L. Frank Baum - Oz 19

by The Lost King Of Oz

  Kabumpo, you know, belongs to the royal family of Pumperdink, a cozy old-fashioned country in the Gilliken country, and he is one of the chief ornaments of its court and a prime favorite of Pompadore, the young Prince. He has a suite of rooms in the palace, and more jewels and embroidered robes than any other elephant in all of Oz.

  Once upon a time Kabumpo had helped Pompa save Peg Amy, an enchanted Princess, from a dreadful old wizard named Glegg. This little Princess had afterwards married the Prince of Pumperdink and it was on this adventure that Dorothy had first met the Elegant Elephant.

  “But why did he throw me away?” asked Humpy suspiciously, when Dorothy had told him all that I have just told you.

  “I’ll throw you away every time you hit me, so you’d better get that through your head at once,” trumpeted Kabumpo indignantly.

  “Well, just so you don’t throw Dorothy, it will be all right,” sighed the dummy resignedly. “I’m quite used to being flung about, but I’ve never been in a picture with an elephant before.”

  “This isn’t a picture. It’s Oz,” snapped Kabumpo loftily. “Don’t you know anything at all?”

  “Ah, don’t quarrel,” begged Dorothy anxiously. “Tell me about Pompa and Peg Amy, Kabumpo, and how’s everything in Pumperdink?”

  “Well,” mused the Elegant Elephant, taking out his handkerchief again and mopping his forehead thoughtfully, “things are kinda slow. Since Pompa married Peg there’s been no excitement at all. Fact is,” admitted Kabumpo confidentially, “I was just on my way to the Emerald City to see whether I could stir up a little fun.”

  “Why so are we!” cried Dorothy in delight. “Let’s all go together. Oh Kabumpo, won’t that be

  fun?”

  The Elegant Elephant looked dubiously at the dummy. “Well, so long as you’re going in the same direction you might as well ride on my back,” he remarked carelessly. Then, winding his trunk about Dorothy Kabumpo, under his pompous manner, was really a kind-hearted old fellow] he set the little girl aloft and, snatching up the dummy, he tossed him recklessly over his shoulder.

  With a blast from his trunk like a steamboat whistle, Kabumpo got under way, plunging ahead so swiftly that Dorothy and Humpy had all they could do to keep their seats.

  “Isn’t this fun?” called Dorothy, holding fast to the Elegant Elephant’s great ear.

  “Is it?” inquired the dummy, clinging desperately to Kabumpo’s jewelled harness and fluttering up and down like a banner at each step. “So this is fun? Ah, how fast I am learning.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Snip Meets the Blanks

  ON THE night before Ozma received the mysterious warning, Snip and Mombi - as we well know - were making their way through the deep forest on the other side of Catty Corners. Each step was growing harder and harder for the weary little button boy. Holding the great goose in his arms, he staggered along, guided by the flicker of Mombi’s lantern, stumbling over roots, brushing against trees and shivering with the clammy chill of midnight. The old witch seemed positively tireless and Snip had about decided he could go no further, when she stopped suddenly beside a rough stone well.

  “Snip,” wheezed Mombi craftily, “I’m thirsty. Now you’re younger than I am. Just get me a drink, will you?” Her voice was so pleasant that Snip unsuspectingly set Pajuka on the ground and peered down into the dark depths of the well, while Mombi held the lantern. There was a chain at the side and, grasping it in both hands, Snip leaned over and began to haul up the bucket.

  This was the chance Mombi had been waiting for all evening and, seizing Snip by the heels, she heartlessly tumbled him into the well. Her wicked shout of triumph and Snip’s shrill outcry awakened Pajuka. Fluttering into the air, he made a great snatch at the disappearing little button boy.

  Snip, on his part, clutching desperately at the rough stones to save himself, caught instead a handful of goose feathers and went plunging down into the dreadful darkness. Down, down, down he fell, like a lump of lead, to the very bottom. With eyes shut tight and clenched fists, Snip waited for the terrible bump that should end his fall. But instead of a bump, there was a soft thud and bounce and he found himself wedged fast in a padded bucket. The jar set the bucket in motion and for a moment Snip thought it was going to shoot up to the top again. Instead it began to move sideways, for opening out from the bottom of the well was a long, damp passageway, and the bucket swinging on a heavy cable shot rapidly along through this underground tunnel.

  It was too dark for Snip to see but, stretching his arms carefully, he felt the walls above and at the side. Clearly the old witch had meant to destroy him, so she could work out her wicked plans undisturbed. “But maybe,” whispered poor Snip, crouching low to keep from bumping his head, “maybe I can get out after all and manage to reach the Emerald City first and warn Ozma of Mombi’s treachery. Then surely Ozma will help me find Pajuka and she, herself, can hunt for the lost King.”

  It was a long and terrible ride, and many times Snip’s heart thumped so loudly that it drowned out the creak of the straining cable. Where under the earth was he going? Would the flying bucket never stop? Just as he was losing his courage entirely, Snip saw a star. The bucket had come to the end of the tunnel and was shooting up another well as swiftly as Snip had fallen down the first one. Almost as soon as he made this joyful discovery, the bucket reached the top, spilled him carelessly over the edge and dropped back with a hollow ring to the bottom.

  For several minutes Snip lay where he had fallen, too shaken and breathless to care where he was. Then, rolling over, he looke anxiously around. In the faint starlight, not much was visible. He seemed to be in a small orchard and just beyond the trees he could see the dim outlines of a strange city.

  Satisfying himself that no immediate danger threatened and too weary to go another step, the worn-out little adventurer flung himself down beside the well and was soon fast asleep.

  It was morning and nearly nine o’clock when he was awakened by the sound of hurrying foot-steps and shrill cries.

  “He has freckles,” screamed the first voice.

  “His nose turns up,” shouted the second.

  “Who threw him in our well?” demanded a third fretfully. “Is he welcome or is he not?” “Not!” boomed the voices altogether.

  “Take his hat, get his buttons!” growled a deep bass voice. At this the steps pattered so close that Snip rolled over and sat up, confronting as he did so the very oddest company he had ever seen. For one unbelievable second he stared, thinking he must still be asleep and dreaming. The company on their part regarded him with blank looks. And no wonder. They had not a face among them!

  “If it were people without clothes I should say they were savages,” gasped Snip, “but clothes, without people! Whew!” Leaping to his feet, he turned toward the town and ran as if for his life.

  Screaming furiously, the Blanks started in pursuit. Now to look over your shoulder and see a collection of suits, hats, shoes and gloves, all in their proper places upon perfectly invisible wearers, chasing after you is a fearsome business, and as they came nearer and nearer Snip fairly stepped upon his own toes in his hurry to escape.

  “How dare you show your face around here?” raged the leader, brandishing with an invisible hand a dreadfully visible and dangerous looking umbrella. “Don’t you know it’s against the law to show your face in Blankenburg?”

  “I-can’t-help-it!” panted Snip and then as the terrible crowd began to gain on him, he reached in his pockets, seized a handful of buttons and flung them wildly over his shoulder. When he dared to look back again, the Blanks were quarreling bitterly over the buttons.

  Taking advantage of their greediness, Snip lunged into the town, entered the first house he came to and slammed the door. At first he thought the great dim room was empty but he finally made out an old man with silver hair and beard sitting cross-legged on a long table at the back window. He was stitching solemnly upon a red velvet cloak and looked so kind and gentle that Snip promp
tly burst into an account of his troubles. But to his dismay, the tailor went calmly on with his work, never glancing up at all. Snip could hear the Blanks clattering over the paving stones so, rushing forward, he shook the old man desperately by the sleeve.

  With a start that sent his spectacles flying across the shop, the tailor leaped to his feet. “A boy!” he stuttered, seizing Snip by the shoulders. “Why, how did you get here? No, don’t tell me now for I couldn’t hear you if you did. You see my ears have flown off and we’ll have to wait till they return. A boy! Bless my heart, yours is the first face I’ve seen in years and years.”

  In growing amazement and alarm, Snip waved toward the window. With a quick nod, the tailor swept him into a big cupboard. “They shan’t have you,” declared the old man determinedly and, when a moment later the Blanks rushed into the shop, he shook his head crossly at all of their threats and

  inquiries.

  “Can’t you see my ears are off?” he mumbled fretfully. “Whom do you want? What are you screeching about?”

  The Blanks cried loudly that they were searching for a boy, but the tailor pretended not to understand and, after poking about the shop a bit, they finally took themselves off. Snip, who had one eye glued to the cupboard door, saw them streaming into the street, their plumed hats trembling with indignation, their buckled shoes twinkling with the speed of their invisible feet.

  As the last Blank turned the corner, there was a whirr in the air and in through the window flashed two butterflies. But were they butterflies? Next instant they had fluttered over and attached themselves to the old tailor’s head.

  “Not butterflies, but butterfly ears!” gasped Snip, falling headlong from the cupboard with the shock of the thing.

  “It’s all right,” smiled the tailor, adjusting the ears quickly and looking kindly over at Snip. “And dear, dear, what a strange story my left ear is telling me!”

  “Do your. ears tell you stories?” asked Snip, forgetting his own troubles for a moment.

  “Yes. The left one tells me that an elephant has run off with a little girl,” mused the tailor, wiping his specs. “Fancy that, now!”

  Snip could hear a faint buzzing and eyed the old gentleman’s ears with growing interest and

  respect.

  “There, there, that will do,” muttered the Tailor at last, giving his left ear a little pinch. “I wish to hear this young gentleman’s story, so please be quiet and attend.”

  Immediately both ears tilted toward Snip and, fearful lest they fly off before he could finish, the little button boy poured out the whole history of his adventures from the time he left Kimbaloo to his fall down the strange well.

  “Ozma!” sighed the tailor, brushing his hand absently across his brow. “Is Ozma Queen of Oz now? I’ve been prisoner here so long I’ve forgotten everything. You say that this witch, Mombi, transformed and hid her father and now proposes to find and restore him to the throne? And the goose? Whom did you say he was?”

  “Pajuka is the Prime Minister,” puffed Snip hastily. “He’s been trying for years and years to find the King himself. If someone doesn’t help him soon, and get him away from Mombi, he’ll be roasted or eaten or lost!”

  Snip opened his hand, where still clutched in his moist grasp were the feathers he had pulled from Pajuka’s wing as he fell down the well. The tailor leaned forward to examine them. As he did so, a gold feather separated itself from the white, fluttered for a moment in the air and then sailed straight through the window. It was the golden feather that, we know, took the magic message to the Emerald City, but as neither Snip nor the old tailor could follow its flight, they stood gaping after it in perfect astonishment.

  “Why I didn’t know Pajuka had any gold feathers. How did it fly off by itself? Oh dear, I wish someone would help me find him,” wailed the little button boy dismally. “Couldn’t you, Mister-Mister-?”

  “Just plain Tora,” put in the tailor, rubbing his forehead absently. “Well, it’s a mighty queer business, Snip. I’d like to help you, but I’ve all this work to do.” The old man waved wearily toward the racks and stacks of unfinished cloaks and waistcoats.

  “Do you mean to say you make clothes for them?” Snip jerked his thumb indignantly over his

  shoulder.

  The tailor nodded. “Have to,” he added miserably. “Been at it for years and years.” “Do they pay you?” asked the little button boy in surprise.

  “Well, they let me live in this house, and they give me plenty to eat. Besides, I can’t get away,” finished the old man, sinking down on a three-legged stool and letting his head drop heavily in his hands.

  “But you’re not invisible like they are. How did you happen to come here anyway?”

  The tailor pushed his specs up on his forehead. “Seems as if I’d always been here,” he mourned dolefully, “stitching, stitching, stitching and never getting done. If I try to pass through that gate,” he pointed through the window into a small yard, “if I try to pass through that gate some invisible force holds me back. So what can I do? But I have my ears, he continued more cheerfully. “They can go off whenever they please and they tell me what’s going on and keep me pretty happy.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t stand it,” exclaimed Snip, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and staring down sympathetically at the old man. In spite of his strange ears, there was something so gentle and lovable about the old tailor that Snip could not bear to have him unhappy. “I’d get away somehow,” declared the little boy earnestly.

  Tora shook his head hopelessly. “The thing to do, is to get you away before they come back,” he sighed, taking an old silver watch from his vest pocket. “The Blanks are great eaters and wouldn’t miss their breakfasts for a fortune. So now’s the best time for you to go. Come on, I’ll show you the way to the Farewell. You can see it from the gate.”

  “Is that the only way out?” groaned Snip. He felt that one experience with a well would be quite enough for him.

  “Only way I know,” answered Tora, taking down his coat from a peg. “You reach Blankenburg by the Well-come and leave by the Farewell.”

  Sticking his needle in his lapel, he started rapidly for the door and, feeling very mixed up indeed, Snip hurried after him. There was not a Blank in sight as they stepped into Tora’s yard and Snip, looking at the handsome dwellings on both sides of the street, thought he would like to see more of this strange city. A bright pink blanket flew from a castle which stood at the end of the square and Tora explained that this was the national emblem of the Blanks.

  There were a hundred questions on the tip of Snip’s tongue. For instance, he wanted to know how the Blanks had come to be invisible and how Tora himself had come to have such wonderful ears, but the old gentleman was so anxious for him to get safely off that he had not time for a single question.

  “If they capture you before you reach the well, be sure not to let them wash your face,” warned Tora earnestly, “for if they wash your face, it will disappear. Remember don’t wash your face, whatever happens.”

  This was an easy promise for a little boy to make and, following the direction of Tora’s long finger, Snip saw a stone well in the small park at the corner of the street.

  “Goodbye!” sighed the old man, giving him a wistful pat on the shoulder. “If you ever find this King or reach the Emerald City, tell someone about old Tora, will you?”

  “I’ll tell Ozma; I’ll tell everybody!” promised the little button boy settling his cap determinedly. Then, because he hated to leave Tora looking so sad, he seized him suddenly by the hand. “Why don’t you try to get through the gate now?” urged Snip. “Come on, I’ll help you!” As he spoke, he kicked open the gate with his heel, stepped out and began to tug at the tailor’s coat.

  “No use,” began the old man. “No use for me to try to get away

  Before he could finish the sentence Snip had dragged him entirely through. For an instant he stood staring back uncertainly at his little shop with its s
habby sign, “The Tired Tailor of Oz.” He had printed it to amuse himself one stormy evening. Snatching a piece of chalk from his pocket, while Snip danced up and down with anxiety and impatience, Tora dashed back and scribbled two letters before the second word.

  “The ReTired Tailor of Oz,” said the sign now, and with a long, gusty chuckle, the old man grasped Snip by the hand and ran with all his might toward the Farewell.

  The Blanks were evidently still at breakfast, and Tora and Snip made their way through the deserted streets of Blankenburg without meeting a soul. In a jiffy they came to the Farewell, both out of breath but happy to be near to freedom.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Old Tailor’s Story

  SNIP was just gathering his courage for a jump down the well when Tora lifted him up and dropped him gently over the edge. Again that terrifying swoop into the darkness. “After this,” gulped Snip dizzily, as he turned over and over, “I shall think nothing of falling out of a button tree, or down a flight of steps. Perhaps I’ll try a fall every day just to keep in practice.” With a breathless bump, Snip landed in the padded bucket, putting an end to these curious thoughts. Before he had time for any others, he had shot through another underground passage and up and out of the well with such force that he rolled like a ball on the soft green moss. When he stopped rolling he saw Tora sitting beside him, smoothing down his long silver locks and untangling his whiskers.