Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Why, I fear we’re living too well for people as poor as we are,” he replied. “I’m afraid to ask how big our grocery bill is, for I haven’t paid it in weeks, and the rent is three months overdue, and I haven’t been able to save enough money to pay it. What in the world are we going to do, Nan?”

  “Don’t worry about money, daddy dear!” exclaimed the little woman, proudly; “I’ve paid all the grocery bills and the rent, too, and here are thirty dollars besides. And I earned it all with my cooking!”

  For more than a year the family of Digsby was the most prosperous in the neighborhood. Nan was really famous, and earned money so fast that a neat little bank account was the result. Then a great misfortune occured. The magic button in way got loose and fell into the dough Nan was mixing for some drop cakes. She never noticed the loss, and the cakes were baked and sold at the Woman’s Exchange and purchased by Mrs. Middler, a very fashionable and uninteresting lady. Mrs Middler was disgusted when she found a button in one of the cakes, but as there was a button missing from her morning robe, and this one nearly matched the others, she sewed it on and thought no more of the incident. Suddenly, however, she conceieved a great longing to cook, and as she lived in a respectable boarding house where the boarders were not allowed in the kitchen, this longing could not be gratified. However, she relieved herself by writing a fashionable cook book, which was printed and handsomely bound in delicate covers.

  As for Nan, she had cooked for so long that she scarcely missed the precious button which had originally taught her all she knew. Occasionally, of course, she ruined a batch of cookies or burned the meat or failed to make light bread; but she was a deft little body, and knowing that she had no magic button to guide her, took great pains with her cooking and so got along pretty well.

  ELIZA AND THE LOZENGES

  Mr. Jubb was a very small man, who was ashamed of his size, for Mrs. Jubb was so large that she seemed a giantess beside him, whenever they walked out together. Naturally, Mrs. Jubb was also ashamed of being so exceedingly big, and so it was that this otherwise happy couple were rendered constantly miserable by their disparity of size.

  Therefore, Mr. Jubb went to the Woggle-Bug one day and said: “O, Wise and Considerate Insect! Will you not make me taller and my wife shorter, so that we will become properly mated?” And, after some thought, the Woggle-Bug replied: “It seems to me that your request is only reasonable. So, here in this roll you will find four lozenges that are quite pleasant to take. Eat the first lozenge, and you will begin to grow big. When you are big enough, then eat the second lozenge, which will cause you to stop growing. The other two are for your wife. When she eat the first she will begin to grow small, and when she is small enough to suit her fancy, she must eat the last lozenge, which will cause her to remain always just that size. Do you understand the directions?”

  “Yes,” returned the little man, “but how about my clothes? Will they grow with me?”

  “To be sure,” answered the Woggle-Bug; “that is one of the great merits of these magic lozenges.”

  “Thank you! Thank you very much, indeed!” cried the delighted Mr. Jubb, and he took the roll of lozenges and hastened home with them.

  Now, the Jubbs had a little girl, named Eliza, who was taller than her father and shorter than her mother, and had a strange habit of getting into mischief.

  While Mr. Jubb was explaining to his wife about the wonderful lozenges which the Woggle-Bug had given him, Eliza saw them lying upon the parlor table, and carried them away with her, thinking they were candy.

  She ate the first lozenge as she walked down the lane back of her house, and before she realized what had happened she found she was tall enough to look over the high hedge beside the lane. This made her pause in surprise; but she continued to grow, and now could look right into the middle of a cherry tree. Indeed, it startled the child to find herself so big, and she began to be much alarmed as she realized she was still growing.

  The tops of the houses were on a level with her chin by this time, and her feet had become so big that she stepped one foot over into the next street, to keep from getting crowded in the lane.

  It was now that Mr. Jubb ran out of the house, crying: “Where’s my lozenges? Where’s Eliza?” But there was no need to ask the last question‹for there stood Eliza‹’most as big as a mountain, so that no one could fail to see her. She was crying, too, she was so frightened, and one of her teardrops splashed down upon poor Mr. Jubb’s head and nearly drowned him, before he could scramble out of the pond it made.

  “Eat another lozenge!” he screamed, knowing quite well what had caused Eliza to grow; but the girl’s head was so high in the air that she could not hear him.

  Still she grew‹bigger and bigger every minute! All the village people were in the streets watching her, and Eliza was afraid of hurting them; for her left heel had already crowded a barn from its foundation and her right toes were spreading into Deacon Migg’s orchard and breaking down the trees.

  What lucky idea induced the girl to eat the next lozenge just then I do not know, but she did eat it‹and stopped growing‹which was certainly a fortunate thing.

  Little Mr. Jubb, anxious and distressed, now tried to tell the child to eat another of the lozenges, knowing it would cause her to grow small again. But she could not hear him from her elevation, although he used a megaphone, and she was afraid to stoop lest she might lose her balance and fall upon the town‹which would have caused terrible havoc. So her father got out the hook-and-ladder company, and climbed up the dizzy height until he was close to the hand that hung down at her side. Then the girl took the little man carefully in her fingers and raised him up to her ear, where he at once shouted: “Eat the next lozenge‹quick!”

  Without hesitation she obeyed, and began to grow small as rapidly as she had grown big. She replaced her father upon the top round of the ladder, and he hurriedly descended to the ground, amidst the cheers of the spectators.

  Smaller and smaller now grew Eliza, until she had to step her right foot back into the lane again. By and by she was no bigger than her mother, and finally she reached her former size‹the size she had been before she fooled with the magic lozenges.

  Then her father commanded her to eat the last of the lozenges, and she obeyed‹to the great relief of her distressed and loving parents and the satisfaction of the crowd.

  Of course, this ended Eliza’s astonishing exhibition of magic, and afterward her father and mother were so glad to have their child restored to them that they agreed not to mourn over the loss of the lozenges, but to gladly remain the sizes that nature had made them, and be content with their lot.

  And the Woggle-Bug said to himself: “I am often sorry for those poor mortals, but perhaps it is a fortunate thing that foolish and careless people do not understand the grave and important Secrets of Magic.”

  THE WOGGLE-BUG ENCOURAGES CHARITY

  The Woggle-Bug is greatly interested in American customs, yet our ways are sometimes difficult for him to understand.

  The other day, in walking down the street, he came upon a beggar sitting silently at the edge of the curb. His limbs and body were bent and twisted, his clothing was old and ragged and his face expressed considerable misery. In his hand he held a tin cup, extended invitingly toward those who passed by.

  The Woggle-Bug watched the beggar with much interest. A newsboy, who had sold out his stock, came along and cheerfully dropped a penny into the tin cup; a prosperous-looking gentleman passed by and never saw it; several ladies, nicely dressed and wearing diamonds and jewels, gave contemptuous glances at the beggar and passed on; a bartender, clothed in loud checks, rattled a silver quarter into the cup and a shop girl jumped on the car and gave the beggar the nickel which the conductor had neglected to collect from her.

  Then for a time the people streamed past without seeming to know the beggar was there.

  “It’s a great shame,” thought the Woggle-Bug, “that so few people take notice of this poor man
and give him alms. I’ll see if I cannot help him.”

  Then he ran to a big hardware store, and by leaving his watch for security (for he had no money) managed to borrow from the proprietor four large and bright tin cups. With these he returned to where the beggar sat, and holding one of the cups in each of his four hands he began rattling them noisily one against another, and crying out: “Help the poor, good people! Please help the poor!”

  People stopped to stare wonderingly at the Woggle-Bug, and then laughingly began to rain pennies and nickels into his tin cups. If afforded them much amusement to see the four-handed, highly magnified insect thrusting his four cups in four directions at once, and when people are amused they are usually quite willing to pay for it. Before long the cups became so full that the Woggle-Bug had to empty them into the pockets of the beggar; and then he began to fill them anew.

  For hours the generous Woggle-Bug stood there collecting coins for the miserable beggar, whose countenance seemed to grow more and more sad and pitiful as his wealth increased. But by and by evening came on and the crowds grew thinner, because so many people had gone home to supper. And now every pocket the beggar possessed was bulging with the weight of the money the Woggle-Bug had collected.

  “These American people are not really uncharitable,” said the insect. “I think the reason they did not stop to give you alms was because they failed to notice you sitting here by the curb.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” answered the beggar, speaking quite cheerfully and for the first time. “Business is usually pretty good on this corner, but I have never known it half as good as it was to-day. I think I’ll go home to dinner. Much obliged to you, I’m sure.”

  To the Woggle-Bug’s surprise he straightened out his crooked limbs and slowly rose to his feet.

  “A fellow gets cramped sitting like that all day,” he remarked. “Here is my card; come and call on me some evening. I’ll be glad to see you.”

  He thrust a soiled card into the Woggle-Bug’s hand and walked away with scarcely a limp.

  “Clever fellow, that,” remarked a policeman, as the Insect gazed wonderingly after the beggar’s departing form. “He’s one of the syndicate, you know.”

  “What’s that?” asked the Woggle-Bug.

  “Why, the beggars’ syndicate have all the good corners in the city, and pay us to let them stay here and keep the other fellows out. It’s a pretty good business, too, and some of ‘em get pretty rich. Why, only last week I was invited to the ‘Blind and Crippled Beggars’ Ball,’ that was held in Turner Hall, and they were dressed just as gay as the Barbers’ Ball the week before.”

  “But it’s a shame and an imposition!” declared the Woggle-Bug, indignantly, “to solicit alms from the public when help is not needed!”

  “Perhaps it is,” answered the policeman, reflectively, “but it does the public a heap of good, too. Many a person drops a nickel into a tin cup and feels good all day because he’s dome something generous. Lots of times it’s real charity, too. They aren’t all frauds, you know. I’ve thought it all over, and I believe the beggars a good thing, for they encourage the people to kind actions, and my experience with people is that they need just that sort of encouragement.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said the Woggle-Bug, and he carried the cups back to the hardware store and redeemed his watch.

  THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOK

  Wherein is related the Unique Adventures of the Woggle-Bug One day Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.; becoming separated from the comrades who had accompanied him from the Land of Oz and finding that time hung heavy on his hands (he had four of them), decided to walk down the Main street of the City and try to discover something or other of interest. The initials “H. M.” before his name meant “Highly Magnified,” for this Woggle-Bug was several thousand times bigger than any other woggle-bug you ever saw. ,And the initials “T. E.” following his name meant “Thoroughly Educated”-and so he was, in the Land of Oz. But his education, being applied to a woggle-bug intellect, was note at all remarkable in this country, where everything is quite, different from Oz. Yet the Woggle-Bug did not suspect, this, and being, like many other thoroughly educated persons, proud of his mental attainments, he marched along the street with an air of importance that made one wonder what great thoughts were occupying his massive brain.

  Being about as big, in his magnified state, as a man, the Woggle-Bug took care to clothe himself like a man; only, instead of choosing sober colors for his garments, he delighted in the most gorgeous reds and yellows and blues and greens; so that if you looked at him long the brilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes.

  I suppose the Woggle-Bug did not realize at all what a queer appearance he made. Being rather nervous, he seldom looked into a mirror; and as the people he met avoided telling him he was unusual, he had fallen into the habit of considering himself merely an ordinary citizen of the big city wherein he resided.

  So the Woggle-Bug strutted proudly along the street, swinging a cane in one hand, flourishing a pink handkerchief in another, fumbling his watch-fob with another, and feeling if his necktie was straight with another. Having four hands to use would prove rather puzzling to you or me, I imagine; but the Woggle-Bug was thoroughly accustomed to them.

  Presently he came to a very fine store with big plate-glass windows, and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature so beautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance at her nearly took his breath away. Her complexion was lovely, for it was wax; but the thing that really caught the Woggle-Bug’s fancy was the marvelous dress she wore. Indeed, it was the latest (last year’s) Paris model, although the Woggle-Bug did not know that; and the designer must have had a real woggly love for bright colors, for the gown was made of cloth covered with big. checks which were so loud that the fashion books called them “ Wagnerian Plaids.”

  Never had our friend the Woggle-Bug seen such a beautiful gown before, and it affected him so strongly that he straightway fell in love with the entire outfit-even to the wax-complexioned lady herself. Very politely he tipped his hat to her; but she stared coldly back without in any way acknowledging the courtesy.

  “Never mind,” he thought; ‘“faint heart never won fair lady.’ And I’m determined to win this kaleidoscope of beauty or perish in the attempt!” You will notice that our insect had a way of using big words to express himself, which leads us to suspect that the school system in Oz is the same they employ in Boston.

  As, with swelling heart, the Woggle-Bug feasted his eyes upon the enchanting vision, a small green tag that was attached to a button of the waist suddenly attracted his attention. Upon the tag was marked: “Price $7.93-GREATLY REDUCED.”

  “Ah!” murmured the Woggle-Bug; -my darling is in greatly reduced circumstances, and $7.93 will make her mine! Where, oh where, shall I find the seven ninety-three wherewith to liberate this divinity and make her Mrs. Woggle-Bug?”

  “Move on!” said a gruff policeman, who came along swinging his club. And the Woggle-Bug obediently moved on, his brain working fast and furious in the endeavor to think of a way to procure seven dollars and ninety-three cents.

  You see, in the Land of Oz they use no money at all, so that when the Woggle-Bug arrived in America he did not possess a single penny. And no one had presented him with any money since.

  “Yet there must be several ways to procure money in this country,” he reflected; “for otherwise everybody would be as penniless as I am. But how, I wonder, do they man- age to get it?”

  Just then he came to a side street where a number of men were at work digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer.

  “Now these men,” thought the Woggle-Bug, “must get money for shoveling all that earth, else-they wouldn’t do it. Here is my chance to win the charming vision of beauty in the shop window!”

  Seeking out the foreman, he asked for work, and the foreman agreed to hire him.

  “How much do you pay these workmen?”
asked the highly magnified one.

  “Two dollars a day,” answered the foreman.

  “Then,” said the Woggle-Bug, “you must pay me four dollars a day; for I have four arms to their two, and can do double their work.”

  “If that is so, I’ll pay you four dollars,” agreed the man.

  The Woggle-Bug was delighted.

  “In two days,” he told himself, as he threw off his brilliant coat and placed his hat upon it, and rolled up his sleeves; “in two days I can earn eight dollars-enough to purchase my greatly reduced darling and buy her seven cents - worth of caramels besides.”

  He seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four arms that the foreman said: “You must have been forewarned.”

  “Why?” asked the Insect.

  “Because there’s a saying that to be forewarned is to be four-armed,” replied the other.

  “That is nonsense,” said the Woggle-Bug, digging with all his might; “for they call you the foreman, and yet I only r see one of you:”

  “Ha, ha!” laughed the man; and he was so proud of his new worker that he went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the barkeeper what a treasure he had found.

  It was just after noon that the Woggle-Bug hired out as- a ditch-digger in order to win his heart’s desire; so ‘at noon on the second day he quit work, and having received eight silver dollars he put on his coat and rushed away to the store that he might purchase his intended bride.

  But, alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! just as the Woggle-Bug reached the door he saw a young lady coming out of the store dressed in those identical checks with which he had fallen in love!

  At first he did not know what to do or say, for the young lady’s complexion was not wax-far from it. But a glance into the window showed him the wax lady now dressed m a plain black tailor-made suit, and at once he knew that the wearer of the Wagnerian plaids was his real love, and not that stiff creature behind the glass.

  “Beg pardon!” he exclaimed, stopping the young lady; “but you’re mine. Here’s the seven ninety-three, and seven cents for candy.”