L. Frank Baum - Oz 18 Page 12

  “One thing at a time, one thing at a time!” objected the old soldier testily. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll strain your brain, young man?”

  “I think and think both late and early, For thinking makes the brain grow curly!” chuckled the irrepressible poet, at which Grampa beat such a tattoo upon his drum that the next verses were quite drowned out. But as soon as Grampa stopped drumming, Percy burst out again:

  “I met a spick and Spaniard once, He was so spick and span, He even had his toes curled up Believe me, if you, if you-?”

  “I can believe anything Mr Vere,” said Grampa grimly. “Then try this!” roared the Forgetful Poet, waving his arms.

  “If fifty boats and fifty crews Were gathered in a group, Why wouldn’t it be proper, Sir, To call the crews a croup? Admit, old dear, that this is clear-As clear, as clear as-

  “Soup!” groaned Grampa in spite of himself. “Vegetable soup,” he added bitterly and, reaching in his pocket, jerked out the wizard’s medicine.

  “What are you doing?” asked Percy curiously, as he ran his finger hurriedly down the green label.

  “Looking for a cure,” said the old sailor, raising his eyebrows significantly. But there was no cure for forgetful poetry on the green label, so with a sigh Grampa returned the bottle to his pocket. “What can’t be cured must be endured,” said the old soldier glumly and, pursing up his lips, he began to whistle a sad tune. Dorothy and Tatters exchanged amused glances and Urtha, who had been skipping beside Percy Vere, touched him on the arm.

  “Is the Princess of Perhaps City pretty?” asked the little flower fairy timidly. She could not bear to think of Tatters marrying an ugly Princess.

  “I should guess, mercy yes! I should say, April, April-?” “Trouble ahead! Trouble ahead!” crowed Bill, before anyone could finish the verse. Just then a turn in the lane brought them plump into a huge fenced-in park. The fence was much too high to climb and stretched as far on either side as they could see.

  “I never saw this place before,” said Dorothy, peering curiously between the bars, “but maybe if we knock on the gate someone will let us in. Then we can march through and out the other side.”

  “Here’s the gate,” called Percy Vere, who had run a little ways to the right, “and here’s a sign.” “Play!” announced the sign over the gate. “All work on these grounds forbidden.”

  Just below was a smaller sign-“No trespassing!”

  “Well, we don’t want to trespass, we want to jes’ pass through,” chortled the Forgetful Poet and, before anyone could stop him, he had hammered hard upon the gates.

  Immediately loud roars of laughter sounded all through the park, footsteps scurried over the lawns and the next instant the gayest company that Dorothy ever had seen came crowding forward-Pierretttes and Pierrots, hundreds of them, the girls in full skirted frocks with tall saucy caps, the men in pantaloon suits and frills. While they smiled and waved through the bars, the King of Play, who looked, as Dorothy told Ozma afterwards, exactly like a court jester-the King himself swung open the gates and, with a low bow, invited them to enter. So, of course they did, and before Grampa could give the order to break ranks or fall out, or even say Hello, the Play Fellows had fallen upon his army and simply borne them away. Only Bill escaped and nervously he hovered over his friends, determining, if necessary, to drop on the heads of this exuberant company.

  “Wait! Stop! Halt!” puffed the old soldier, who was being dragged toward a merry-go-round by five of the mischievous Pierrettes. Dorothy and Percy Vere were being rushed as unceremoniously to the swings, while a dozen of the Pierrots were begging Urtha for a dance. Tatters, holding his father’s head high above his own, was hustled off to a high wooden slide and to nothing that any of them said would the Play Fellows pay the slightest attention. Indeed, there was so much noise and confusion, they could not have heard if they had tried. Bands played and fountains played and the Play Fellows played, and the creak of the swings and the squeak of the merry-go-rounds and the roars of the delighted Pierrettes and Pierrots, as they hustled their visitors from one amusement to another, were enough to deafen a gate post. Toto, after one shocked glance at the boisterous company, scampered off and hid himself in a button bush, where he watched anxiously for a chance to escape. Poor Bill, trying to keep all of the company in view at once, flew in dizzying circles over the park, almost cross-eyed from the strain.

  After his sixteenth merry-go-round, Grampa gave up trying to explain and, staggering over to a soap bubble fountain, fell in. But the Play Fellows quickly pulled him out and insisted upon his joining in a game of tag. The only bright spot in the whole dreadful experience was the finding of a bubble pipe, which Grampa hastily picked from its bush and thrust into his pocket.

  Percy and Dorothy fared no better. “This is worse than washing!” groaned the Forgetful Poet, as a wild company of Pierrettes dragged them ‘round and ‘round the mulberry bush.

  “Play! Play! Play!” shouted King Capers, dashing from group to group and banging the company right and left with his belled and beribboned scepter. “Play! Play! Play!”

  “I never knew fun was such hard work,” panted Tatters to Bill, who was circling immediately above his head. The poor Prince was black and blue all over from sliding down the slides, but every time he objected the Play Fellows would pull him to the top and scream with merriment as he came sliding down again. There were too many heads to fall on, and Bill-powerless to help screamed his rage and indignation at the mannerless crowd. There was much to be seen and marvelled at in the play grounds, but as the company agreed later, playing when you want to play and being forced to play are two quite different things, so that the balloon vines, top trees and checker bushes went almost unnoticed. Indeed all that any of them could think of was getting away.

  Urtha was the first to make her escape. The little flower fairy had been treated. so gently and considerately by Grampa and Tatters, since her coming to life in the enchanted garden, that she did not know what to make of the rude manners of the Play Fellows.

  When they began snatching flowers from her hair and pulling her roughly from place to place, her violet eyes widened with terror and dismay. Watching her opportunity, she sprang away from them and sped like the wind itself across the gardens. Now the runner does not exist who can outdistance a fairy, so it was not long before Urtha left her tormentors behind. And better still, the little flower fairy had run directly into a wicket gate leading out of the play grounds. Opening the gate she slipped through and then, because she was still frightened, she kept running and running till she was as lost as one raindrop in a thunder shower.

  There is no telling how long the others would have been forced to endure the teasing of the Play Fellows, if a gong had not sounded from a distant part of the grounds.

  Immediately the whole company trooped off and, without waiting to find out the meaning of the bell, Grampa’s army rushed to the nearest exits.

  “I’m done for!” gasped Percy Vere, rolling under a tree. “Let me curl up like a pretzel and bake-I mean die!” Toto, who had followed close upon the heels of the harassed company, curled up beside him.

  “But where’s Urtha?” cried Tatters, staring around wildly. “Where’s Grampa?” “She ran away long ago,” crowed Bill, flying over the fence. “That way!” He pointed his claw toward the East.

  “Oh, dear! Oh, dear, where is the old soldier?” wailed Dorothy, jumping up and down with impatience. “We ought to get away from here quick.”

  “I’ll find him,” volunteered Bill. “Wait here.” Back went the devoted weather cock and, after flying over the entire play grounds, he found Grampa asleep under a checker bush.

  “Wake up!” cried Bill, jumping up and down on his chest. “The coast is clear. Forward march, by the name of Grampa!” The old soldier stirred uneasily, rubbed his eyes and then sprang up but immediately tumbled down again, for while he slept, the wretched Play Fellows had run off with his game leg.

  “What in time?” b
lustered the old soldier, picking himself up again. But being a man of action and, seeing a crowd of Pierrettes emerging from a big hall not far away, Grampa snatched up a long handled croquet mallet and, using it as a crutch, hobbled with all his might toward the exit pointed out by Bill. Here he was met by Percy Vere and Dorothy and after a startled look each seized one of his arms and away they ran as fast as five legs would take them. Percy carried the King’s head and Dorothy the red umbrella.

  Tatters had dropped both when he discovered that Urtha was missing and had dashed off in search of her. And it was not long before he picked up the trail, for every step of the flower maiden was marked out in daisies and forget-me-nots. Paying no attention to rocks, sticks, brambles and thorns, the Prince of Ragbad pushed on, his only thought to find and comfort the sweet and lost little fairy who had made the days so pleasant and the journey so happy for them.

  CHAPTER 19: Back to Perhaps City

  SEATED on a great gold cushion on the lowest golden step of his palace sat Peer Haps, pointing his telescope with trembling fingers down Maybe Mountain. It was the fourth day mentioned in Abrog’s prophecy, the day the monster was to carry off the Princess, and still no word had come from the Forgetful Poet. Between grief over the loss of his daughter and worry over Percy Vere, the poor old monarch had got no sleep at all and was so cross and snappy that the pages and courtiers went steathily about on tip-toe, their fingers to their lips.

  “Can’t you make a verse, idiot?” roared the Peer, glaring at Perix who, with another telescope, sat close beside him. Perix moved up a couple of steps and sadly shook his head.

  “But look,” he stuttered in the next breath, someone is coming up the mountain.” “Is it the monster?” puffed Peer Haps anxiously. “Has it two heads?” Dropping his own telescope, he snatched the young nobleman’s glass and glued his eye to the top. Then, with a loud shriek ofjoy, he tore open the gates and plunged recklessly down the steep mountain side. And certainly the dear old fellow would have rolled to the bottom had not a sturdy oak intervened and put a stop to his plunging. It was the fortunatest place of all for a stop, because, right below the oak, climbing easily over the rocks and stones, was the lost Princess herself. Not quite herself, perhaps, but enough so for her father to recognize her. Holding tight to the oak, the old Peer leaned down and seized her hand.

  The next instant he had her in his arms and was running up the mountain as recklessly as he had just plunged down. But some good fairy kept him from tumbling and, once up the golden steps, he brushed past gaping courtiers and pages and never stopped ‘till he had reached the great throne room.

  Setting the Princess on a green satin sofa, he gave her a hasty kiss and, without stopping to question her about her strange disappearance, locked the door and rushed from the room. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. True, the Princess was found, but she certainly was changed and, worse still, at any moment the monster might appear and carry her off. Thudding down the corridor, Peer Haps burst into the apartment of the tall High Humpus of Perhaps City. Humpus was also Chief Justice and attended to all state weddings. The Peer was determined to have the Princess marry Petrix at once and settle this monster matter once and for always. Explaining this as he went along, he dragged the scandalized Justice to the steps to fetch the groom. But Perix had disappeared and with him every single young and single nobleman in Perhaps City. For though Peer Haps had run quickly, with his daughter in his arms, he had not run quickly enough, and word of the mysterious change in the Princess had already spread over the city.

  “She is bewitched,” Perix had whispered to the others in a panic and-feeling in his bones that Peer Haps would insist upon marrying her anyway-the faint-hearted youth had hidden himself in a rain barrel and the other young noblemen, equally alarmed, had run to the darkest cellar in the castle. Hopping on one foot and then on the other, Peer Haps called each one by name. But there was no response and, sinking down upon the golden steps, the poor King wept with rage and discouragement. But the Lord High Humpus had been staring down the mountain for signs of the monster, and now he plucked the Peer sharply by the sleeve.

  “Look!” hissed the Chief Justice, every curl in his white wig fluttering with excitement. “Look!” Knocking upon the great gates of the city was a weary, travel-stained young stranger. It was the Prince of Ragbad. For the flower trail had led him straight to the foot of Maybe Mountain. There he had lost his way, for Maybe Mountain is covered with wild flowers of every description, so that it was impossible to trace farther the footsteps of the little fairy. But Tatters had kept on, nevertheless, determined, if necessary, to search the whole mountain until he found her. Naturally, he did not know he was so near the Forgetful Poet’s old home. But when, after a hard climb he reached the mountain top and spied the splendid castle of Peer Haps, he decided to continue his search there and waited impatiently for someone to open the gates.

  “He looks honest,” sputtered the Chief Justice, raising his brows significantly, “and in spite of his rags he is not unhandsome. Suppose-” To the rest of the sentence Peer Haps paid no attention, for he had already flung down the steps and pulled Tatters through the gates. Grabbing him by the arm, he hurried him up the steps and along the hall before the startled Prince could say “Jack Robinson.” The Lord High Humpus, straightening his wig, had dashed after them, and, while Peer Haps unlocked the door of the throne room, he held Tatters tightly by the hand.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded the astonished youth. He was exhausted and out of breath from his scramble up the mountain. “What’s the matter? I am looking for a lost fairy. Have you seen anything of her?” But instead of answering, the Chief Justice put his fingers to his lips and drew the young man into the throne room itself. There was a confused mumble of words, to which Tatters, who still was too weary and breathless to argue, paid small attention. He nodded absently to some question of the white-wigged dignitary and the next minute was being crushed in the embrace of the singularly fat old gentleman who had dragged him up the steps.

  “You have saved us!” cried Peer Haps, tears ofjoy zig-zagging down his cheek.

  “My son! My son! How can I ever repay you!”

  “Son?” The Prince of Ragbad sprang back aghast. “Congratulations!” chuckled the Chief Justice, clapping Tatters on the back. “On what?” gasped the bewildered young Prince, whirling ‘round.

  “On your marriage.” The Chief Justice made a deep bow toward the cloaked figure, whom Tatters had not seen until now.

  “My marriage?” The distracted youth clapped one hand to his head and the other to his heart and fell backwards upon a page who had just run in to announce visitors. But before the page could announce them, Grampa, Percy Vere, Dorothy and Toto burst into the throne room. It had not been long before they, too, had picked up the flower trail of Urtha and later the footprints of Tatters himself. You can imagine the delight of the Forgetful Poet to find himself once more on familiar ground. It was a hard pull up, for the old soldier had but one leg to climb with, but they had finally reached the top of the mountain, and, waving aside courtiers and servants, they had hurried immediately to the throne room.

  “Have you seen anything of a little fairy?” puffed all three together, and then seeing Tatters, apparently having a fit in the arms of a page, they stopped short.

  “Why, Tatters, whatever’s the matter?” Dorothy dropped the red umbrella and ran over to the Prince of Ragbad.

  “Matter?” choked the poor Prince, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Matter! I’m married to I don’t know whom-that’s what’s the matter!” And before Dorothy could make head or tail of his story the Forgetful Poet and Peer Haps had rushed at each other with such an outpouring of affectionate greetings, such hugs and claps upon the back, that nothing else could be heard at all.

  “This is worse than a battle,” groaned the old soldier, bracing himself against the table.

  “It’s an outrage, an utter outrage. Pick me up! Pick me up! Do you hear?”
The wig of the Chief Justice rose into the air and turned round three times. The voice had certainly come from a pink bag at his feet, for the Forgetful Poet, in his excitement at seeing the old Peer, had carelessly dropped Fumbo’s head. Pale with terror, the High Humpus fled from the throne room, and it was just as well, for there was noise and confusion enough without him. As no one else heard Fumbo, he had to stay where he was.

  “But the Princess!” cried Percy Vere, extri-cating himself at last from the Peer’s embraces. “I could not find her, but all these people are going to help and-”

  “Don’t worry about that,” beamed Peer Haps, waving toward the quiet little figure. “She is not only found, but married. Now let the monster appear if he dare. This young man has saved the day.”

  “Do you mean to say you are married?” roared Grampa, thumping on the table with his fist and glaring over at Tatters. “Why didn’t you wait for us? Where’s Urtha? Where’s the Princess? Why is she all covered up like this? I insist upon seeing the Princess.”

  “One minute! One minute!” begged Peer Haps, stepping between Grampa and the cloaked figure. “My daughter is bewitched just now and cannot be seen, but I’m sure the spell can be broken, and then-”

  “And you’ve married a bewitched Princess?” With another angry glance at poor Tatters, Grampa bit off a piece of his bubble pipe and sank heavily into a pink armchair. Dorothy had been trying her best to unravel the strange mix-up and now stepped forward.