L. Frank Baum - Oz 27

by Ojo In Oz

  “Never climb a mountain till you come to it,”

  whispered Realbad, who had quite correctly read the bear’s thoughts. Passing Snuffer on a run, he was the first to reach the barred door in the city’s wall.~ THIS IS TAPPY TOWN. KINDLY KICK THREE TIMES directed a sign pricked out in brass nails on the door.

  “Snufferbux! Oh, Snuffer! Here’s a message for you!” bawled the bandit.

  “Why for me?” demanded the bear, coming up to read the sign over Realbad’s shoulder.

  “Well, aren’t you the biggest kicker in the crowd?” laughed the robber, giving Snuffer a good-natured shove. “Come on, it’s up to you to kindly kick this door. And I beg you to kick it kindly or it may fall down upon our heads.”

  “Why don’t you?” asked Ojo, as Snuffer dubiously re-read the sign. “Want me to do it? Nothing can happen to me, you know.”

  “Stand back!” ordered the bear, pushing the boy impatiently aside. Taking a little run forward, he

  gave the door three resounding kicks with his bear

  feet

  CHAPTER 14 Tappy Town

  AT Snuffer’s third kick the iron doors clanked noisily open and the three travelers stepped boldly into the walled town. At first glance it seemed to be but a small, bustling Oz community, with the usual round houses, gay little shops and contented and jolly citizens. But they had gone no further than the first crossing before they discovered an extraordinary difference. Though the streets were thronged with people variously occupied, not a single voice or conversation was to be heard, only the persistent tapping and shuffling of feet. Two old gentlemen before a cigar store were stamping indignantly at one another, and though not a word was spoken Ojo felt sure that a furious argument was in progress. Four little boys about to launch a kite stopped every few moments to do what appeared to be a clog on the sidewalk. “What’s the matter, can’t they speak?” whispered Ojo, giving Realbad’s leather jacket a quick tug. A

  tall, important official was hurrying toward them, and without answering Ojo’s question Realbad waited curiously for the fellow to approach. He was dressed as Ojo had been before the gypsies ruined his clothes, in the pleasing blue costume of the Munchkins with its white ruff and broad-brimmed hat. On the band of his hat the name “Stampeero” was embroidered in large white letters and this Ojo thought a very clever notion. Glancing around he saw that all the other citizens of Tappy Town carried their names on their hat bands. But as Stampeero by this time was exactly opposite Realbad, he turned back to see what the man had to say for himself. Instead of speaking Stampeero took three steps with his left foot, three steps with the right, sprang into the air, clicked his heels together and finishing off with a low bow stuck out his right leg. Realbad, puzzled for a moment, did nothing. Then, gradually recovering from his surprise, he reached down and shook the extended leg so heartily that the man lost his balance and sat down.

  “Now you’ve done it!” growled Snuffer under his breath. “Mmm-m! Mm-m! There he goes hot-foot to fetch the guards. Come on, we’d better all shake a leg,” he advised, as the disgruntled welcomer disappeared around a corner.

  “But look, Snuffer, all the signs and street notices are on the pavements,” exclaimed Ojo excitedly.

  “Yes, and just try to understand them,” challenged Realbad, leaning down to examine the raised characters on one of the paving blocks. “They must read these with their feet.”

  “That’s it!” decided Ojo, still fascinated by the leaps and hops of the kite flyers. “And they talk with their feet, too.”

  “But who can understand them?” sighed Snufferbux discontentedly. “And how are we to make them understand us?”

  “Here comes Stampeero again,” whispered Ojo, “and he’s hopping mad, too.” (You can see for yourself that Ojo was right.) This time three footmen accompanied the flustered official, and as they hopped and leaped and stamped their way along, Ojo could not help laughing. The first footman’s name was “Jumper”; the second footman’s name was “Hump-er,” and the third, if one was to believe the band on bis hat, was called “Stumper.”

  “Mind, now, no more leg pulling,” warned Snuffer, as the four came to a stern halt in front of them. Under one arm Jumper carried a huge inked pad. This he placed gravely on the ground. Just beyond

  the pad Humper placed a large sheet of white paper and taking Realbad’s arm he walked him first over the pad and then over the paper.

  Ojo and Snuffer, seeing what was wanted, obligingly walked over pad and papers in their turn.

  “Taking our footprints,” giggled the boy, Jumper gathered up all three papers and started with them. The third footman had a tremendous pair of black boots and at a signal from Stampeero he handed the boots scornfully to Snuffer.

  “Bear feet are evidently not allowed,” teased bad. “Put them on, old Brownie, and see how they fit.” With a little growl, but thinking it best to agree to anything in reason, Snuffer sat down and drew on the boots. They were big and soft and comfortable and with a little grunt of approval Snufferbux rose to see what was the next idea of these comical fellows. But Stampeero and the remaining footmen, annoyed by the sound of voices, had placed their fingers in their ears and in this awkward and censorious attitude started briskly down the main street of Tappy Town toward a large, light blue castle set in a garden at the end of the avenue.

  “Well, I suppose we may as well follow,” said Realbad, striding along with amused glances to

  right and left. “We may pick up some treasure or useful information and hear something to our advantage.”

  “You let me handle this,” rumbled Snuffer importantly.

  “I can dance and that is evidently what’s wanted.”

  “Be careful what you dance, then,” cautioned Realbad, winking at Ojo, “or you may land us all in the guard house. How do you know what your feet will say, especially in those boots?”

  “I wonder what these people are saying about us?” murmured Ojo, as the citizens lined up along the sidewalks tapped out brisk remarks and messages. “My, they must wear out a lot of shoes here.

  Do you think we could ever learn the foot language,

  Snuffer?”

  “Oh, I dare say it’s simple enough, once you get the hang of the thing,” grunted the bear.

  “But what we want to know is where we are and how far we are from this Emerald City of yours.”

  “And don’t forget Moojer Mountain,” drawled Realbad, swinging through the palace gates and pausing to admire the beds of lady slippers on either side of the path. Each prong of the garden fence was topped by a silver slipper and the castle chimneys were in the shape of enormous blue boots.

  “Isn’t this fun?” breathed Ojo, hurrying up the steps after Realbad.

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” grunted Snuffer, lumbering suspiciously into the palace after his two companions.

  There was no one in the great hallway and the throne room when they reached it was bright and sunny and furnished with both elegance and comfort. Except for an unusual number of footstools, it seemed to Ojo like many other small Oz castles he had visited at one time or another. seated on the throne were the king and queen of Tappy Town. In jeweled letters on the king’s crown was the name “Stubby” and Ojo noted with great interest that the queen’s name was “Skippyfoo.” Stubby held a silver foot rule in his hand and his face was so round and pleasant that the travelers felt quite encouraged. Their Majesties and all the members of the court had their feet resting on golden footstools.

  “No wonder,” thought Ojo sympathetically, remembering that they had to use their feet for both walking and talking. Beside the king stood a tall, severe-looking. official wearing on his hat the title “Slipper Slapper.” He carried a tall stick, and fastened to the stick was an enormous felt slipper that

  looked not only well worn but dangerous. Before Ojo and his companions had time to notice anything further, Jumper, the footman who had taken their footprints, bustled into the room and fastened a broad white rib
bon around each of their middles. Looking down in astonishment Ojo saw embroidered on his ribbon the words “Lost Strayed and Stolen.” Snuffer’s had but two, “Dancing Bear,” and Realbad’s but one,

  “Footpad.” Now footpad, as you well know, is but another word for highwayman, and Realbad was so taken aback and embarrassed by this Uncomplimentary tag that Snuffer could not repress a low chuckle.

  “Pretty good system they have here,” he whispered maliciously. “Learn all about us from our footprints.”

  “Oh, do be quiet,” warned Ojo, as Slipper Slapper waved his stick threateningly. “They don’t like the sound of our voices.” The king and queen, who had leaned forward to read the visitors’ ribbons, settled back and frowning with annoyance were tapping their feet impatiently on their footstools.

  “Well,” muttered Realbad, giving the brown bear a shove. “Why don’t you say something?” So Snuffer, as their Majesties stopped tapping and looked down at him expectantly, followed the example of

  Stampeero, taking three steps to the left, three step~

  to the right, clicked his heels together and finished off with a respectful bow. This pleased the sovereigns enormously and smiling kindly they settled back prepared to listen to what he had to dance. Feeling that something quick and lively might serve, Snuffer began the whirling stamping measures of a spirited gypsy gavotte. Ojo and Realbad watched anxiously to see the effect the dance was having on the king and queen and were relieved to see that Stubby and Skippyfoo were laughing and clapping their feet with pleasure. At one particularly dizzy spin, Stampeero hurried from the room and as Snuffer a bit breathlessly brought his performance to a close returned with a tray and three sparkling tumblers of cold Ozade.

  “Well, three cheers for you!” approved Realbad, emptying his glass at one swallow. “Keep this up and we’ll have a full course dinner soon.”

  “Oh, some of the rest of you try it,” panted Snuffer, burying his nose in the refreshing drink, and as the king and queen were now looking question-ingly at Ojo, Ojo handed his empty tumbler to Humper and did a hornpipe he had learned from Cap’n Bill, a one-legged sailor living in the Emerald

  City. As Ojo finished and bowed, their Majesties exchanged an amused smile and Stampeero, again hurrying from the room, returned this time with three pairs of blue suspenders. These he gravely proffered to the visitors, and doing a little heel and toe on his own account sat down on the king’s footstool.

  “Ho, ho! So this is what comes of hornpipes?” rumbled Realbad under his breath. “Good for you, little Splinter! Good for you!” Realbad had not enjoyed himself so much for years. “We’ve done pretty well so far.” He donned the suspenders good-naturedly and helped Ojo with his. Even Snufferbux, entering into the spirit of the thing, thrust his great arms through the giddy braces and in suspenders and boots looked so comical that Ojo doubled up with silent merriment.

  On the other side of Slipper Slapper a scholarly looking clerk was making notes of the whole proceeding with an instrument like a telegraph transmitter which he operated with his foot. The signs and characters looked more like Chinese laundry marks than anything else, but Ojo concluded that they must be in the strange shoe-tongue language and turned to see what Realbad was going to say to the monarchs of Tappy Town. The bandit had taken a small pad (not a footpad, however) from

  his pocket. Scribbling a brief note on the first page he handed it politely up to the king.

  “How far to Moojer Mountain and the Emerald City of Oz?” asked the note. Without even looking at the paper, Stubby threw it on the floor. Then, descending slowly from the throne, he jumped on it with both feet.

  “Well, now that he has put the official stamp on your letter, what next?” grinned Snufferbux, giving his suspenders a furious jerk as Stubby climbed solemnly back on his throne. Realbad was disgusted by the king’s rude action, but Ojo, picking up the memorandum, saw beneath Realbad’s question a neat row of queer little pictures and marks. Thinking it would make a fine souvenir and that possibly the Wizard could read it when he reached the Emerald City, Ojo thrust the note into his pocket and then looked up in some surprise, for the king’s Shoe String and Horn Band had begun to play upon silver shoe strings and horns. I do not suppose you have ever heard a shoe horn. Well, neither had Ojo nor his companions and as the king’s musicians industriously jerked the silver shoe horns up and down the backs of their musical pumps, stopping every now and then to pluck their silver shoe strings, the

  gayest tune imaginable burst upon the ears of the astonished listeners. Realbad, delighted and inspired by the music, decided to oblige with a clog.

  Faster and faster tooted the horns, faster and faster the bandit’s boots tapped the floor and Ojo and Snuffer, looking on admiringly, hoped his efforts would bring them a bag ofjewels or a good dinner. But alas, Stubby’s face, registering first interest, then pleasure, then astonishment, turned suddenly as black as a thunder cloud. Bounding off his throne he put his foot down. And let me tell you, when the King of Tappy Town puts his foot down, he puts it down hard. As he trod on Realbad’s favorite toe, you can imagine how unpleasant that was. But shocking to say, that was not all. For the big leather slipper wielded by the king’s slapper fell with stinging viciousness upon the visitors. Next, every foot in the throne room was raised against them and, so quickly and violently that they only half realized what was happening, they were kicked not only out of the throne room but entirely out of the palace as well. It was so unpleasant an ending to so interesting an adventure that Ojo was stunned. Thanks to the magic rings, the kicks had not hurt either him or Realbad. But Snufferbux was growling with rage and smarting all over.

  “Trust you to put your foot in it,” raged the bear. “What kind of dance was that, you dunce? You must have gone and insulted them.”

  “I thought I was doing pretty good,” sighed Realbad, picking up his hat and beating the silver dust from his coat and trousers. “I don’t think so much of this foot language, do you, Ojo?”

  “I guess it would be all right if you understood it,” answered the boy, looking ruefully back at the palace to see whether the king’s footmen and courtiers were going to kick them any further. But the back doors of the castle were closed and there was no one in sight but an old Tappity Councillor who was laying down the law on the king’s blue highway. All the laws of Tappy Town are nailed down on the streets and walks of the city, for as the people read with their feet it is the best way of having the laws known and obeyed. Snuffer soon became so interested in this odd procedure that he forgot his anger and resentment, and Ojo, bending over the old law worker, tried his best to discover what the new law might be. But Realbad, feeling that their ignorance of the language of the country had caused them enough trouble, urged his companions to move along. It was quite late and growing dark. As they pushed

  on through the neat and compact little city they were interested to see that all its inhabitants wore small foot lights which enabled them to see as well as hear what their feet were saying.

  “Unc Nunkie would certainly like this place,” Ojo said, as they reached the wall. “He hates to talk~”

  “Not for me,” exclaimed Realbad, swinging open a little gate. “I’d be flat-footed in a fortnight, and imagine spraining an ankle every time you wanted to order asparagus.”

  “Why asparagus?” grunted Snuffer, peering, as always, anxiously around for a mountain. As there was only a stretch of level country ahead he somewhat relaxed his vigilance.

  “Let’s rest here till morning,” he proposed sleepily. “This wall will keep the wind off our backs and it is folly to travel in the dark.” As it was now almost nighttime, this did seem a sensible idea, so sitting with their backs against the wall they conversed drowsily for a long time. Then Ojo, creeping into Snuffer’s warm arms, slept soundly till morning. Realbad slept scarcely a wink, so busy was he with thoughts of the past and plans for the future. Why was it, he pondered pensively, that this likeable Munchkin boy brought back all the memori
es of older and happier days before he had become an outlaw? His life in the blue forest

  had been interesting and certainly gay, but now it seemed unreal and unprofitable and a very long time ago. Since the disappearance of his band there was no zest in highwaying. Something, determined Realbad, would have to be done about it soon. But what? Should he go on with banditting or give it up forever? Looking affectionately at Ojo sleeping so tranquilly in the embrace of the faithful bear, Realbad came to a sudden decision. He drew out his jewel-handled sword. Now then, let the sword decide for him! Flinging it high in the air Realbad watched anxiously to see how it would fall. It came down point first and embedded itself in the dewy grass.

  CHAPTER 15

  Lost in a Fog

  THE first thing Ojo saw when he wakened was a crackling fire, and rubbing his eyes he wondered why Realbad had kindled a fire in the middle of the night. It was so dark he could just make out the figures of his two friends, and rubbing his eyes again he stumbled sleepily toward the comforting

  blaze, for he felt both stiff and chilly.

  “Bad morning,” called the bandit, gaily waving his hunting knife. “Come along, sleepy-head. Breakfast is almost ready.”

  “It can’t be morning,” yawned the boy, sitting down on a big log beside Snuffer. “Look how black

  it is.”

  “Blue,” corrected Snuffer, moving mournfully over to make room for Ojo. “A pesky fog has come up and we’ll be fog-bound for hours.”

  “Oh, what’s a fog in the history of a lifetime?” sniffed Realbad. “How will you have your eggs, Ojo, bard or soft?”

  “Eggs?” marveled the boy in astonishment. “Are there any?”