flocks of the birds were then flying about; but they were shy of the Gumo, and kept away from it. Therefore the Woggle-Bug resolved to capture them in another way, and made four lassoes out of a roll of stout cord, tying a slip-noose in the end of each. The next flock of turkeys that he saw he ordered the Gump to chase, and so swift was the flight of this marvelous creature that before the birds knew it the Gump was in the centre of the flock.

  Then the Woggle-Bug threw the four lassoes with his four hands, and a slip-noose settled over the heads of four of the birds, arresting their flight very suddenly. A minute after they were drawn into the Gump.

  With much pride the Woggle-Bug displayed the four birds before the wondering eyes of his friends; and then, accompanied by the Scarecrow, he carried them to the home of the poor child.

  “Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed; “what beautiful turkeys!”

  “Only three of them are turkeys,” said the wise Insect. “The fourth bird was flying with the flock, but it’s quite different from the turkeys. However, I think the three turkeys will be sufficient for your Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed!” said she, greatly delighted. “But what IS the strange bird?”

  And the Woggle-Bug, who seemed to know everything, at once told her it was a Hornbill.

  THE SCARECROW TELLS A FAIRY TALE TO CHILDREN AND HEARS A EQUALLY MARVELOUS TRUE STORY

  “Tell me a fairy story about America,” said the Scarecrow, as he sat upon a park bench with a group of children about him.

  “All right,” replied a bright-faced boy standing at the straw man’s knee. “Once upon a time a man used a great ship to lay a wire rope along the bottom of the ocean, with one end of the rope resting in America and the other end in Europe. And since then a person in America can talk to a person in Europe, and recieve an answer in return, in the space of a few minutes, although it takes days to make the voyage across. And the words are carried along the wire rope by means of signs that stand for letters.

  “That is indeed a surprising story,” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “You must have wonderful fairies here. We have nothing to match that achievement in the country I came from.”

  “But now tell us a fairy story about the Land of Oz,” begged the boy eagerly. So the Scarecrow began as follows:

  “You must know, my dears, that in the Land of Oz everything has life that can become of any use by living. Now, I do not know of what use a live Scarecrow can be unless he serves to amuse children; but it is a fact that, as soon as the farmer had stuffed me into the shape of a man, and made me a head by using this excellent cotton sack, I began to realize that I was a part of the big world and had come to life.

  “Of course, I could not see, nor hear, nor talk at first; but the farmer brought a paint pot and a brush, and upon the front surface of my head, where a face properly belongs, he began to paint. First he made this left eye, which you observe is a beautiful circle, with a dot in the centre of it. The first object I saw with this eye was the farmer himself, and, you may be sure, I watched him carefully as he painted my other eye. I have always considered that man an artist; otherwise he could not have made me so handsome. My right is even finer than the left, and, after making it, the farmer gave me this exquisite nose with which I gathered the scent of the wild flowers and the new-mown hay and the furrows of sweet and fertile earth. Next my mouth was manufactured, so excellently shaped that I have never ceased to be proud of it; but I could not then speak, for I knew no words by which to express my feelings. Then followed these lovely ears, which completed my features. And now I heard the loud breathing of the farmer, who was fat and inclined to asthma, and the twittering songs of the birds and the whisper of the winds as they glided across the meadows, and the chatter of the field mice ‹ and many other pleasant and delightful sounds.

  “Indeed, I now believed myself fully the equal of the man who had made me; but the idea was soon dispelled when the farmer sat me upon a stout pole in the cornfield and then walked away with his paint pot and left me. I tried at once to follow , but my feet would not touch the earth, and so I could not escape from the pole.

  “Near me was a stile, and people crossing the fields would often stop at the st
ile and converse; so that by listening to them I soon learned how to speak properly. I had a fine view of the country from my elevation, and plenty of time to examine it curiously. Moreover, the crows often came and perched upon my head and shoulders and talked of the big world they had seen; so my education was unusually broad and diverse.

  “But I longed to see the big world of Oz for myself, and my real mission in life ‹ to scare the crows ‹ seemed to be a failure. The birds even grew fond me and spoke to me pleasantly while they dug up the grains of corn the farmer had planted.

  “One day I noticed a little girl sitting upon the stile. She was a stranger, I knew at once, and by the perplexed look on her face I guessed she had lost her way. So I spoke to her, and we made friends; and, after telling me that she had been blown by a cyclone from a far-away land called Kansas, the girl consented to lift me from the pole and set me upon my feet. I could hardly walk at first, being unused to my legs and not knowing how to manage them; but the little girl helped me along, and, before we had traveled many miles, I could walk as perfectly as I do now.

  “Since then I have had many strange adventures, but life in the Land of Oz was really peaceful when compared to the experiences I am meeting in America.”

  As the Scarecrow concluded his story the children clapped their hands in delight.

  “Now, that was a real fairy tale, and truly marvelous!” cried the boy at his knee.

  “But not more marvelous than your own tale of the wire rope that carried words across the ocean,” replied the Scarecrow.

  “That wire rope is called a cabe,” said a soft voice behind the Scarecrow, and turning his head he saw that the Woggle-Bug had joined them and was standing behind the bench.

  “Oh! do you know about the story?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised at his friend’s great knowledge.

  “Yes, indeed,” answered the Woggle-Bug. “I can even tell you the exact year the first telegraph message was sent from America to Europe across the Atlantic cable.”