"Wonder what they do when they come to Z?" wondered Tompy as they proceeded down the long, pleasant avenue.
"That we will zoon zee, for here we are," snickered the terrier. And sure enough, the house next to Z was lettered A-B and the one beyond, C-D. "Let's knock on Abie's door. Maybe he will give us an afternoon snack. I'm hungry again," complained Yankee, his tongue lolling out.
"All right," agreed Tompy. He was hungry, too, also curious. Racing the space dog to the door he got there first and using a drum stick tapped sharply three times. No one came and when he tried the door he found that it was locked. "Know something, I believe this town is deserted." Frowning a bit, Tompy looked in all directions. "We haven't seen a single person since we came."
"Come to think of it, we haven't," said Yankee, "but somebody must live here because it's so spic and spandy. Perhaps they've just left."
"Let's try another street," proposed Tompy. But everywhere it was the same. Not only were there no people, but the curtains of all the shops were drawn and the doors securely locked. Soon the silence grew so oppresive, the two adventurers found themseEves talking in whispers. Practically on tip toe they came to the town center. Here, curved halfway around a circular park was a one-storied, many windowed building. There was a large door in the side facing them, and oddly enough it was open. With an excited bark, Yankee charged across the park and through the open door--Tompy right behind him. The building was evidently a store house of some kind, its walls lined with sheEves, the sheEves stacked high with packages, rather like cereal boxes in a supermarket. Hardly knowing what he had expected, but vaguely disappointed, Tompy stepped over to the nearest shelf.
"Dry stuff, seems like?" Yankee's ears and tail drooped. "Maybe there'll be a box of dog biscuits," he added more hopefully. Tompy did not answer. He had taken down a package and, having read the label, was staring at it in perfect stupefaction.
"What's in it? What's the matter?" wheezed the terrier, coming over to stand close beside him. Matter enough, I can tell you. The label on the package said:
P. CARPENTER
Drop Contents in Bowl
Add One Cup of Water
Stir and Stand Back Swallowing his astonishment, Tompy read the strange label for Yankee, then moving along the line of sheEves began reading others. "Baker, shoe maker, tailor, gardener, grocer, fifeman, store keeper, builder, handyman-painter."
"Packaged people!" he gasped, shoving back his cap. "What on earth?"
"But we are not on earth," Yankee reminded him calmly. "We're way up here in Oz. Let's open a box and let one out," he proposed daringly. "Open that one you have in your hand. The carpenters back at the base were friendly chaps. Maybe he could tell us something about this town. Anyway, it would be someone to talk to." The space dog looked up persuasively. To tell the truth, Tompy needed little urging. Bursting with curiosity, he hefted the packages and glanced around for a table, bowl, and some water. Finding none, he pushed through a swinging door at the back. Sure enough there was a large airy work shop behind the store room. A whole line of bowls were set out on the big center table. On sheEves along the side stood big bottles of clear water, measuring cups, vials containing blue and yellow powder, and many other items.
With ears cocked and head on one side, Yankee watched as Tompy opened the package and shook an envelope of fine yellow powder into the first bowl. A long gold handled spoon hung from a hook on the table edge. Carefully measuring a cup of water from one of the bottles, he added that to the yellow powder and seizing the spoon began to stir up the mixture for dear life. At the tenth stir, a smothering cloud of vapor rose almost to the ceiling. He had just time to jump back before a rosy cheeked full dressed little man stepped briskly out of the bowl. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a big handkerchief, mopped the moisture from his face, picked up a leather bag from the bowl, and slid off the table. The label stitched on his yellow overalls carried the letters 0 P. Before Tompy and the bull terrier had recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance, Opie was through the swinging door and off about his business.
"Wait! Wait!" begged Tompy pelting after him.
"You did it, you did it!" barked Yankee, scampering joyfully after Tompy. Halfway across the park, they came abreast of the man who had come out of the package. Nodding pleasantly to one and then the other, he turned right and walked quickly down the main street, the boy and dog fairly treading on his heels. When he reached the gate post lettered O.P. he hurried up the path, took out a key and unlocked the door of the house. Before he could close it again, Yankee and Tompy had squeezed through.
"Well!" exclaimed Opie, looking them up and down. "I must say this is most irregular. What are you suppose to be? Where are your labels?"
"We haven't any--we're visitors," announced Tompy, as the terrier touched the carpenter experimentally with his paw to see whether he really was true. "Could you tell us why there are no people about and who--"
"--Is the boss," said Yankee, neatly finishing the sentence. "Are you all right, Mr. Opie, not mixed up or anything?"
"Certainly not," smiled the carpenter, picking up a small memorandum book from a desk beneath the window and hurriedly flipping through the pages. "If I answer both questions, will you go away?" he continued, still intent upon the notations in the book. As Tompy nodded, Opie proceeded to tell them a few facts about Tidy Town. "There are no people about because you arrived during the do-over period," he explained earnestly. "Every few years we are remixed and re-packaged. That way we never wear out; it's a change for us, too. Now I am a carpenter--last time I was a painter and who knows what I'll be next," he murmured looking dreamily off into space. "Interesting, isn't it?"
"I--I guess so," Tompy spoke doubtfully. "But how can you be a good carpenter when you never have been one before?"
"You will have to ask Max that question," answered Opie shoving the memorandum book into a back pocket. "Max is town planner and mix-master around here and he must like carpenters for I am the first out, the very first!" Jumping up, Opie clicked his heels, picked up his bag of tools, and started for the door. He was so pleased with the idea of being first, Tompy decided not to tell him that he, not Max, had started him on his present career. "Hurry, hurry!" urged the little carpenter motioning for them to come along. "I have seven fences to repair before supper time."
"Supper?" Yankee's ears shot up and his tongue hung out. "Couldn't you eat it now and save time?"
"No, no, everything goes according to plan around here. Supper is at six, not before and the fellow who occupied this house ahead of me has taken care of that. Probably has a tasty meal set out at the back," sniffed Opie with a pleased wave in the direction of the kitchen.
"Mind if I look?" asked the terrier hungrily.
"Not at all. Just close the door when you leave," directed the carpenter, "and better leave promptly. We have little time for visitors here." Whistling cheerfully off key, Opie gave them a brief salute and left without further conversation. Tompy hurried over to the door to watch until Opie turned the corner, then joined Yankee in the cozy little kitchen. Sure enough, on the table were three neatly wrapped sandwiches, an apple, and a wedge of lemon pie. Yankee already had eaten one, paper and all.
"Beef," he choked happily, swallowing the last morsel, and looking longingly at the other two. It was only four o'clock, but as there was no telling when they would eat again, Tompy tossed him another sandwich, ate one himself, leaving the apple and wedge of pie for the carpenter.
"I told you carpenters were nice chaps," said Yankee licking up a few crumbs he had overlooked.
"He did turn out rather well," agreed Tompy who could not help feeling proud of his handiwork. "Boy, would I ever like to meet this Mix-Master. Must be a regular wizard!"
"Probably, probably," considered Yankee. "And he will be a mighty mad wizard when he discovers you have been meddling around his shop, and we had better be someplace else when he finds Opie's empty box."
Tompy could not have agreed mor
e. In double quick time they were out of the house and hurrying through the town. Max evidently had returned to his shop and been working busily on his mixes. Now the streets were crowded with labelled people, purposefully entering their houses, opening shops, marching along with ladders, buckets of paint, and boxes of groceries. Some had baskets; others trudged by pushing wheelbarrows. A tailor passed them on the run snapping his shears. When they reached the park, Tompy tried to start a conversation with one of the gardeners. The fellow, already busy raking leaves, frowned and lifted his rake, directing it toward a large sign on one of the trees.
Move On
NO LOITERING
"Glad to," growled Yankee, as Tompy read it out to him. "What a place. All work and no fooling."
"No children, either, had you noticed?" observed Tompy, as they skirted the park and came again to the Mix Master's shop. There was a pleasant garden back of the shop, full of trees, herbs, and flower beds. Beyond the garden, Main Street dwindled into a dusty road. A fountain, bubbling on the edge of the garden caught Yankee's eye and viewing the dusty road with great disfavor, he stopped long enough for a satisfying drink. Tompy, too, scooped up some water from the bronze basin above the base and was just turning around, when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
"So here you are!" boomed a hearty voice. "I've been waiting for you. Come in, come in!" The hand gripping his shoulder was so powerful that Tompy had no choice and was quickly propelled into the work shop. Here he had his first good look at the town planner. To say he was surprised is putting it mildly. He was not only surprised but completely flabbergasted. He certainly was not the sort of fellow one would expect to find in charge of a neat little city like Tidy Town. A shabby veEvet robe with dirty ermine edging was stuffed into an equally shabby pair of brocade breeches, making the town planner's middle bulge out alarmingly. On his head set an old felt hat and perched on the hat was a battered gold crown with most of the jewels missing. On one leg he wore a green sock, on the other, a blue. His buckled pumps did not match and were even more disreputable than his robe. But the blue eyes in the round jolly face beneath hat and crown twinkled so merrily that Tompy felt somewhat reassured.
Yankee, too, had been taken aback by the Mix-Master's comical get up. Controling an impulse to nip the town planner's shins or give him a good butt in the breeches, he had followed the two into the work shop. Shoving the boy down on one bench and seating himself on one opposite, Max regarded them with pleased approval, looking longest at the space dog who had sat down and was panting heavily as he awaited developments.
"Well," chuckled Max, finally breaking the silence, "how do you like my little town?"
"NEAT!" answered Tompy, summing up all of his impressions with one word.
"Describes it to a Tee-HEE HEE!" roared the Mix-Master boisterously. "I simply must have things neat and tidy, y' know."
"Tidy?" burst out Tompy, his eyes traveling from Max's old battered crown to his broken down mismatched pumps.
"Yes, TIDY," repeated the Mix-Master in a firm voice and before either had a chance to ask any more questions he launched into as strange a story as they were to hear during their entire journey through Oz.
________________________________________________________________
Chapter 6: Max, the Mix-Master
YEARS ago I was king of the small Kingdom of Hotchinpotch, back there," said Max, waving largely over his left shoulder. "Pleasant enough place, but everything was done hit or miss and no matter how many edicts I edicted, nobody did as he was told. Castle was run as carelessly as the rest of the country, meals any old time, maids and footmen never around when needed, the cook playing on his fiddle instead of the stove. Even Pudge, my white elephant, went her way instead of mine."
"Elephant!" exclaimed To mpy hun ching forward.
"Oh, yes, I had an elephant," explained the town planner putting his finger tips together, '--and contrary as they come. Each time I was dressed in my best and off for a visit, she'd head for a river, dive in, roll over, and leave me to swim home!"
"Hoo-hoo-OOPs!" sputtered Yankee, then hastily covered his mouth with one paw.
"And the women," groaned Max, paying no attention to the interruption, "they were contrary, too, fooling with their hair, trying out new dance steps instead of caring for their homes and children. As for the men. those lazy good-for-nothings were always off somewhere hunting and fishing instead of working. A lazy lot, my subjects!"
"Maybe you were not strict enough," observed Tompy. "You should have stamped and hollered till they knew you were boss!"
"Oh, I could, I could, but I found a better way. I simply left!" roared Max, laughing so hard his hat and crown fell sideways. "I just traveled on and on till I found a spot that suited me, THIS ONE. A good peaceful stretch of country with a wood, streams, and a cleared place for building a town. A town was all I really wanted. So now, I have it, a town where all runs like clock-work, with citizens ready mixed to do each job that needs to be done and no fooling or back talk either. All I have to do is sit back and watch them work. You have no idea how I enjoy it," he confided, giving his belt a mighty hitch.
"But HOW did you do all this?" demanded Tompy far from satisfied with this sketchy explanation.
"Now, now, do you expect me to tell all my secrets?" Max shook his finger playfully under Tompy's nose. Seems to me you did a pretty fair job on that carpenter. Don't go--don't go!" he cried as Yankee and Tompy jumped up together and started for the door. "I didn't mind," he told them gruffly. "Saved me the trouble. Stay a while," he coaxed, as the two came back, and rather uneasily resumed their seats. "I may even explain a few of my experiments," he added as a further inducement. "Fact is, I could not have managed my packaged people at all if the woods had not been full of chemis trees, nor without that gold spoon you used on Opie. Found it in a cabin left by an old hermit. Cozy place, that cabin, and, as the old fellow did not return I lived there for several years trying out one formula after another. You see, I wanted people mixed to perform special jobs and do them well. The hermit must have been an experimenter, too, for he had a cabinet full of bottled powders and all the tubes and vials a fellow would need. So, all in good time I discovered a way to combine the powders in his cabinet with leaves of the chemis trees and to turn out all the citizens I needed. The first batch, mostly carpenters, painters, stone workers, and builders, built the town. If I used the hermit's old tin spoon to stir my mixes, nothing at all happened, but when I stirred them with the gold spoon hanging above his desk they came out quite perfect."
"That hermit must have been a magician," mused Tompy, leaning on both elbows.
"Doubtless, doubtless," admitted Max grudgingly, "but I think I can take most of the credit. I mix up two or three batches at a time, store the packages for use when the others wear out, and that is about it!"
"Would you care to hear OUR story?" asked Yankee, somewhat bored by Max's long recital.
"Some other time, some other time," muttered the town planner brushing the terrier impatiently aside. "Instead you may watch while I turn out the last fellow in the present crop."
"Why not mix up some women and children?" sniffed Yankee sitting back resignedly as Max lumbered over to a shelf and brought back a big box.
"Children make too much noise. They scatter things about. And women are nothing but a bother and distraction. Who needs them?" grunted the former king of Hotchinpotch dumping the contents of the box into his largest bowl.
"Why is that package so much bigger than the others?" inquired Tompy as the Mix-Master added two cups of water to the powder. "Large economy size," he sniffed in a quick aside to Yankee as Max turned his back.
"This fellow NEEDS to be larger. He has a big job to do," explained Max turning around. With a wicked wink at his visitors, he seized the gold spoon and started to stir the contents of the bowl. What happened next happened so fast that both boy and dog were taken by surprise--not a pleasant surprise, either. Out of the vapor rising almost to the ceiling
sprang a giant of a guardsman. Snatching Tompy up in one hand and Yankee in the other, he stood stiffly at attention.
"I never use force myself," apologized Max, "but at times, force is necessary. I have plans for you," he shouted. He had to shout to make himself heard above Yankee's fierce growls and Tompy's indignant protests. "I have everything here but a listener," bellowed the town mixer waving the gold spoon. "Now I shall have two listeners!"
"Oh, no, you won't!" raged Tompy. "Put me down, you big dummy!" he yelled, kicking the guard savagely in the knee while Yankee, wriggling sideways closed his teeth on the fellow's huge hand. Without a sound or even blinking the guard held on.
"He has no feelings--no one can hurt him," advised Max with a sly grin. "YZ will hold on till I give him the signal. Now do be sensible and decide to stay. I'll assign you initials--a comfortable house, and all I ask is that you listen while I talk for two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon. I have never been able to converse with my packaged people. They will not stop work long enough to listen. They are only interested in work and the jobs they are mixed up to do. I get lonely--very lonely," confessed the town mixer, clasping his hands tightly together. "But now that you are here everything will be cozy as a tea party."
Stunned by the guard's indestructibility and Max's determination, Tompy and Yankee stopped struggling and began to think, each in his own special way. Mistaking the sudden silence for consent, Max gave them a wide smile. "You wait here, boys, and I'll go see about your house," he puffed, waddling over to the door. "Stay as you are, YZ, till I return."
"Right!" snapped the guard, speaking his first word since coming out of the package. YZ had Yankee by the harness and Tompy by the belt and was so tall that they hung at about knee level. Tompy, however, had both hands free and acting on an unexplainable impulse, he jerked the drum sticks from his belt and ripped out a rapid ratta ta-ta tah! At the first tap the guard straightened up and in perfect time to the drum beats started to march. As they passed the table, Yankee snatched the gold spoon from the bowl. Faster and faster flashed Tompy's sticks, faster and faster stepped the guard, through the work shop, through the garden, and had reached the road beyond when an anguished scream made Tompy look back. It was the Mix-Master, panting after them like a locomotive under full steam.
Yankee in Oz Page 4
