L. Frank Baum - Oz 18 Read online

  But Dorothy would not hear of his marrying Pearl Borax, so, hiding his own discomfort, Percy did the best he could to keep her cheerful, reciting his ridiculous rhymes and waving the shirts, stockings and pantaloons around his head whenever the Queen’s back was turned. Even so, keeping cheerful was hard work and often both grew downhearted.

  “And Ozma thinks I’m having a fine visit with the Tin Woodman,” sighed Dorothy wearily, toward the end of the second day.

  “And Peer Haps thinks I’m rescuing his daughter,” groaned Percy Vere, letting the Queen’s red table cloth slip back into his tub and staring mournfully down Monday Mountain. Then seeing that Dorothy was actually near to tears, he tilted his cap over one eye and whispered this verse into her right ear:

  “It’s wash, splosh, rub And hang ‘em up for dryin’, If sumpin doesn’t happen soon I’ll simply burst out-?” “C ryin’!” Dorothy smiled and dashed the tears out of her eyes.

  “Here comes the old lady!” she finished hurriedly.

  “Isn’t she simply sinoobious,” sniffed Percy, dousing the red table cloth up and down in the water.

  “What did you say?” roared the Queen of the Tubbies. “I said,” grinned Percy mischievously: “Her Highness is so beautiful Her brightness dims the eye, I’ll work here and be dutiful Until the day I, I-?” “Die!” spluttered Dorothy, and the clumsy Queen lumbered on with a pleased smirk. “Better make up your mind to marry Pearl,” she called over her shoulder and Pearl Borax blew Percy a wet kiss over her tub of clothes.

  Toto, who was tied to Dorothy’s tub, growled fiercely-for he loathed the whole tribe of sloppy, messy wash women.

  “We must think of a way out,” gasped the poor poet unhappily, for life on Monday

  Mountain, where every day is washday, and every dinner is of potatoes and cabbage, was not to be endured. They had been over the matter a hundred times before and there really seemed no chance of escape at all. The tubs of the tribe were ranged in a circle around the mountain top, so that Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet were always under guard. A white fence ran around the mountain, a few feet below. You may have heard of a fence running around before, but this was the first fence Dorothy every had seen that actually did run. It was tall and spiked and flashed ‘round and ‘round, till just watching it gave one the headache. It was too high to jump and the gate only came opposite Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet once a day.

  When they had been dragged up the mountain, the Queen had addressed a low word to the fence. Immediately it had stopped and they had all come through the gate.

  But what was the word? Ever since his capture Percy Vere had been trying to puzzle it out and now, leaning his elbows on his wash hoard, he began trying again. Indeed he thought until he had twelve wrinkles in his forehead and all at once, like a flash of lightning, it came to him such a short, sensible word that he gave a triumphant skip.

  Next instant he was splashing the clothes in his tub so vigorously that none of the wild wash women heard him give Dorothy a few quick instructions. In five minutes the gate would be opposite and one minute before the five were up, the three prisoners dashed down the mountain.

  “Stop!” shouted Percy Vere, imperiously hammering upon the fence with a rock.

  Oh, joy! It did stop and, as the gate was now exactly in front of them, Percy Vere opened it boldly and pulled Dorothy and Toto through. No sooner were they out than the fence began to spin around as fast as ever, so that before the wild wash women, who saw them escape, could follow the gate was half way around the mountain. With howls of rage and fright-for the Tubbies knew that the Queen would be furious-the dreadful creatures overturned their wash tubs, and a perfect torrent of hot soapy water came cascading down the mountain side, upsetting Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet and making the path so slippery that they never stopped sliding till they reached the bottom. Breathless, drenched and shaken, but otherwise unhurt, they picked themselves up and, without pausing to rest, all three began running as fast as ever they could away from Monday Mountain.

  “How-did-you ever-think-of-telling the fence to stop?” puffed Dorothy, stopping under a broad tulip tree.

  “Had to!” gasped Percy, dropping heavily to the ground and leaning over to pat Toto, who sat, with closed eyes and tongue out, trying to catch up with his breath. Then Percy delivered this gem:

  “Far from the Tubbies, little Princess, And wouldn’t they starch and blue and rinse us-”

  “Did you say Princess?” interrupted a voice. Dorothy and Percy both jumped and Toto gave a frightened bark-for sitting on a lower branch of the tulip tree was our old friend Bill.

  “Did you say Princess?” crowed the weather cock. Percy was too surprised to do anything but nod and the iron bird rattled into the air screaming: “The Princess! The Princess!” and flew over the tree tops.

  CHAPTER 17: The Adventurers Meet

  “I DON’T SEE any Princess,” sniffed the old soldier, coming to an abrupt halt and eying the two travellers critically. Grampa and his army had barely recovered from their tumble off the rainbow before Bill’s cries, announcing the Princess, brought them hurrying to the tulip tree, where Dorothy and Percy Vere were resting.

  “Am I dreaming?” gulped the Forgetful Poet, clutching Dorothy’s hand. “Am I dreaming or what?” His eye roved from Grampa’s game leg to Tatters’ many-hued suit and finally came to a rest on the lovely little flower fairy.

  “There is the Princess,” insisted Bill, pointing his claw at Dorothy.

  “Snuff and nonsense!” snapped the old soldier scornfully. “You’re a regular false alarm, Bill, always going off at the wrong time. Why, that’s only a dusty little country girl and no proper match for the Prince at all!” Grampa’s lofty speech brought Percy quickly out of his dream.

  “Don’t you be so migh and highty,” muttered the Forgetful Poet, drawing himself up proudly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you-“No offense! No offense!” observed Grampa coolly.

  “It’s not the child’s fault that she’s not a Princess. I dare say she’s a very nice little girl, but we’re looking for a Princess!”

  “Why, so are we!” cried Dorothy in surprise. “But you needn’t be so impolite.” “She is a Princess, too, and do you mean to stand there and tell me that that young ragbag is a Prince?” Percy Vere stared at Tatters long and earnestly and then, rolling up his eyes murmured feelingly:

  “A Prince of rags and scraps and patches, And then they talk to us of matches! The Prince of what? The Prince of where? He has a bird’s nest in his er in his-”

  “Hair,” giggled Dorothy. Poor Tatters blushed to his ears and hurriedly tried to smooth out his hair with his fingers.

  “Come on?” cried Grampa indignantly. “They’re crazy!” “If you’ll believe he’s a Prince, I’ll believe she’s a Princess,” put in a soft voice and Urtha, who had been listening anxiously to the sharp speeches on both sides, danced up to the Forgetful Poet.

  “That’s fair enough,” agreed Percy Vere, smiling at the little flower fairy: “You believe in us, and we’ll believe in you, And if you say so I’ll believe that six and one are are?”

  “Two,” said Dorothy, “only they’re eight. You mustn’t mind Percy’s forgetting. You see, he is a poet,” she explained hastily.

  “Let me out! Let me out! What’s all this noise?” Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet exchanged frightened glances and Toto crept back of the tree-trunk with only one ear showing, for the voice certainly had come from a bag on the Prince’s shoulder.

  “Not a dream, but a night mare!” choked the Forgetful Poet, as the Prince of Ragbad calmly took his father’s head out of the knitting bag and held it up toward them.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” purred Fumbo in his drowsy voice, as the two clung to one another in a panic.

  “I’m not alarmed, I’m-I’m petrified!” gasped Percy, looking over his shoulder to see whether the path was clear in case he should desire to run.

  “It has a crown on, whispered Doroth
y nervously. “It must be a King. I once knew a Princess who had dozens of heads and took them off. Maybe he’s like that.”

  “You’re speaking of the Princess Languidere, I presume,” drawled Fumbo. Being a great reader, Fumbo was well acquainted with all the celebrities in Oz. “No, my dear, I am not like that; as it happens I have only one head and it blew off, as you can plainly see. This young man you see here is my son and he is carrying my head back to my body. And now you may tell me your story,” commanded the King, smiling graciously. His glance rested curiously on Dorothy. “You are known to me already,” continued the King.

  “Grampa, this is Princess Dorothy of Oz, and she is even prettier than her pictures, if you will permit me to say so.

  “I told you she was a Princess,” crowed the weather cock triumphantly. “Have you a fortune with you, girl?”

  “The Dorothy who lives in the Emerald City?” gasped Tatters, almost dropping his father’s head. “The Dorothy who discovered Oz?” Dorothy nodded modestly and Grampa, covered with confusion at the memory of his sharp speech, tried to hide behind Tatters.

  “Never mind,” laughed Dorothy, seeing Grampa’s embarrassment. “I really don’t look like a Princess now. You see we’ve had such a hard journey, falling down a mountain and all, we’re kinda rumpled.”

  “We’ve been through a week of washdays,” groaned Percy Vere, straightening his jacket and looking ruefully at his red hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were a Prince.” He turned contritely to Tatters. “Mistakes all around, you see.

  “Well, we’ve had a hard time, too,” admitted the Prince of Ragbad, making another frantic attempt to smooth his hair.

  “Ask her if she has a fortune?” insisted Bill, settling heavily on the Prince’s shoulder.

  “Hush!” said Tatters, giving Bill a poke.

  “Oh, goody!goody! We’re all going to be friends.” Urtha spread out her flowery skirts and danced happily around the little group.

  “Oh, forget-me-nots and daisies! Oh, dahlias and pinks!”

  “And you’re the whole bouquet, Miss May!” cried Percy Vere, but he was immediately interrupted by Fumbo.

  “Stop!” cried the King’s head. “Let us keep these stories straight. You said you were looking for a Princess. What Princess?”

  “Company, sit down!” ordered the old soldier gruffly. He had commanded the expedition so far and was not going to be bossed around at this stage of the game. Tatters and Urtha promptly obeyed, the Prince carefully holding his father’s head in his lap.

  Dorothy and Percy Vere, after their long run, were glad enough to rest. So down they all sat in a big circle under the green tree, Bill and Toto in the center, staring at one another curiously.

  “Now, then, Mr er-Mr-” Grampa nodded condescendingly at the Forgetful Poet. “Vere,” put in Percy politely. “Now then, Mr Vere, let us have your story,” said the old soldier, taking a big pinch of snuff. So, with many interruptions from King Fumbo who seemed to know all about Perhaps City-and many lapses into verse, the Forgetful Poet told of Abrog’s prophecy about the monster, of the strange disappearance of the little Princess and Abrog himself, of his tumble down Maybe Mountain and of his and Dorothy’s adventures since then on the Runaway and Monday Mountain.

  “Humph,” grunted the old soldier, when he had finished, “I wouldn’t trust a prophet as far as I could swing a chimney by the smoke. That prophet has run off with her. You can bet your last shoe button on that and, since we are searching for a Princess ourselves, we might as well look for the Princess of Perhaps City. What do you say, my boy?” Grampa glanced questioningly at Tatters.

  “I’ll be glad to help Princess Dorothy and this-this poet, but-.” Already Tatters had made up his mind to return with Urtha to Ragbad, regardless of fortunes and Princesses.

  “No buts about it,” roared the King’s head indignantly. “She’ll be a splendid match for you, my son, and Peer Haps, from all reports, is one of~the merriest monarchs in Oz. Why, I dote on him already!”

  “Can’t all this wait till we find the Princess?” protested Percy Vere nervously. “No use rushing matters, you know.” All this talk of marrying rather upset him. Tatters looked gratefully at the Forgetful Poet and decided to forgive him for his rude verse.

  “Of course it can wait,” agreed the Prince heartily. “The first thing to do is to rescue the Princess.”

  “No, the first thing to do, is to tell us who you are,” laughed Dorothy, who could restrain her curiosity no longer. “Why, we don’t even know your names or how you happened to be in this part of Oz.”

  “We followed the directions on the bottle,” explained Bill importantly. “We fell, swum, exploded, sailed and flew!”

  “You tell them,” begged Tatters, looking appealingly at the old soldier, for he could see that Bill was going to mix things dreadfully.

  “Yes, you tell us,” commanded Fumbo. He had not yet heard the story of their journey from Ragbad himself, and was even more curious about it than Dorothy. So Grampa took the center of the circle. Now, next to fighting, the old soldier loved to talk and, next to fighting, talking was the best thing he did. His recital of the experiences of his little army during the past three days was so thrilling that Dorothy and Percy simply held their breath and Toto’s ears waved with excitement. Dorothy was particularly interested in Bill and the strange manner in which he had been shocked to life. Being from the United States herself, it seemed real homelike to meet a fellow countryman, even if he was only a weather cock. As for Percy Vere-who had lived all his life on Maybe Mountain-nothing could exceed his astonishment as Grampa proceeded from one adventure to the next.

  “Do you mind if I close my eyes,” Percy muttered weakly, as Grampa reached the point in his story where they had discovered Urtha growing in the wizard’s garden. “Do you mind if I close my eyes? I can believe anything with my eyes shut.”

  “Not if you close your mouth also,” snapped Grampa and went right on with his story, never even stopping for breath until he had reached their last tumble from the rainbow.

  “Professor Wogglebug will have to write a whole new history,” breathed Dorothy, as Grampa settled back in his place, “and Ozma will never allow the bandit to stay in the blue forest nor Gorba to practice magic in his hidden garden. Oh, my! I do believe you can help us find the Princess after all. You are so brave and interesting.” Dorothy smiled at Grampa and Tatters and the Forgetful Poet, opening his eyes, stared dreamily at the little flower fairy.

  “If I had my arms, I’d embrace you all,” exclaimed Fumbo feelingly, “and you shall have hugs all around as soon as I get back to my body. You’re a credit to the country, and Bill here shall have a perch on the highest tower in Ragbad and little Miss Posies-”

  “But the Princess!” exclaimed Bill anxiously, “and the fortune! We can’t go back without them!”

  “Too late to hunt for them to-day,” chuckled Grampa and indeed, while they had been talking, the sun had dropped down behind the daisy splashed hill, leaving the world hathed in a pleasant dusk.

  “We’re all tired, so we’ll have supper and make camp here,” decided Grampa sensibly. “Then tomorrow we’ll start after that prophet with gun, musket, sword and bootleather!”

  “That’s the talk!” cried Percy Vere, jumping up to help Tatters gather wood for a fire. With such good company, the last of the bear steaks from Isa Poso and the berries gathered by little Urtha tasted better than a feast, and nothing could have exceeded the jollity of that evening ‘round Grampa’s camp fire.

  Between the Forgetful Poet’s verse and the old soldier’s jokes, they were simply convulsed and finally, when they had talked over their adventures to heart’s content, Dorothy, Tatters, the Forgetful Poet and Urtha settled down to a quiet game of scrum. Soon the only sound to be heard was the click of the checkers on Grampa’s game leg and the loud snores of Fumbo’s head, which hung from a branch of the tulip tree in the pink knitting bag of Maribella, the little sky shepherdess. />
  CHAPTER 18: The Mischievous Play Fellows

  BRIGHT and early next morning Grampa lined up his little army and, after a short council, they determined to continue their march to the Emerald City and learn from Ozma’s magic picture just where Abrog and the lost Princess of Perhaps City were to be found. Although breakfast had been a light affair of water and berries, they were all in excellent spirits and, with Grampa’s drum beating out a lively march, they stepped merrily down the shady Winkie Lane. Grampa and the Forgetful Poet led off, Dorothy and the Prince of Ragbad followed, the Prince carrying his father’s head and his red umbrella. Urtha danced in and out to suit her own sweet fancy, Bill flew ahead and Toto trotted contentedly behind.

  “Here I go by the name of Bill!” crowed the weather cock exultantly. “By the name of B-hill!” Grampa winked at Percy Vere and Percy Vere winked back. “Isn’t he ridiculish?” whispered the Forgetful Poet merrily. “But then, we’re all ridiculish in spots.” His eyes rested a moment on Grampa’s game leg. “Yes,” continued Percy Vere, with a droll nod, “everything, when you come to think of it, is simply sinoobious. Why do we call ourselves an army, pray, when we might just as well call ourselves a footy? Have we not as many feet as arms? Why do we say Good-day’ on a rainy morning and-”