"I'm terribly sorry," apologized Shakespeare. "I didn't realize that your eyes had not yet become sensitized to the higher vibrations of my friends. What must you have thought of me?" "Oh, nothing at all," cried Graham. "I mean, I hadn't really noticed all these people. I was so engrossed in what you were saying."
"Really?" replied the Bard with a twinkle in his eye. "I quite understand. People are always totally captivated by my words. Anyway, as I was saying, or rather, as I was about to say…"
At that moment, a head bent over the Bard's shoulder to say hello to Graham. It was none other than Mark Twain, whom Graham instantly recognized. And with him was a gentleman who introduced himself as Charles Dickens. He gave Graham a wink and shook his hand. "You're a fine young fellow. I predict that you will go far in life." Of course, Graham was speechless. It suddenly hit him that he was in the company of some of the world's greatest human beings. If he ever got back home and tried to tell people, they would be sure to lock him up and throw away the key. Mark Twain asked how things were going and assured him that, while the plane would not be able to transport him home, he felt certain that, when the time came, a way would be found which would enable him to return. "If not," Mark Twain said, "not to worry. There'd never be a dull moment in Oz!"
Oh, that's just great!thought Graham. Now there was a chance that he would not get back. But did not Shakespeare say that he wanted him to inform the world that he had written his own stuff? He would not have said that if he did not think that the boy would get home to tell the tale.What am I saying?thought Graham.None of this is really happening. I'm just having the most gigantic, craziest dream anyone has ever had.
"By the way," said Mark Twain, interrupting Graham's thoughts. "Here are a couple of letters I forgot to mail to my poet friend, Bayard Taylor. They should probably be in some collection somewhere so, if you'd take them back with you, I'd appreciate it. I said in one letter that I'd probably forget to stamp it, and I did." Twain handed Graham the letters and indicated that he did not mind the boy's reading them if he wanted to.
There I go again, thought Graham,believing in my own dream.In any event, he settled back in the seat and began to read the letters. However, before he could really get started, Charles Dickens interrupted him.
"As usual, this Twain fellow takes over and hogs the conversation. In the very near future, young Graham, you and I will get together, and I'll tell you some very interesting stories of my childhood. In the meantime," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper that had some kind of drawing on it, "I have autographed a sketch of Boz to take back with you. Boz was the name I used when I first embarked on my literary adventures. In case you are wondering if there is a cryptic connection between Boz and Baum and Oz, you'll have to keep wondering about that. I was born at Portsea, Portsmouth, a few minutes before midnight on the seventh of February, 1812, forty-four years before Mr. Baum was born. I came to Oz in 1870, when Mr. Baum was only fourteen years old. He was not destined to write about Oz until some thirty years later. Now, when you come back, I'll tell you some more about my early days, and I'll make sure that our friend Twain doesn't bask in his self-perceived limelight while we're having our important discussions."
[Illustration]
"Now, you listen up, Mr. Dickens, sir," said Mark Twain with mock anger, for they were actually the best of friends. "I resent that, and I won't have you filling the boy's head with a lot of imaginary adventures and strange connections between words. Next you'll be telling him there's a link between the Land of Ev and Robert Evans—or even more ludicrous—that Frank Oz and Michael Ovitz of Hollywood have a mystical link to Oz because they have Oz in their names, or even more ludicrous, that you and Chris Dulabone have a connection because you both have the initials C.D. I mean, how far can you go with this stuff? I'm telling the boy about real things and about real life…"
Dickens just shook his head slowly and turned to Graham. "I really don't pay much attention to his rambling. Go ahead and read his boring letters before he has a kitten. I won't forget my promise to you, and we'll have a delightfully interesting time together, you'll see. And I promise you, my stories will not be imaginary. Oh, by the way, here's some of my correspondence you might wish to take back with you. One is a letter and note I sent to my American friend, Mr. Fields of Boston, and also some beverage recipes I sent to Mrs. Fields. Also an announcement of two plays I produced, one of which I acted in and—"
"You're not the only actor around here, Mr. Dickens, sir!" interrupted Twain. "I've acted in plays, too. For example, I was inLoan of a Loverin 1876. Your Mrs. Fields, by the way, said I was wonderful in it. And as long as you're producing letters you wrote to Mr. Fields, I'll give young Graham a copy of a letter that I wrote to Mr. Fields. So what do you think about that?"
Graham was astounded to hear these two world-famous personages fighting like children and competing for his attention. What would his history teacher and his fellow classmates think? He accepted the additional material, then settled down to begin reading as the two men continued to argue all the way back to their seats. He started with Mark Twain's letters. There were actually four letters, one of them completely in German, which Twain probably had not meant to hand him. But the boy read it anyway, no matter that he did not understand a word. It did not dawn on him that, if this was a dream, where did the German words come from if they were not in his consciousness to begin with? Below is a copy of the letters for the record, although it is suggested that the reader skim over them for now, as they are not relevant except as historical interest:
_Schloss-Hotel Heidelberg May 7, 1878 H. Albert
Lieber Herr Taylor:
Wir werden hier blieben viellicht für drie Monate, zum Schloss Hotel.
—Dies hotel steht about fünf und siebenzig Fuss Höhler als das Schloss, und commandirt ein Aussicht welcher ohne Ahnlichkeit in der Welt hat. (Sie mussen excuse auskratchens, interlineations.)
Ich habe heute gecalled on der Herr Professor Ihne, qui est die Professor von Englishen Zunge im University, to get him to recommend ein Deutchen Lehrer Für mich, welcher he did. Er sprach um mehrerer Americanischer authors, und meist güngstiger & vernügungsvoll von Ihrer; dass er knew you and Ihrer so wohl durch Ihrer geschereibungen; und wann Ich habe gesagt Ich sollen Ihr schreiben heute Nacht gewesen if nothing happened, er bitte mich Opfer sein compliments, und hoffe Ihnen will ihm besuchen wenn du Kommst an Heidelberg. Er war ein vortrefflicher and liebwürdiger & every way delightful alte gentleman. Man sagt Ich muss ein Pass (in der English, Passport,) haben to decken accidents. Däfur gefelligt Ihnen furnish me one. Meine Beschreibung ist vollenden: Geborn 1835; 5 Fuss 8 ein wenig unter, sometimes ein wenig oben; dunkel braun Haar und rhotes Moustache, full Gesicht, mit sehr hohe Oren and leicht grau practvolles strahlenden Augen und ein Verdammtes gut moral character. Handlungkeit, Author von Bücher. Ich habe das Deutche sprache gelernt und bin ein glücklicher Kind, you bet. With warmest regards & kindness remembrances from all our party to you & your wife and daughter.
Yrs sincerely, S. L. Clemens
The Königstuhl, June 10 [1878] Lieber Herrn Taylor:
(Don't know whether it ought to be Herr or Herrn). Am much obliged for the letter—it was from friend whom I have been trying to ferret out. Yes, we still live at the Schloss-Hotel, & shall doubtless continue to do so until the neighborhood of August—but I only eat and sleep there; my work-den is the second story of a little Wirthschaft which stands at the base of the tower on the summit of the Konigsstuhl. I walk up there every morning at 10, write until 3, talk the most hopeless and unimprovable German with the family 'til 5, then tramp down to the Hotel for the night. It is a schones Aussicht up there as you may remember. The exercise of climbing up there is invigorating but devilish. I have just written regrets to the Paris Literary Convention. I did hate to have to miss that entertainment, but I knew that if I went there & spent a fortnight it would take me another fortnight to get settled down into the harness again—couldn't afford that.
The Emperor is a splendid old hero! That he could survive such wounds never entered my head—yet by the news I judge he is actually recovering. It is worth something to be a Lincoln or a Kaiser Wilhelm—& it gives a man a better opinion of the world to show appreciation for such men—& what is better, love of them.—I have not seen anything of this outburst of affectionate indignation since Mr. Lincoln's assassination gave the common globe a sense of personal injury. Ich habe der Consul Smith gesehen ein Paar Wochen ago, & told him about that Pass, und er hat mir gesagt das er wurde be absent from this gegen—(something) zwei oder drei Wochen, aber wann er sollte hier wieder nachkommen, wollte er der pass geschlagen worden & snake it off to Berlin. Vielleicht hat er noch nicht zu Mannheim zuruck-kehrt.
Now as to the grammar of this language; I haven't conquered the Accusative Case yet (I began with that) & there are three more. It begins to seem to me that I have got to try to get along with the Accusative alone & leave the rest of this grammar to be tackled in the future life.
With our kindest remembrances to you & yours
Yrs sincerely, S. L. Clemens
Hotel de l'Ecu de Geneve Sept. 8/78
My dear Mr. Taylor:
I have learned the German language & forgotten it again; so I resume English once more. I have just returned from a walking trip to Mont Blanc—which I was intending to ascend, but was obliged to give up the idea, as I had gone too early & there was still snow on it. I find your letter here; if you will be so kind as to forward Slote's letter to the above address I think it will be in time to catch me—& in any case I will make arrangements to have it follow me. (I am going to try to enclose the necessary stamps in this, but if I forget it—however, I won't)
We have been poking around slowly through Switzerland for a month; a week hence we go to Venice—to Rome & other places later; & we are booked for Munich Nov. 10 (for the winter.) One of these days I am going to whet up my German again & take a run to Berlin, & have a talk with you in that fine old tongue.
Yrs Ever
S. L. Clemens
No. 1a Karlstrasse,
(2e stock) Munich, Dec. 14 [1878]
My Dear Mr. Taylor:
When we were poking around Italy 3 or 4 weeks ago, I was told that you were ill, but straightway saw it contradicted in a newspaper. Now comes this paragraph in Galignani which not only shows that the contradiction was erroneous, but shows how ignorant one may be in this country about what is happening only a few hundred miles away; especially when one is buried in work & neither talks with people or often looks in the paper. We three folks are heartily glad to hear that you are coming happily out of it; & we are venturing to hope that by this time you are wholly restored.
We are located for the winter,—I suppose. But the children are having such a run of coughs & diptheria [sic], that I can't tell at what moment Mrs. Clemens may take fright & flee to some kindlier climate. However, I stick hard at work & make what literary hay I can while we tarry. Our little children talk German as glibly as they do English, now, but the rest of us are mighty poor German scholars, I can tell you. Rev. Twitchell (who was over here with me a while,) conceived a pretty correct average of my German. When I was talking, (in my native tongue,) about some rather private matters in the hearing of some Germans one day, Twitchel said, "Speak in German, Mark,—some of these people may understand English."
Many a time when teachers & dictionaries fail to unravel knotty paragraphs, we wish we could fly to you for succor; we even go so far as to believe you can read a German newspaper & understand it; & in moments of deep irritation I have been provoked into expressing the opinion that you are the only foreigner except God who can do that thing. I would not rob you of your food or clothes or your umbrella, but if I caught your German out I would take it. But I don't study any more,—I have given it up.
I & mine join in the kindest remembrances & best wishes to you & your family.
Sincerely Yours
Saml. L. Clemens
We are going to try to run over to Berlin in the spring_.
As Graham finished Mark Twain's last letter—the one to Mr. Fields, dated 1874—he noticed that the next letter from Dickens to Mr. Fields was dated 1867—seven years prior. He wondered if the two famous writers had actually crossed paths or had just known the Fields independent of one another. Either way, it was interesting to note that they were contemporaries. He had always imagined that Dickens had lived in a much earlier era than Twain. Well, to continue:
_Westminster Hotel, New York Sunday, Twenty-ninth December, 1867
My Dear Fields:
When I come to Boston for the two readings of the 6th and 7th, I shall be alone, as the Dolby must be selling elsewhere. If you and Mrs. Fields should have no other visitor, I shall be very glad indeed on that occasion to come to you. It is very likely that you may have some one come with you. Of course you will tell me so if you have, and I will then re'mbellish the Parker House.
Since I left Boston last, I have been so miserable that I have been obliged to call in a Dr.—Dr. Fordyce Barker, a very agreeable fellow. He was strongly inclined to stop the Readings altogether for some few days, but I pointed out to him how we stood committed, and how I must go on if it could be done. My great terror was yesterday's Matinee, but it went off splendidly. (A very heavy cold indeed, an irritated condition of the uvula, and a restlessly low state of the nervous system, were your friends maladies. If I had not avoided visiting, I think I should have been disabled for a week or so.)
I hear from London that the general question in society is, what will be blown up next year by the Fenians.
With love to Mrs. Fields, believe me,
Ever Affectionately yours, And hers, CHARLES DICKENS_
Following this letter to Mr. Fields was the note dated 1869 and the recipes for the brewing of pleasant beverages. Last was the program for the two plays at the Tavistock House Theatre. Graham was really looking forward to bringing all these things back with him.
As Graham got to the last line of the last letter, his eyes began to feel heavy. The whirlwind of activity since his abduction had caught up with him. Just as he was falling asleep, the sound of the captain's voice on the intercom jerked him awake. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Historicalfigureland International Airport. We hope you had an enjoyable flight and hope to see you again on Oz Airlines. Oh, and to our young guest from America, you are welcome to visit your friends here any time. But I'm sure you want to continue with your mission, and you will be glad to hear that we will be making an immediate turnaround after the disembarkation of our other passengers. I believe you were brought on board for the sole purpose of delivering some important documents back to America, but you are certainly welcome to stay as long as you wish."
At that, the plane landed with a slight bump and soon taxied to the terminal. The doors opened and everyone began to file out—many, anticipating that Graham would soon be returning, didn't engage him in conversation, but shook his hand warmly and wished him well. Mark Twain gave him a hug and said how much he had enjoyed his company. He said that Graham reminded him a lot of Tom Sawyer who, he said, currently lived down the street from him. Seeing Graham's puzzled expression, he quickly explained that any imaginary character an author dreams up is actually a person that the author has tuned into. And that an author rarely has an original thought in his head but is really very good at catching glimpses of activities (present, past or future) somewhere in creation.
As Mark Twain turned to the exit, Graham suddenly remembered a question that he had wanted to ask. "Oh, Mr. Twain," he called. "I wanted to ask how you came to use the name Mark Twain. I know your real name is Samuel Clemens…."
"Well," responded Twain, "no one has ever asked me that question before—Just kidding," he added quickly, seeing Graham's expression. "Yes, I am asked it all the time. The name was first used by an old Mississippi river pilot named Isaiah Sellers, who used to write items for theNew Orleans Picayune, in which he told of his adventures. He signed them Mark Twain, which in the parlance of pilots is a leadsman call meaning two fathoms, or twelve feet. When I was a cub pilot, I wrote a burlesque on Captain Seller's articles and published it in a rival paper under the signature of Sargeant Fathom. Unfortunately, the captain was so hurt by the burlesque that he never wrote another article. I still feel badly about it to this day, for I would never have intentionally hurt the old gentleman's feelings. Anyway, in 1863, when I was working for theEnterprisein Virginia City, Nevada, I wanted a good pen name and, while I was trying to think of one, I received the news of the death of the good captain. This brought to mind the name Mark Twain, and so I adopted the name in his honor. I signed it first in a letter from Carson City to theEnterpriseon February second, 1863. So now you know, my young friend," said Twain as he handed him an autographed photo of himself. "Something to keep for yourself, in remembrance of your visit here." He hugged Graham again and waved goodbye to the boy as he descended from the plane.
Several distinguished-looking gentlemen stopped to introduce themselves to Graham. One said his name was Ralph Waldo Emerson and another, Nathaniel Hawthorne. Yet another, Isaac Newton, who said Graham would probably become a scientist.
"Undoubtedly a physicist," said Albert Einstein.
"Oh, no," interjected Eugene O'Neill. "There's no question that he will be a writer." This last remark was overheard by Charles Lindbergh, who insisted that Graham would be a flyer. Then two deep resonant voices spoke in unison: "It is obvious that the boy is a born actor." The speakers were Lionel Barrymore and John Gilbert. But Senator Charles Sumner had the final word: "Whether he becomes an actor or not is immaterial: I can assure you that this young man's ultimate destiny is in the political arena."
After the distinguished group finished arguing about Graham's future vocation, they said that, since he seemed to be starting an autograph collection, they would be glad to add theirs to the list. Even John Dickens, father of Charles Dickens, signed the sheet. Then Emerson also handed him a note that he had written to—of all people—Mrs. Fields! "Don't mention this to Dickens or Twain," he said. "They'll just be jealous."
Turning to make sure Emerson had disembarked, Nathaniel Hawthorne winked at Graham and whispered, "Here's a little note that I, too, wrote to Mrs. Fields. Not a word now to Emmy, Dickybird, or Marky-Mark." Graham laughed out loud at the nicknames being given to Emerson, Dickens, and Twain, as well as the schoolboy-like antics being displayed by these great men. Then Edward Lear, who wroteThe Owl and the Pussycat, also handed him a handwritten note to Mrs. Fields. Graham could not help but think what a popular lady this Mrs. Fields must have been in her day. He wished he could have known her.
Hawthorne then handed him a signed photograph, as did Isaac Newton,Charles Darwin, Thomas Alva Edison, Albert Einstein, and H. G. Wells.Even Stephan Crane and Rudyard Kipling produced photographs.
Mr. Shakespeare was the last to leave. He had gone back to his seat when Messrs. Twain and Dickens were vying for Graham's attention. He, too, hugged the boy as he said goodbye, then handed him a piece of paper. "I have written down the verses I recited to you earlier, my friend—just in case you are not able to remember them all. It is important that this be given, simply because so many people doubt my authorship. I suppose after it is published there will still be doubters, but so be it. Skeptics have always existed and, I assume, always will. Some people like to doubt the reality of certain phenomena that appears quite obvious to others. I suspect it makes them feel secure: something they no longer have to deal with. Well, good luck, my little friend. I'm sure you will find your way home. Oh, incidentally, I almost forgot. I didn't want to one-upmanship Dickens and Twain in their presence, but I was an actor too, you know—long before those two. You might also like to have my autographed sketch. You will note the difference in my spelling of my name and the later versions." He stuffed a piece of paper in Graham's shirt pocket as he exited.
As the plane's doors closed behind Shakespeare, the flight attendant brought Graham a refreshing glass of lemonade. His thoughts turned to Telly, who had been so sad at being left behind. He eagerly looked forward to seeing the little guy again.
Graham slept the entire trip back. He awoke just as the plane taxied to the terminal. And who should be waiting in exactly the same place as he left him but Telly, who was so glad that Graham had returned that he ran up and hugged him for the longest time.
"I knew you'd come back," he said. "That's why I waited. I knew that the plane couldn't be going to America. In fact, I still don't believe that there was any plane or airport or anything. I think it was all some trick of the Witch to confuse us. Planes simply cannot exist in Oz. Transportation is either by foot or via some magical contrivance such as the animated Gump or the famous Red Wagon."
"Well, I hate to disappoint you," replied Graham, waving the bundle of letters, photographs, and drawings in his hand. "But where do you think these came from if the whole thing was some kind of hallucination? And how could I read German words if the words weren't in my consciousness to begin with? And I certainly couldn't have made up Shakespeare's words."
"And I hate to disappoint YOU," answered Telly, quite tartly, "but you might wish to look behind you."
Graham turned to look behind him to catch a glimpse of the entire airport fading away. Not only that, but the papers in his hand had also faded away to absolute nothingness. "Oh, no!" cried the boy. "Now I have no proof of my experience!"
"That's because it never happened," Telly replied dryly.
Oz was as unlike America as it could be, yet also familiar. It was not very long at all before Graham began to feel almost at home among the soft yellow countryside of the vast Winkie territory in which the pair now found themselves. In fact, Graham had come to feel so comfortable that he had all but forgotten about the evil Witch. He might have remained content and carefree indefinitely, had he not heard the growl that came forth from a nearby top-hat bush. It was a most deafening growl that sounded as terrible as a buzz-saw and as alive as an unfed zoo animal. Graham shuddered. He wondered what sort of macabre being could possibly make such a horrendous noise. Then a voice rang out. It was not a human voice at all, and this made Graham shudder even more, whereas Telly seemed quite unfazed. (That was only because he was walking and napping at the same time.) Apparently he had switched to automatic pilot, then closed his eyes as he drifted into a state of oblivion.
"Do you remember how the Wicked Witches sent the terrible Forest Monster after the Wizard?" said the voice.
"Of course I do," answered a second voice, equally unhuman-sounding "And who could forget the time Allidap sent forth those fearsome gray wolves after little Dorothy? They could easily have ripped her to shreds."
Both of the voices sounded distinctly throaty and animalistic. In fact, they sounded as a wild beast might sound, could a wild beast speak English. It occurred to Graham that this was Oz. Wild animals COULD speak English!
"And do you think that Witch pulled a good scare when she sent those angry birds to attack Dorothy and her friends?" said one of the wild creatures.
Graham could take no more of this. It was obvious that they were surrounded by hidden animals sent by the Wicked Witch to eat them (at least him; he doubted they would attempt to eat Telly, since he would be highly indigestible). He quickly jabbed Telly in his rib-cage to awaken him to the imminent danger and, at the same time, he stooped over to grab a yellow rock from the ground. It was not much of a weapon, but it would have to do. He held up the rock threateningly.
"Okay, wolves or monsters or whatever you are!" he shouted. "I hear you conspiring. And I know that you are working for the Wicked Witch! We're not going to give up without a fight, so I suggest that you all go away!" He smiled with a hint of pride in his brave speech. But suddenly, there was a rustle of leaves behind him, and a huge creature sprang out from behind a bush and leaped at the pair. Graham, not wanting to be attacked from behind, swung himself around to face the creature. As he did so, he absently lowered his weapon at the sight of two rows of gleaming white fangs and claws that could easily have torn a little boy like himself apart in an instant. He realized that the rock in his hand was a puny weapon indeed for confronting such a ferocious beast. But nevertheless, he raised it again as a sort of reflex action and thrust it directly at the teeth of the creature. At that moment, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of another set of jagged teeth and claws attacking from his right. It raised a huge paw and knocked him off balance. The rock fell to the ground, out of reach. The little boy watched in horror as one of the two animals stepped forward and looked at his face. The other one was watching Telly.
"What do you think?" asked one of them.
"Looks like a little boy and a tin can with arms and legs carrying a TV set," said the other.
"The boy's not all dressed in yellow, so he's not a Winkie."
"Nor is he all in blue, like a Munchkin."
"Or purple, red, or green. He matches none of the Oz colors. I wonder where he came from."
"Maybe he's from Ev. Or Ix."
"Can you speak, boy?"
Graham struggled to sit up, while Telly just stood and glared at the beasts. He was not happy with their description of him and was seriously considering giving them a tongue-lashing, but thought discretion was the better part of valor, at least for the moment.
[Illustration]
When Graham was able to collect himself, he discovered that the two beasts walked on all fours and were of the feline persuasion. These were no hungry wolves or monsters at all. Actually, they were a lion and a tiger.
As Graham jumped to his feet, the lion sprang backward. "Yikes!" he screamed, jumping behind the tiger. "Is he g-going to h-hurt us?"
"I don't think so," answered the tiger. "I imagine he's just getting up to look for some din-din." At this point, as if on cue, a loud growl echoed from the vicinity of the tiger. Not from his mouth or throat, but from the deepest recesses of his tummy.
Graham looked at Telly, and Telly looked at Graham.
"Apparently," said Graham, "the angry growling that we heard was nothing more than the sounds of an empty stomach. So you aren't slaves of the bad Witch, or sent to kill me?"
The tiger looked a little sheepish, which is not easy for a tiger to do.
"Of course not," he said. "Don't you know who I am? I am the Hungry Tiger of Oz. Everyone's heard of me. There have been volumes of books written about me! I am always hungry, but I am not a carnivore. I am afraid I would feel just awful if ever I ate up one of my fellow beings. Here in the Land of Oz, as you know, all creatures are treated equally. I can't stand the thought of eating up any organism that might ultimately become a friend. This makes me feel bad, too. I am reduced to a strictly vegetarian diet. I yearn to gobble up a few scrumptiously delicious fat babies, yet I am reduced to struggling through meals of tofu-strips and Loveburger. Oh, if only my conscience would let me feast upon a fat baby just once! But, alas, I am cursed with a very strong conscience."
"Then I am not afraid of you," said Graham. "What about this lion?"
"He is the Cowardly Lion of Oz," explained the Hungry Tiger. "He's got a pretty good conscience, too."
"Then why did he attack me like that?" Graham wanted to know.
"I didn't attack you," replied the Cowardly Lion. "I heard you say that there were some wolves or monsters or something-or-others who were working for the Wicked Witch. You announced that you were going to fight them, so I naturally jumped behind you to cower in fear."
"Oh," said Graham. "I misunderstood your actions."
"So," continued the Lion, "are there really slaves of the W-w-w-witch around here?"
"I heard them talking about how a Witch sent a forest monster and some wolves to attack innocent people," said Graham. "But …"
"That was us," explained the Tiger. "We like to talk about Oz history a lot. We were in the bushes looking for some yummy kiwi fruits to help satisfy my never-ending hunger when you came along."
"So the Witch isn't after me after all?"
"Guess not," replied the Tiger. "Should she be?"
"Well," he said meekly. "I played a couple of rather crude tricks on her. I suspect that she'll be pretty peeved when she does find me. I left her admiring herself in a … well, a kind of self-induced trance. It's kind of hard to explain. But when she finds a mirror … well, I dread to think what will happen."
The Lion and the Tiger looked at one another. The Lion stood to his full height, which was actually somewhat larger than most of the lions we can see in zoos, and smiled a toothy smile. "I'll protect you, my son!" he snarled. And how he could snarl and smile at the same time was beyond Graham, but let it suffice that he did do it. "No Wicked Witch will get 'hold of any pals of mine! I'm a raging lion, after all! I am big! I am strong! I'm the unchallenged King of the Beasts! I am the—" He dove behind a bush when the Tiger tapped him on the shoulder.
"Er, excuse me," said the Tiger, "but I only wanted to get your attention."
"Sorry," the Lion said meekly, slinking back into the open.
"I think we should learn about our new chum," suggested the Hungry Tiger. "After all, now that you've vowed to protect him, aren't you just a little bit curious as to who he is?"
Graham, seeing that he was expected to introduce himself, told the two cats who he was and how he came to be in Oz, how he had tricked the Witch, and how he met Telly, and how they had conspired together to trick her again, et cetera, et cetera.
The Cowardly Lion shuddered. The Hungry Tiger swallowed hard (an act that normally comes quite easily to him). Even Graham became a little nervous as he recounted his dealings with the Witch and was reminded that he was in imminent danger. "If you two would care to accompany us, you are certainly very welcome," Graham said to the Lion and Tiger.
"Well, I don't know about that," replied the Lion. "At the moment, the old Witch isn't bothering us. And if she sees us with you two, she might decide that birds of a feather flock together, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, don't be such a coward," admonished the Tiger. "She'll see right away that we're not birds."
At that, everyone laughed as the four headed off into the sunset.
Graham knew that he would need to have a good plan of action if he was going to get home in spite of the Witch. He looked beseechingly at his two new-found feline friends. Both were certainly both powerful and agile. Still, the boy knew only too well that the four of them were no match for the Wicked Witch. She, after all, had the ability to transport herself to any land she wished. Possibly even to other planets! If she yearned to take them in tow as her prisoners, it seemed impossible to stop her.
"It's terrible!" roared the Cowardly Lion. "I remember when that green Witch appeared at the parade. She scared the living daylights out of me!"
"But," added the Hungry Tiger, "what I can't figure out is why QueenOzma never did anything about her. She could easily have looked into theMagic Picture to find the villainess, made a wish or two on the MagicBelt, and PRESTO, no more Wicked Witch."
"That's puzzling, indeed," agreed the Cowardly Lion with an obvious shudder. "Could the Witch have done something to Ozma? Maybe Ozma is under some awful spell like she was that time when she lost her memory! Oh, dear oh dear oh dear! We have got to save her!"
"Now let's not jump to any wild conclusions," replied the Tiger, a low growl issuing forth from his stomach. "I suggest that we hurry back to the Emerald City to ask Queen Ozma for her help. If she is under any spells, the Wizard or Glinda will help us. If she is not under any vile enchantment, then her Magic Belt can easily wish away the Witch. She can also send Graham home with the Belt."
"But what if the Witch has enchanted the Wizard and Glinda, too!" bellowed the Lion, tears running down his face. "What if she's made them all into little candy corns or tea bags or Jell-O Jigglers or something?"
The Tiger's stomach roared at the sound of these food words. "Pull yourself together and stop talking about food!" he said. "We can't go losing our heads over things that we don't know for sure. Maybe the whole Witch-thing simply slipped Ozma's mind."
The Cowardly Lion looked at his chum in a reproachful manner. "Tige," he said, "do you really believe that our beloved Queen is so absent-minded? I think we owe her a bit more respect than that. We all saw that repulsive old woman. You saw her, too, Tige! And that th-th-threat! You heard it, t-t-too! No, our Ozma would c-c-certainly have done something to stop that Wicked old W-w-witch by now! And so would Glinda! And the W-w-wizard, too! None of them would have forgotten about all of that! Let alone all th-th-three of th-th-them! No, I can feel it in my bones. She's done something dreadful to them all. They are enchanted or cursed or destroyed or—"
"Are you trying to scare yourself?" said the Tiger.
"I d-d-don't have to try!" wailed the Lion.
"Can't we go to your Emerald City to find out?" asked Graham, who felt that all this talk was doing nothing for anyone. "We have to go there. It's the only way to find out for sure."
"Our young friend has a good head for logic," said the Tiger. "Let's hurry and get to the Emerald City."
The two jungle-cats could move almost as swiftly as the wind. Graham, of course, could not possibly have hoped to keep pace with them had he had to walk on his own. But fortunately, the beasts were willing to allow Graham and Telly to ride upon their backs. This made the journey go much more quickly.
In only a couple of days, the green of the city was in sight. In short order, they got to the front gates which led into this amazing and phenomenally beautiful capital of Oz. Graham could not conceal his awe at the sight of the place.
"Home again," said the Hungry Tiger.
"Now we get to go in and see what poor Ozma and the Wizard have been t-t-turned into!" sighed the Cowardly Lion.
Imby Amby, the Guardian of the Gates, met the trio with a smile of greeting. "Hello!" he said cheerfully.
"Imby," retorted the Tiger, "will you kindly tell my dear boy here that our Queen has not been transformed into a gelatin mold?"
"I should hope not!" replied the Guardian. "Last time I saw her, she was playing checkers with Betsy Bobbin. Seemed to be winning, too."
The Tiger smiled knowingly, then nudged the Lion in a friendly way. "Come on," he said. "Let's go see our Queen. She will certainly set things right straightaway."
The trio hurried into the palace and quickly located the young ruler. She was gaily sipping a cup of herbal tea and having a lively conversation with the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl. As soon as she saw her two old friends with the strangers, she stopped in mid-sentence.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "You look upset about something."
The Hungry Tiger bowed low before the little girl. "Your Majesty, this young man, Graham, has come from America and has escaped the clutches of a very wicked Witch. Surely you remember the parade and the horrible threat that this Witch spoke!"
"Surely," replied Ozma. The Patchwork Girl impulsively did five handsprings and landed on the Tiger's broad back, where she proceeded to recite the following in a sing-song voice:
"The Wicked Witch was bad, indeed! Her evil soul was full of greed! To show her powers she did try, and on her broomstick she did fly! She tried to capture everyone; she thought that it would be such fun! But clever Ozma and the Wiz would never let her do this biz! A wholesome spell has now been cast, so that old Witch's time is past. The good old Wizard cast a spell that changed the Witch into a bell! She now can make a bathtub ring, but cannot do another thing!"
Ozma smiled sweetly. "What Scraps is telling you, in her own spirited way, is that your Witch was already dealt with a day or two ago. I saw what she had done in my Magic Picture, and I had the wonderful Wizard of Oz take care of it in his unique manner. He transformed the Witch into a cow-bell. She will remain in that form until such time as she has a change of heart. When she becomes truly repentant and is willing to become a law-abiding citizen of Oz, she will magically become a silver Christmas bell instead of the old cow-bell. At that point, we will restore her to her human form and allow her to live a brand new life as a new and changed individual."
"A cow-bell," echoed the Lion, all trace of fear having suddenly vanished from his heart. "How interesting! I remember a time years ago when the Wizard did a similar trick with some troublesome Imps. He made them into buttons which would change color when they repented."
"Yes," said Ozma. "As for you, friend Telly, I am sure you will become fast friends with the Tin Woodman and Tik-Tok. The two of them are upstairs right now, admiring their similarities and differences. Would you like to have me summon them?"
"Oh, please do!" put in the Scarecrow. "I'd love to see Graham's metal friend meet them. If his heart is as pure as that of my dear friend Nick Chopper's, I know that he will be a very good and wholesome person."
They all agreed and, within minutes, the two metal men stepped into the room. Nick Chopper, the famous Tin Woodman of Oz, had been recently polished, and so was feeling especially bright and chipper. Tik-Tok, who was a clockwork man made out of copper, was always very bright—so long as his clockwork was kept wound up. Telly seemed to be very happy in the company of these new friends.
[Illustration]
"I think that it's time to organize a big celebration to commemorate the overthrow of the Wicked Witch and to honor our new friends!" suggested the Patchwork Girl.
"A grand idea!" agreed the Scarecrow.
"And I'd like to hold it in the cabin that Tattypoo made for us near her mountain retreat!" interjected the Patchwork Girl.
"Indeed!" agreed the Scarecrow. "There is plenty of land there. We could have games like potato-sack races and a big parade and a band or two, and…."
"It sounds great!" said Scraps, leaping up, grabbing a chandelier and swinging from it while bursting into song:
"A party is the thing to do whenever something pleases you! I'm awful glad the Witch is belled, for lots of troubles she'd have spelled! And I am glad to meet young Graham, I hope he won't think I'm a ham! And Telly is a funny man! I hope he'll be there if he can! A lovely time we all will spend! We will not want it e'er to end!"
She sang in her most dignified manner. Of course, Scraps and dignity are about as compatible as oil and water, but her words were certainly fitting to the occasion.
The celebration was a great success. Celebrities from all over Oz were there. Even the former Good Witch of the North put in an appearance. It was a celebration of nearly the magnitude of that which had caused the arrival of the Wicked Witch in the first place, except that there were no large floats. There had been no time for the Oz folk to construct any. Besides, it seemed to everyone involved that they would not be especially apropos under the circumstances.
When the festivities were over, Ozma approached Graham. "Well," she said in her youthful but queenly voice, "have you enjoyed your little trip to Oz?"
"Oh, yes!" replied the boy. "And I'm so glad to have met you. Wait untilI tell my little brother about all of this! He'll be so surprised!"
"Graham," replied Ozma, "you can't tell your little brother about any of the things you've seen here. Even about meeting Dorothy or the Scarecrow."
"But …" began the boy.
"Graham," she continued, "Oz is a place that would be very interesting to some of the people back in America. So long as they know of Oz as only a fantasy, they will not come to look for us. But our continent and its surrounding regions are very big. Our territory makes your mortal continents look like Rhode Island. Because some mortals do not have your values, and think of no one but themselves or their bank accounts, they would begin to seriously search out our continent. As it comprises so much land, they might eventually break through our magical barriers and invisibility spells—even the spell that diverts them off course whenever they try to reach us. These barriers have been crossed by accident in the past, as you know. If a wicked mortal were trying to do it intentionally, he might find a way."
"But no one has ever done it before," said Graham. "And my brother would so love to hear about Oz. He'd never do anything bad. I promise."
"I am not doubting the righteousness of your brother. But secrets get out, and people pass them along. I know this is true. I cannot allow you to tell anyone back home about Oz being a real place. I want it to be considered only a silly fairy tale for children. This is our greatest protection."
"I understand," said Graham. "I won't tell him about it."
"But you have proven yourself by your love for Telly," said the Queen. "You can stay and live in Oz forever. You will be a citizen here, where you will never have to grow old. You will never again know sickness, and you will never have to die."
Graham was taken aback by the offer. "You mean it?" he said. "I can stay here and be with Telly and the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger forever?"
"You can."
Graham still seemed overwhelmed. "That would be super," he said. "But…My family! I love my family. Can't you bring them here to live as well?"
"No," Ozma said solemnly. "That is not possible. You are invited only because you have proven your value. Even the Shaggy Man had to prove his worth before staying on in Oz. Your family has not proven itself worthy. You alone may stay in Oz."
"Then I want to go home right now," said Graham. "I can't leave them."
"I thought you'd say that," sighed Ozma. "But you already know too much. I can't send you back there. It isn't that I don't trust you. But I fear that someday you may let the secret slip. Maybe you'd talk in your sleep. Maybe you'd grow older and be taken in by the terrible drugs and alcohol which are so common in the mortal lands. These might make you say things that you'd normally never say. I'm sure it could never happen to a boy like you, but what if… I'm sorry, Graham. You must stay here. I have already arranged for you to have a lovely mansion not far from here. Or you can stay with Telly or whomever you please. You can take any apartments you might desire in the palace if you prefer. In fact, you are free to roam as you please. I don't want to have you think of yourself as a prisoner. I know it will seem that way at first. But I promise you that the benefits of living in Oz will soon drive those ideas from your mind."
Graham looked at Ozma. Any sympathy he might have felt for her was gone.He saw her point, but he did feel more like a prisoner than a citizen ofOz.
Graham's apartment in the palace was not at all palace-like, and it looked as if it had not been lived in for some time. But he agreed to live there. He had no desire to live in Ozma's palace, but he wanted to have the ability to visit his friends on occasion. He still saw Ozma as a captor. All he had ever wanted was to go home, and now he knew that he was never going to achieve that goal. In his heart, he hated Ozma for doing this to him. The very least she could do would have been to bring his family here! Why was she so structured about things? This was hardly the stuff that nice fairy tales were made of!
Graham's apartment was in a very secluded part of the palace where he would not have to see anyone unless he elected to. There were no neighbors to speak of. Graham sort of preferred it that way. He did not want to speak his mind about the cruel little Queen to anyone. She was so mean that he feared she would make a cow-bell out of him if he seemed the least bit insubordinate…. So he sat in an old settee and brooded. He had a good supply of books to keep him company, and all of the Ozian celebrities had agreed to visit him often. At the time, he had agreed to these visits. But now, as he sat staring at the wall, he wished that they would not come. He yearned only to be left alone. But one can, after all, only be left alone for a short while before he becomes lonesome. And Graham was not so very long in becoming anxious for some sort of companionship, or at least some form of stimulation. He went to a bookshelf and perused the titles on the various tomes that were there.The Emerald City of Ozwas among them. Graham sullenly took it in his hands and flopped it open. To his astonishment, he found there a reference to Dorothy's aunt and uncle being allowed to come and live in Oz to be close to her. Not only that, but it recounted how Dorothy had come to visit Oz on many occasions, gone back home to Kansas, and even told people about Oz while she was there! This really made Graham feel insulted. If Ozma could trust a girl, why not a boy? For the next couple of hours, Graham pored over the many books that he found in the palace library's vast collection. Each and every time a person, adult, boy, or girl, came to Oz, Ozma had always treated him as she had Dorothy. In fact, the very Shaggy Man that Ozma had mentioned actually had to beg to stay in Oz! Ozma had practically insisted that he be sent home! Why was she acting so cruelly toward himself, but toward no one else? He stood up indignantly and decided then and there to make his way back to the throne room and have a word with Ozma. That mean little girl would have a darn good explanation for this, or she would have a black eye!
Graham walked the corridors of the palace for about twenty minutes. But they seemed to have twisted and turned around. They were not as he remembered them at all. He wondered at this. Could Ozma have done this to permanently entrap him? He grew to hate Ozma more and more as the minutes ticked away. The corridors seemed endless! And none seemed to lead to anyplace in particular, either. "Ooh!" he said, gritting his teeth in frustration. "When I find that little twirp of a Queen, I'm going to show her what-for!" But three more hours of frustration brought him no closer to this goal. At last, he flung himself to the ground and looked up at the ceiling. "I hate you, Princess Ozma!" he grunted. "I hate you!"
[Illustration]
Then, from sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep. He remained asleep for an undeterminable period of time. He was awakened by a shaft of light in his eyes. A window! There was a window! He had overlooked it in his frustrated exhaustion, but now it was evident to him. Oh, it was a bit high, but he felt that he might be able to jump up to it. He picked himself up. His body was still a bit exhausted, but he was a young boy. And in good shape. He made his leap. Then he picked himself up and tried again. It took him sixteen tries to make it, but he finally managed to grab hold of the edge of the window. There was no glass, so he pulled himself through. The land outside was a barren mass of crowded prickle-weeds and gnarled old trees. Obviously not a part of the Emerald City that would be mentioned in a travel agent's brochures. But Graham was determined to find Ozma. He pushed aside the prickling weeds as best he could and trudged through the dust and muck of the area. It nauseated him, but he moved on. He thought how odd it was that the Emerald City of Oz would have such an unpleasant area in it. But he let these thoughts dissolve as he recalled what an unpleasant queen the place had. After several hours of fighting against the weeds, most of which were twice his size, he was surprised to hear a small voice. "Who are you?" it said.
[Illustration]
"I'm Graham," he replied.
"Really?" said the voice. "I love your crackers. Where are you?"
"I'm in a bunch of weeds," he said.
"Oh? How come?"
"I was trying to find the front of Ozma's palace. Can you help me find it?"
"I could," said the voice. "But you are about four thousand miles out of your way."
"What?" said Graham. "You're wrong! I just escaped out of a window in Ozma's palace a few hours ago! And I know I haven't made any progress hardly at all!"
"I'm afraid it's you who are wrong," replied the voice. "Ozma's palace is a long, long journey from here. Ah, here you are!"
A burst of sudden fire appeared out of nowhere; it burned away a number of the weeds, and Graham saw a clear tunnel through the weeds to open air. In addition to that, however, he saw the most unusual creature he had ever seen … It was not very large, but it looked as if it were composed of several different-sized squares and rectangles. All straight edges, nothing rounded. It had thick, leathery skin, and three glistening hairs grew from the tip of its rectangular tail. The creature spoke: "Now that I have a face to go along with the voice, I can see that you are a stranger in these parts. Allow me to introduce myself. I am he who is called the Woozy. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only Woozy in the world, so I've never had need of any other particular name. Happy to meet you, Graham. I hope that you are a nice fellow, and not some meany who will say Krizzle-Kroo to me."
"N-no," stuttered Graham. "I wouldn't say a thing like that, I'm sure. But—I have just climbed out a window of Ozma's palace. I couldn't possibly be as far from there as you say!"
"Yes, you are," replied the Woozy. "You must be mistaken about the window."
"But Ozma was there! And the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, and thePatchwork Girl, and Tik-Tok, and … and everyone!"
"I'm sorry, my friend Graham," said the Woozy. "There is no palace here. The only building here that I know of is that one that was built by the old Wicked Witch of the West. The Winkies say that she used to have a bunch of winding corridors in there that were meant to drive her slaves nuts if they ever were sent there as a punishment."
"But how did I get there from the Emerald City? Ozma was really mean to me, so I locked myself away in a room there."
"Ozma was mean to you?" the Woozy said with obvious shock. "Are you a villain?"
Graham quickly related the whole story to the Woozy, who seemed to be the only friend (however unfamiliar) he had had around him in an awfully long time.
"My," replied the Woozy. "That is quite a story. But I fear you were duped, my friend."
"Duped?" echoed he.
"I think you were never in the Emerald City. Somehow, the Witch sent you here and created a very elaborate hallucination for you. She uses these weeds for that sometimes. That's why I was burning them away. I can make fire come out of my eyes when I'm angry, and these wicked weeds certainly make me feel that way! Want to see?"
"No," sighed Graham. "So you mean that wasn't Ozma who talked to me?"
"Certainly not!" The Woozy was indignant. "Our dear Queen is not like that at all! I can assure you that you spoke to a hallucination caused by an infusion made out of these dratted weeds!"
"Yes, my little square-boxed squiggley!" came the voice of the Witch. "You have assessed the situation very well." The Witch appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Did you really think I was fooled by that ruse? You must think I'm a real moron! But I have won! Telly is disposed of for good!"
"Allidap!" shouted the Woozy. "The fake one from the parade! It's her!" At the sight of the hated individual, a huge blast of fire burst forth from his eyeballs. The Witch ducked aside, but not before getting her face badly blackened and her clothing ruined. "You just wait!" spat the Woozy at the evil creature. "Ozma will look for you in her Magic Picture yet! You just wait! She'll make a spell that will send you away for good!"
"Nope," smiled the Witch. "That's covered. You remember how realistic my illusionary Emerald City was? Well, I watched and waited for a trusted friend of Ozma's to look into that silly old Magic Picture. Then I gave it to him. A very beautiful hallucination! He saw me fall into a river and dissolve completely. So as far as Ozma is concerned, I am destroyed. She'd have no further need to suspect otherwise, so she will not seek me out."
The Woozy was taken aback. But he quickly composed himself and added,"And Glinda will read about you in the Magic Book of Oz!"
"Similarly handled," grinned the Witch. "Any other bright ideas?"
Another blast of fire issued forth from the Woozy's eyes. The weeds went up in a towering inferno.
"Let's get out of here!" said the Woozy to Graham. "Contrary to what some people think, I am not made of wood! I have to breathe, and I fear that this smoke might be as hallucinogenic as the stuff she makes from the weeds!"
The two ran away as fast as they could. At such time as they were far enough from the smoke to breathe easy, Graham stopped running. The Woozy did not seem to notice, and he just kept right on going and going and going. Graham was alone again. But at least he was out of the terrible Witch's reach. Indeed, the Witch was presently having a most exciting dream about plush animals which could be inflated to the size of a house and then used as potato-mashers in the thermostat of life which likes to think about groovy butterflies with red and purple and yellow and violet whispers in the dark backward uprising theme of the way it really was in the thunder of the goat farm with lots of yams and a shovelful of fine white powder that looked like the side of a barn with lots of clocks and fleas with orange earrings in their hazy green and blue and pink walking-sticks which were married to some tortilla chips and about thirty-five orange and brown cabinet-makers with green feathers and pink fur.
Graham sat down upon the ground and sighed. He was glad to have escaped from the Wicked Witch yet again, but he felt sorry for his companion. He wondered what that awful old woman might have done to poor Telly. Could she have locked him away in a torture chamber someplace? Some terrible winding maze such as he had just left? It made him feel sick to even imagine it. He absently sat and drew a picture of Telly in the dirt. "Where are you, Telly?" he asked aloud. He spoke his question into the air, and no answer seemed to be forthcoming. "What has she done to you? I have to know. I miss you, Telly! You are my best friend in this strange land. I love you! Where have you been taken?"
"Who is Telly?" came an unfamiliar female voice. Graham turned about to see who had spoken. He was looking as much into the sun as into the face of the speaker. It was hard to distinguish her features. But she looked like a fine white horse.
"Hello?" said Graham uncertainly.
"Hello," replied the voice. Whoever she was, she sounded gentle and understanding. "My name is Jeanne-Marie. Why are you so glum?"
"My friend has been taken prisoner by a bad Witch," explained the boy, who felt an inexplicable trust for this equine newcomer. "Oh," she replied. "I am sorry. I had thought that Queen Ozma had done away with all such vile Witches."
"Well," he sighed, "she doesn't know about this one. This wicked old Witch has created a very clever illusion that has made Ozma unable to see her or to find out about her. I was fooled, too. I had been under the impression that Ozma was as wicked as the Witch. But I was wrong. If only I could find Ozma. The real Ozma, not just an illusion that was passing itself off as the real Ozma. Then I could tell her what was going on. If all that the Woozy told me is true, the real Ozma would be able to make things right again. As it is, I can't help Telly, and I can never go home to America again, either!"
The horse nestled down beside the boy. Only then did he realize that this was no normal horse that was speaking to him. She was different from all horses in all Graham's experience. She was as pure white as the driven snow, and her mane was a shiny silver. From the top of her head grew a long, beautiful horn. "Wow!" exclaimed Graham. "Are you a real unicorn?"
"So I've been told," laughed Jeanne-Marie. "But I am a long way from my home, just like you are. I left that area because the other unicorns didn't seem to understand my views on things. They thought I was strange and that I was not worthy of the name of the unicorns. But I cannot help what I am. I yearn to see all that there is to see of this Land of Oz in which I live. And I wanted to find someone who could understand my philosophies, too. None of the stallions of my breed took me seriously, and I have never once felt true love. At least, not until I met MacDonald Lindsay."
"Who is that?" wondered Graham.
"Well, I haven't actually met him in person," she admitted. "But I overheard him talking to his helpers one day. He was telling them about the need for all sentient beings to have a purpose in life. No one can be fulfilled if he is not in some way making his existence count for anything. He himself is in control of the finest dairy farm in Oz. He has vast fields of milkweed that his helpers harvest for him in exchange for their housing, food, and the occasional game of quoits."
"That sounds fair, I suppose," replied Graham, realizing that this group was not one which was accustomed to using any form of money.
"Very much so," she said. "And the helpers—a unique tribe of warthog-like amphibians known as wartfrogs—are highly contented with their lot. MacDonald Lindsay allows them to come and go as they please, and he has given each of them a home that is far more luxurious than his own little lodging. Actually, MacDonald's farm is the only thing he has that is luxurious. His personal abode is a simple cleft in a rock that you can see from here in that little hill." She pointed with her horn.
"I see it," said Graham. "This MacDonald fellow sounds like a good enough guy."
"Oh, he is very good," said Jeanne-Marie. "But very mysterious. I have not had any real opportunity to ask him, but I think I could be very happy working in his fields alongside the wartfrogs."
"Have you ever tried to go to him to ask for a job?" questioned Graham.
"No. But I have been in his fields. Indeed, his milkweed is the best in all the land. It is not just an ordinary dairy-farm product. It is special. It is chocolate milkweed, and it is as smooth as Chinese silk. I have been following the wartfrogs and sneaking an occasional taste of any chocolate milkweed pods that they overlooked."
"I see," said Graham.
"You are welcome to have dinner with me," said Jeanne-Marie. "I have at least a half-dozen pods that I am willing to share with you."
It was at that point that Graham remembered how long it had been since last he had eaten. Even then, he was not sure the food had been anything more than an illusion conjured up by the Witch. It was not more than a second before he heard himself accepting the invitation. Indeed, the chocolate milkweed was the most delicious thing Graham had ever tasted. He thanked Jeanne-Marie over and over for sharing this delightful new taste-treat with him. He and the unicorn talked for a long while afterward. He was not sure just how long it was, but he awoke the next morning feeling quite refreshed.
The unicorn had already gone on her way. But she had left a note for Graham explaining that she had gone to watch the wartfrogs in MacDonald Lindsay's fields, as was her usual morning activity. The note informed him that she would seek him out later that afternoon, if he cared to stay in the vicinity, and that she was happy to have met him should he choose to move on…
[Illustration]
After thinking it over, Graham decided that he was going to need help if he planned to rescue poor Telly from the false Allidap. Hence, he decided to wait for Jeanne-Marie. He could spend the day formulating a plan that would allow them to get Telly away from the Witch without endangering their own lives.
MacDonald Lindsay was a fellow who was in high position on his farm, yet he gave all of the finest of his yield to others. He was a man who had few needs, only the knowledge that his crops were bringing happiness to others. That was all he had ever asked. Yet there was something missing in his life. Something upon which he could not place a finger. Yes, indeed MacDonald Lindsay had fingers. Three of them on each hand, in fact! He was a powerful and muscular troll, for all intents and purposes. That is, he was from the waist up. From his waist down, instead of the usual troll waist and legs, however, he had the neck and body of a mighty black stallion. Anyone born under the astrological sign of Sagittarius might recognize him as a relation to the centaur. But MacDonald Lindsay claimed no such heritage formally. "Lambert," he said, putting a beefy hand on the shoulder of one of his workers, who happened to be a foreman among the wartfrogs.
"Yeah?" asked the amphibian.
"Who is the little unicorn? The one I see out there in my fields? I have seen her other times, too."
"I know no name for her," sighed the wartfrog. "My boys and I have seen her before, though. She only takes a few pods—and only those extreme few that my boys don't consider worthy of picking or trading in your name. Those that she takes are all too small or have already been picked over by the crows. We had once considered making a scarecrow—an inanimate one, of course. Not like the guy who usually comes to mind when we think of scarecrows. But that little unicorn seems to get what she needs from our leftovers, so no one has bothered to send her on her way."
"So she only takes that which is rejected from my farm?" replied MacDonald doubtfully.
[Illustration]
"Well," began the worker, "please don't be angry with me. There have been a couple of occasions that I have taken pity on the poor creature and left a few better pods for her to find. Please don't get angry, sir! I only did it because I felt sorry for the poor little thing. She looked so hungry, and we have so much."
Within minutes, the mighty centaur-like man was looking into the eyes of the young unicorn. "I—I'm sorry to intrude on your farm," she said tremblingly.
"Listen, my dear," he said. "You are welcome in my fields any time you wish to be here. You are welcome to take any milkweed you want or to help yourself to any of my other crops. I have asked my wartfrogs to ignore you. You no longer need to feel like an intruder."
"You are very kind," she replied. "You know that I am not from around here. I am not understood amongst my own kind, so I am something of an outcast, you might say."
"Not here, you're not."
"Thank you, sir!" The unicorn seemed to be near tears. "Thank you so much!"
When Jeanne-Marie returned to the little clearing where she had left Graham, she brought him several milkweed pods, as well as a few cookies she had picked from the bushes around the base of MacDonald's rock. "He is very sweet," she said. "The moment I saw his eyes, I knew that he was special. Graham, do you believe in love at first sight?"
"I don't know," he said to her. "But I sure do love these cookies!"
And so it went for the next day and the next. By day, Jeanne-Marie went to the fields, where she grew more and more fond of the odd stallion there. By night, she plotted with Graham as to how they might go about locating Telly. The problem seemed to be that the Witch could have magically zapped him off as far away as Santa Monica, California, had she wanted to do so. Finding him would not be an easy task. To make matters worse, poor Jeanne-Marie had become a tad too taken with MacDonald Lindsay. The wartfrogs had begun to mistrust her.
[Illustration]
"She isn't even the same kind of animal!" said Lambert, the wartfrog leader. "She doesn't have any troll features—not even a little around the eyes! They are totally incompatible! She must only be out to get his milkweed! To think that I once felt sympathy for that wretched little unicorn! Why, that cunning little crook even has Lindsay entranced so much that he has begun giving her some of the good stuff! She is no longer contented with the scraps and rejects of our fields! She has got to go. But how shall we do it? It will have to be handled in a sneaky enough way so as to keep Lindsay from noticing. He has been placed under the spell of that little siren, and I know that he would never grant us permission to shove her away from the area."
It was the very next day that the wartfrogs made their move. Under the direction of Lambert, they went about their work, and it was business as usual. Then, when one of the amphibious pigs saw the small unicorn in the field behind them, Lambert called for a halt. The wartfrogs turned around and went back toward Jeanne-Marie. She was not looking in their direction, so she did not notice that they were coming toward her until it was too late to escape. They were already upon her and hurled her unceremoniously into a harvesting-bag. This they tossed onto their cart and carried away. "I will sell her to a zoo in some other land, where they are not so kind to thieving horse-creatures!" giggled Lambert, showing his teeth. "Now we can get rid of this little troublemaker once and for all! Old Mickey-D will never know what became of his dear little charity-case!"