"Back talk!" cried Dorothy, clutching him suddenly by the sleeve. "Oh, that's just what theyaretalking, Humpy. They're talking 'back talk.' Wait a minute!" Closing her eyes, Dorothy began writing imaginary letters in the air and, as the two woodsmen reached them, she burst out triumphantly, "It says 'The Back Woods' on that flag. Oh dear, I wished we were back and now we are!"
"You think awful fast," blinked the dummy admiringly. "The mere look of that language makes me dizzy. So they're talking back talk are they? Well, what do they say? Are they going to hit us?"
"They're telling us to go away," muttered Dorothy, putting her fingers in her ears, for the two leaders had been joined by a hundred more and all were screaming at the top or rather, I should say, the bottom of their voices. They kept their backs to the travellers and shouted the dreadful back talk over their shoulders. They all carried gleaming axes and, when Dorothy made an attempt to advance, they brandished them threateningly.
"If I could only talk back," wailed the little girl, "I'd tell them I am a Princess. Then maybe they'd let me through."
"Couldn't you write it?" suggested Humpy, looking at the angry horde with growing alarm.
"Why, how did you think of that?" Dorothy stared at him in honest amazement. Then, feeling in her pocket, she brought out a stub of pencil and a crumpled piece of paper. The woodsmen watched her curiously over their shoulders as she slowly wrote her message.
"I ma Ssecnirp Yhtorod, dneirf fo Amzo fo Zo. Yam ew ssap hguorht ruoy sdoow?" printed Dorothy after a great many pauses and erasures. Rather timidly she handed it to one of the flag bearers and after a great scowling and head-shaking, the woodsmen raised their axes and shouted in chorus, "Sey! Sey!"
"That means 'yes'," breathed Dorothy, taking Humpy's arm. "C'mon, let's hurry, before they change their minds." The woodsmen parted solemnly to make a path, but when they reached the backwoods itself, Dorothy took one step and was immediately flung upon her nose.
"Ah, I see you do your own falling," mumbled the dummy. "Why didn't you wait for me?" Humpy was several paces behind Dorothy and as he spoke, he also attempted to enter the woods. But the same hidden force pushed him over backwards. Immediately the inhabitants of Back began to roar with delight, and if you have never heard anyone roaring backwards, you have no idea how horrid it sounds. It was something between a cough and a choke. Even the dummy knew that he was being insulted, and waved his arms about indignantly.
"There's some trick to it," panted Dorothy, sitting up quickly. "Watch!"
Several of the woodsmen began to move slowly toward her and, observing them closely, the little girl saw that they were turned backward but really walking forward. "We have to go backward forward!" cried Dorothy. "Hurry up, before they catch us."
"This is worse than dying," groaned Humpy. "How do you go backwards and forwards at the same time?"
"Watch me," said Dorothy, springing up determinedly. Turning her back to the woods, she started to run away from it, and Humpy, goaded into action by the threatening appearance of the terrible woodsmen, did the same. For every step they ran backward forward, they went forward backward two steps, bumping into trees, which had their roots waving muddily in the air and their leaves underground and crashing into bushes of the same curious character. Without stopping to examine the back scenery at all, they ran for their lives, reaching the edge of the woods just as the woodsmen caught up with them. The wicked fellows had really no intention of letting them go, and howled most awfully as Humpy and Dorothy made their escape. Several of the leaders started in pursuit, but each time they set foot out of their forest they were flung down by the invisible back wind and finally gave it up. Seeing that they were safe at last, Dorothy sank down under a tomato tree and fanned herself vigorously with her hat.
"Do we do this often?" puffed the dummy, giving himself a shake. "I see this is going to be a funny picture."
"It's not a picture at all," answered the little girl a bit crossly. "It's real. I told you we have lots of adventures in Oz. Well, this is a real adventure."
"Really!" smiled the dummy, straightening his crown. "Well, if we're not in a picture we ought to be. I'll bet we looked ridiculous running forward backward. I say, if it isn't a funny reel it's real funny and I hope you'll admit that, Miss Dorothy."
"Are you sure there's nothing in your head but hair?" asked the little girl suspiciously. Humpy took off his crown and smoothed his silver wig solemnly. "I don't think so," he said. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," Dorothy gave a little chuckle in spite of herself, "you just made a joke and you thought about writing back. You sound kinda smart to me."
"You're wrong," sighed Humpy, gravely replacing his crown. "I'm only a hair-brained dummy, but I like being alive and I like having you for my star and after this—" Humpy shook his fist angrily at the still muttering woodsmen—"after this I'll take all the knocks and hard falls for you. Then maybe, if you tried hard, you might grow to like me a little?"
"Why, I like you already, you dear, generous old thing." Jumping up, Dorothy gave Humpy an impulsive hug. Then, picking a large tomato, she ate it hungrily. It seemed a long time since she had breakfasted with the Forgetful Poet in Perhaps City.
"We'd better start on now," said the little girl, finishing off the tomato with a long sigh of satisfaction. "We're in the Gilliken Country and if we walk fast we may reach the Emerald City before night comes."
"All right, Miss Star." Picking up a crooked branch to balance himself, Humpy stepped out cheerfully and, talking of one thing and another, they journeyed for more than an hour through the pleasant fields and lanes, causing no small wonder to the Gilliken farmers whom they passed on the way, for Dorothy in her torn stockings and frock and the dummy in his regal robes and crown made a strange pair, even for Oz. Without explaining themselves at all, the two hurried on, never stopping until they came to a broad purple river. Humpy looked inquiringly at Dorothy and Dorothy with a puzzled little sigh sat down upon the river bank.
"I'm sure we ought to cross this river," said Dorothy thoughtfully, "but how?"
Humpy put one finger in the water. "Do you want me to fall in for you?" asked the dummy obligingly.
"Well, I don't see what good that would do," frowned Dorothy. "Let me see!" Dorothy looked reflectively at her toes, so of course she saw nothing but her boots, but Humpy looked off across the river, and so it was Humpy who saw them first.
"Oh, look!" stuttered the dummy, grasping Dorothy by the sleeve. "Here comes another adventure, Miss Star!"
Jumping up in alarm, Dorothy saw a curious company scooting about upon the surface of the water. At the very same moment they saw Dorothy, and came skating and sliding across the river like a swarm of giant water bugs.
"Now don't tell me this is real," grunted the dummy, sitting down with a thud. "I wouldn't believe them, even in a picture."
"But they're not in a picture," wailed Dorothy. "They're here, whether you believe them or not. Why they have sails! Oh Humpy, get up quick. Aren't you going to help me?" With a mighty effort Humpy pulled himself together and arose.
"Teg tuo! Teg tuo!" shrilled the dummy, lapsing in his fright and excitement into the terrible language of Back. "Og yawa! Og yawa! Kcab Sdoow!" And snatching off his crown, he hurled it violently at the heads of the approaching rivermen.
The Playful Scooters
The first of the rivermen caught the dummy's crown neatly and tossed it back. "Is it a game?" he called hoarsely. Dorothy had no time to dodge, so she quickly caught the crown, which came with such force that she sat down with a jolt.
The dummy danced up and down and waved his arms threateningly.
"Come on, Flub Blub. It's a game," called the first riverman to the man just behind him. "Two Scoots playing a game! Here," he croaked in his deep, frog-like voice, "throw it to me!" He raised his sails coaxingly at Dorothy and, partly because she was afraid to have him come nearer and partly because she didn't know what else to do, the little girl pitched back the crown with all her might. The one called Flub Blub caught it immediately. The next throw was to Humpy and backward and forward between the puzzled travellers on the bank and curious creatures on the water flew the dummy's crown, and breathlessly between catches Dorothy examined these strange playfellows.
They were tall and angular and so sunburned that they almost appeared to be Indians. They were clad in shiny water proof hats and slickers. On their long, thin feet, shaped somewhat like skis and somewhat like narrow boats, they slid over the water as surely and carelessly as we skate about on ice. Extending from the ankle to the finger tips, and as much a part of the wearer as wings are part of a bird, were bright yellow sails. When their arms were down at their sides, the sails were folded in and almost unnoticeable, but with arms outstretched the rivermen had two wide-spread sails to help them scoot over the water. By lowering the right arm or the left, they could turn, tack and get about faster than any sailing boat you have ever seen. Their faces, under the broad sou-westers, were child-like and pleasant and, finding them more interesting than dangerous, Dorothy motioned for Humpy to hold the crown, which had landed for about the tenth time with a resounding thwack against his chest.
"But I was just getting good," objected the dummy, placing the crown regretfully on his head. "What now?" Humpy had become so engrossed in catching the crown that he had quite forgotten his fright and, as the leader came in close to the shore, he looked at him with frank curiosity.
"Well, Scoots," bubbled the one called Flub Blub, rocking gently backward and forward on the water, "who won?"
"I think it was a tie," answered Dorothy politely, "but why do you call us Scoots?"
"Because your sails haven't grown," gurgled the riverman, taking a white bubble pipe from his mouth and smiling broadly at the little girl. "But don't mind, my dear. We must all be Scoots before we're Scooters. Just stick in the mud a little longer and your sails will grow as large as mine."
"Dorothy's not a Scoot, she's a star," protested Humpy, "and I'm her double and do all the hard falling. Don't you know a star when you see one?"
The Scooter turned his pale blue eyes curiously on Humpy. "You look about as much like her as a pumpkin looks like a peach," he observed mildly. "Why do you call yourself her double? And if she's a star what's she doing out now? It's only ten o'clock." At this all the other Scooters removed their pipes and nodded gravely.
"Is she an out-and-out star, or a down-and-out star?" inquired Flub Blub, blowing a whole flock of soap bubbles from his pipe and watching them float lazily up the river.
"I'm a Princess," put in Dorothy, seeing that everything was becoming hopelessly confused, "and we're on our way to the Emerald City."
"A Princess!" exclaimed the Scooter in amazement. He took off his sou-wester and scratched his head in a puzzled way. Dorothy was so astonished to find that his hair was moss that she said nothing at all for a whole minute.
"If you're a Princess, why are you so shabby?" choked a Scooter named Mouldy.
"Don't mind him, he has a bad cold," apologized Flub, putting his hat on again. "He would go a picking daisies on the shore yesterday and got his feet dry. Now look at him!"
The Scooter coughed miserably. "That's right," he wheezed, dabbing at his eyes with his right sail. "Never get your feet dry little Scoot, it's turrible!"
At this Dorothy giggled in spite of herself. Then seeing the poor fellow was offended she asked quickly, "Is there any way we could cross this river, Mr. Mouldy?"
"There's a bridge a bit further on," sniffed the Scooter, waving his sail sulkily. Following the direction, Dorothy saw what at first looked like a silver bridge. But on closer inspection it proved to be a great torrent of water spouting across the river like the stream from a giant hose.
"But it's water!" gasped the little girl in dismay.
"Of course it's water. What should a bridge be but water?" demanded the leader of the Scooters impatiently. "Just stand on one side and it will shoot you across."
"How dreadfully wet," sighed the dummy dolefully, "but I'll cross if you will Dorothy."
"That's right," said Flub Blub approvingly, "and here's the way to do it." Followed by the others, the Scooter sailed up the river and leaped lightly on the gleaming arch of water. Dorothy, watching them shoot across with sails outspread, thought she had never seen a more interesting sight. Just before they reached the opposite bank, they jumped into the water and in less than a minute they all were back.
"See," smiled the leader cheerfully, "it's as easy as sailing, Miss Star or Princess or whatever else you call yourself."
"Just a little girl, thank you," smiled Dorothy, looking very doubtfully at the water bridge.
"Is he a little girl too?" asked the riverman, eyeing Humpy attentively. At this the poor dummy looked so indignant that Dorothy quickly told about her fall into America, her meeting with Humpy and the strange manner in which he had been wished to life. But as the Scooters had never heard of America, nor of a moving picture dummy, her story was not at all clear to them. And when she went on to explain that crossing the river on the water bridge and getting her feet wet would givehera cold, they were more astonished than ever.
"Couldn't you carry her across?" asked Humpy, as they stood arguing excitedly together. "I don't mind the water myself and am quite used to floating and falling, but Dorothy—"
"Ever try a water fall?" interrupted Mouldy inquisitively.
"Let's take her across, boys!" called Flub Blub before Humpy had a chance to answer. "Come along Princess Little Girl and Mr. Dummy!" With hoarse shouts the Scooters stretched their long arms. A dozen seized upon Humpy and, holding him awkwardly between them, started scooting across the river. Dorothy, standing precariously on Flub Blub's right foot and balanced by Mouldy's left arm, fairly raced over the waters between the two rivermen. Their sails flapped merrily in the wind and the spray from their long ski-like feet spread out like white wings behind.
"Won't Ozma and Betsy be surprised when I tell them about this!" thought Dorothy as they neared the opposite bank. Little did Dorothy guess of the strange happenings Ozma and the others would soon have to relate to her!
"Better stay with us and learn to scoot," advised Flub Blub, seeing the smile on Dorothy's face.
"Ah what is more brave than a life on the wave!No care and no trouble, life goes like a bubble!"
"Ah what is more brave than a life on the wave!No care and no trouble, life goes like a bubble!"
"Ah what is more brave than a life on the wave!
No care and no trouble, life goes like a bubble!"
The Scooter waved his arm jovially, as he recited the couplet.
"But what do you eat?" inquired Dorothy. She had been puzzling over this for some time.
"Water cress, water melons and fish," answered Flub Blub, without slackening his speed.
"Raw fish?" asked Dorothy, with a little gasp.
"Well, rawther," giggled another Scooter just behind them. "Raw fish make the sails grow. Stay in the water little girl and you'll soon have a fine pair of sails."
"That's right," added Flub Blub approvingly. Removing his bubble pipe he continued earnestly, "Fish will make your feet grow too. Eat fish, my dear, and grow a beautiful pair like mine!"
Dorothy looked down at the Scooter's long feet and shuddered. "That settles it," she whispered, with a little shiver. "I'll never eat fish!"
They had now reached the opposite side of the river. Thanking the Scooters for their kindness and bidding them an affectionate farewell, the little girl scampered quickly up the bank. Humpy had already been tossed ashore.
"Good-bye!" shouted the Scooters, cheerfully waving their sails. They were in mid-stream by this time.
"Good-bye!" called Dorothy and Humpy, picking himself up clumsily, waved his crown.
"Ah, still the same size I see," smiled Humpy, looking amiably at Dorothy. "Any more adventures coming?"
"Well, I liked that one," chuckled Dorothy, pulling up her stockings and straightening her hat. "Didn't you?"
Humpy nodded, his eyes wandering over the fields and hills, spreading out invitingly before them. "Is this the way to your palace?" he demanded, throwing his cloak back over one shoulder and waving his stick ahead.
"It's not my palace," explained Dorothy, taking his arm, "it's Ozma's. She is the Queen of Oz, you know, but I have the dearest little apartment there, with a hundred fairy tale books, a hundred games, a hundred dresses, a dog named Toto and a little white kitten."
"Well, I hope your dog won't chew me," said Humpy uneasily. "I was in a picture with a dog once. He was supposed to knock me down. Well, he did and, before they could pull him away he had chewed off my ear and eaten up my wig. I hate dogs."
"But Toto's only a little dog, you'll justloveToto," Dorothy assured him quickly.
Humpy still looked doubtful and, seeing that dogs made him unhappy, Dorothy began telling him all about the Scarecrow and Scraps. Chatting pleasantly, they walked along for more than an hour, when Humpy, ever on the lookout for adventures, gave Dorothy's arm a quick jerk. Moving slowly behind a thin fringe of trees to the right was a great gray shadow. As they stopped, the shadow stopped too and out through the trees something that looked like a long grey snake came curiously curling.
"Run!" puffed the valiant dummy. "Run, Dorothy! This is my part of the show for it can't bite me!"
Raising his stick, Humpy brought it down sharply on the thick gray body. There was an enraged snort and snuffle in the bushes. Then, before Dorothy could run or Humpy could use his stick again, a perfectly enormous elephant came charging out between the trees. His sides were heaving with rage and his tusks were trembling with temper.
"Who hit me?" screamed the elephant, lashing about furiously with his trunk. "I'll mash him, I'll crash him! Ah hah!" His little eyes snapped wickedly as they fell upon Humpy's stick. The next instant the great beast had seized the dummy in his trunk and flung him fifty feet into the air. Then, pausing to straighten his pearl head-piece, he glared indignantly at Dorothy. There is only one elephant in Oz who is elegant enough to own a headband of pearls and, with a little shriek of surprise and recognition, Dorothy ran forward just in time to save Humpy from another toss in the air.
"Why Kabumpo!" cried the little girl in delight. "Wait! Wait a minute!" The Elegant Elephant, after a quick look at the little girl, snatched a huge silk hanky from a pocket in his robe and blew his trunk violently.
"Well, I'll be blowed if it isn't Dorothy," wheezed Kabumpo, half-choked between embarrassment and surprise. "What brings you here?"
Just as he spoke he caught another glimpse of Humpy, who had risen and was advancing unsteadily. "Excuse me until I mash that idiot," he roared.
"Oh please don't mash him," begged Dorothy in alarm. "You see he's only a dummy and he didn't mean to hit you. Besides he's a friend of mine."
Kabumpo swayed uncertainly for a moment and then stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. "Well, nobody but a dummy would hit an elephant on the trunk. Why have such dumb friends?" he asked sulkily.
As quickly as she could, Dorothy explained her strange meeting with the dummy, his coming to life and her curious adventures since. It was such an amazing story that Kabumpo now regarded Humpy with more interest than anger. Dorothy, seeing that the dummy still thought her in danger, hastily took away his stick and introduced him to the Elegant Elephant.
Kabumpo, you know, belongs to the royal family of Pumperdink, a cozy old-fashioned country in the Gilliken country, and he is one of the chief ornaments of its court and a prime favorite of Pompadore, the young Prince. He has a suite of rooms in the palace, and more jewels and embroidered robes than any other elephant in all of Oz.
Once upon a time Kabumpo had helped Pompa save Peg Amy, an enchanted Princess, from a dreadful old wizard named Glegg. This little Princess had afterwards married the Prince of Pumperdink and it was on this adventure that Dorothy had first met the Elegant Elephant.
"But why did he throw me away?" asked Humpy suspiciously, when Dorothy had told him all that I have just told you.
"I'll throw you away every time you hit me, so you'd better get that through your head at once," trumpeted Kabumpo indignantly.
"Well, just so you don't throw Dorothy, it will be all right," sighed the dummy resignedly. "I'm quite used to being flung about, but I've never been in a picture with an elephant before."
"This isn't a picture. It's Oz," snapped Kabumpo loftily. "Don't you know anything at all?"
"Ah, don't quarrel," begged Dorothy anxiously. "Tell me about Pompa and Peg Amy, Kabumpo, and how's everything in Pumperdink?"
"Well," mused the Elegant Elephant, taking out his handkerchief again and mopping his forehead thoughtfully, "things are kinda slow. Since Pompa married Peg there's been no excitement at all. Fact is," admitted Kabumpo confidentially, "I was just on my way to the Emerald City to see whether I could stir up a little fun."
"Why so are we!" cried Dorothy in delight. "Let's all go together. Oh Kabumpo, won't that be fun?"
The Elegant Elephant looked dubiously at the dummy. "Well, so long as you're going in the same direction you might as well ride on my back," he remarked carelessly. Then, winding his trunk about Dorothy [Kabumpo, under his pompous manner, was really a kind-hearted old fellow] he set the little girl aloft and, snatching up the dummy, he tossed him recklessly over his shoulder.
With a blast from his trunk like a steamboat whistle, Kabumpo got under way, plunging ahead so swiftly that Dorothy and Humpy had all they could do to keep their seats.
"Isn't this fun?" called Dorothy, holding fast to the Elegant Elephant's great ear.
"Is it?" inquired the dummy, clinging desperately to Kabumpo's jewelled harness and fluttering up and down like a banner at each step. "So this is fun? Ah, how fast I am learning."
Snip Meets the Blanks
On the night before Ozma received the mysterious warning, Snip and Mombi—as we well know—were making their way through the deep forest on the other side of Catty Corners. Each step was growing harder and harder for the weary little button boy. Holding the great goose in his arms, he staggered along, guided by the flicker of Mombi's lantern, stumbling over roots, brushing against trees and shivering with the clammy chill of midnight. The old witch seemed positively tireless and Snip had about decided he could go no further, when she stopped suddenly beside a rough stone well.
"Snip," wheezed Mombi craftily, "I'm thirsty. Now you're younger than I am. Just get me a drink, will you?" Her voice was so pleasant that Snip unsuspectingly set Pajuka on the ground and peered down into the dark depths of the well, while Mombi held the lantern. There was a chain at the side and, grasping it in both hands, Snip leaned over and began to haul up the bucket.
This was the chance Mombi had been waiting for all evening and, seizing Snip by the heels, she heartlessly tumbled him into the well. Her wicked shout of triumph and Snip's shrill outcry awakened Pajuka. Fluttering into the air, he made a great snatch at the disappearing little button boy.
Snip, on his part, clutching desperately at the rough stones to save himself, caught instead a handful of goose feathers and went plunging down into the dreadful darkness. Down, down, down he fell, like a lump of lead, to the very bottom. With eyes shut tight and clenched fists, Snip waited for the terrible bump that should end his fall. But instead of a bump, there was a soft thud and bounce and he found himself wedged fast in a padded bucket. The jar set the bucket in motion and for a moment Snip thought it was going to shoot up to the top again. Instead it began to move sideways, for opening out from the bottom of the well was a long, damp passageway, and the bucket swinging on a heavy cable shot rapidly along through this underground tunnel.
It was too dark for Snip to see but, stretching his arms carefully, he felt the walls above and at the side. Clearly the old witch had meant to destroy him, so she could work out her wicked plans undisturbed. "But maybe," whispered poor Snip, crouching low to keep from bumping his head, "maybe I can get out after all and manage to reach the Emerald City first and warn Ozma of Mombi's treachery. Then surely Ozma will help me find Pajuka and she, herself, can hunt for the lost King."
It was a long and terrible ride, and many times Snip's heart thumped so loudly that it drowned out the creak of the straining cable. Where under the earth was he going? Would the flying bucket never stop? Just as he was losing his courage entirely, Snip saw a star. The bucket had come to the end of the tunnel and was shooting up another well as swiftly as Snip had fallen down the first one. Almost as soon as he made this joyful discovery, the bucket reached the top, spilled him carelessly over the edge and dropped back with a hollow ring to the bottom.
For several minutes Snip lay where he had fallen, too shaken and breathless to care where he was. Then, rolling over, he looked anxiously around. In the faint starlight, not much was visible. He seemed to be in a small orchard and just beyond the trees he could see the dim outlines of a strange city. Satisfying himself that no immediate danger threatened and too weary to go another step, the worn-out little adventurer flung himself down beside the well and was soon fast asleep.
It was morning and nearly nine o'clock when he was awakened by the sound of hurrying foot-steps and shrill cries.
"He has freckles," screamed the first voice.
"His nose turns up," shouted the second.
"Who threw him in our well?" demanded a third fretfully. "Is he welcome or is he not?"
"Not!" boomed the voices altogether.
"Take his hat, get his buttons!" growled a deep bass voice. At this the steps pattered so close that Snip rolled over and sat up, confronting as he did so the very oddest company he had ever seen. For one unbelievable second he stared, thinking he must still be asleep and dreaming. The company on their part regarded him with blank looks. And no wonder. They had not a face among them!
"If it were people without clothes I should say they were savages," gasped Snip, "but clothes, without people! Whew!" Leaping to his feet, he turned toward the town and ran as if for his life.
Screaming furiously, the Blanks started in pursuit. Now to look over your shoulder and see a collection of suits, hats, shoes and gloves, all in their proper places upon perfectly invisible wearers, chasing after you is a fearsome business, and as they came nearer and nearer Snip fairly stepped upon his own toes in his hurry to escape.
"How dare you show your face around here?" raged the leader, brandishing with an invisible hand a dreadfully visible and dangerous looking umbrella. "Don't you know it's against the law to show your face in Blankenburg?"
"I—can't—help—it!" panted Snip and then as the terrible crowd began to gain on him, he reached in his pockets, seized a handful of buttons and flung them wildly over his shoulder. When he dared to look back again, the Blanks were quarreling bitterly over the buttons.
Taking advantage of their greediness, Snip plunged into the town, entered the first house he came to and slammed the door. At first he thought the great dim room was empty but he finally made out an old man with silver hair and beard sitting cross-legged on a long table at the back window. He was stitching solemnly upon a red velvet cloak and looked so kind and gentle that Snip promptly burst into an account of his troubles. But to his dismay, the tailor went calmly on with his work, never glancing up at all. Snip could hear the Blanks clattering over the paving stones so, rushing forward, he shook the old man desperately by the sleeve.
With a start that sent his spectacles flying across the shop, the tailor leaped to his feet. "A boy!" he stuttered, seizing Snip by the shoulders. "Why, how did you get here? No, don't tell me now for I couldn't hear you if you did. You see my ears have flown off and we'll have to wait till they return. A boy! Bless my heart, yours is the first face I've seen in years and years."
In growing amazement and alarm, Snip waved toward the window. With a quick nod, the tailor swept him into a big cupboard. "They shan't have you," declared the old man determinedly and, when a moment later the Blanks rushed into the shop, he shook his head crossly at all of their threats and inquiries.
"Can't you see my ears are off?" he mumbled fretfully. "Whom do you want? What are you screeching about?"
The Blanks cried loudly that they were searching for a boy, but the tailor pretended not to understand and, after poking about the shop a bit, they finally took themselves off. Snip, who had one eye glued to the cupboard door, saw them streaming into the street, their plumed hats trembling with indignation, their buckled shoes twinkling with the speed of their invisible feet.
As the last Blank turned the corner, there was a whirr in the air and in through the window flashed two butterflies. But were they butterflies? Next instant they had fluttered over and attached themselves to the old tailor's head.
"Not butterflies, but butterfly ears!" gasped Snip, falling headlong from the cupboard with the shock of the thing.
"It's all right," smiled the tailor, adjusting the ears quickly and looking kindly over at Snip. "And dear, dear, what a strange story my left ear is telling me!"
"Do your ears tell you stories?" asked Snip, forgetting his own troubles for a moment.
"Yes. The left one tells me that an elephant has run off with a little girl," mused the tailor, wiping his specs. "Fancy that, now!"
Snip could hear a faint buzzing and eyed the old gentleman's ears with growing interest and respect.
"There, there, that will do," muttered the tailor at last, giving his left ear a little pinch. "I wish to hear this young gentleman's story, so please be quiet and attend."
Immediately both ears tilted toward Snip and, fearful lest they fly off before he could finish, the little button boy poured out the whole history of his adventures from the time he left Kimbaloo to his fall down the strange well.
"Ozma!" sighed the tailor, brushing his hand absently across his brow. "Is Ozma Queen of Oz now? I've been prisoner here so long I've forgotten everything. You say that this witch, Mombi, transformed and hid her father and now proposes to find and restore him to the throne? And the goose? Whom did you say he was?"
"Pajuka is the Prime Minister," puffed Snip hastily. "He's been trying for years and years to find the King himself. If someone doesn't help him soon, and get him away from Mombi, he'll be roasted or eaten or lost!"
Snip opened his hand, where still clutched in his moist grasp were the feathers he had pulled from Pajuka's wing as he fell down the well. The tailor leaned forward to examine them. As he did so, a gold feather separated itself from the white, fluttered for a moment in the air and then sailed straight through the window. It was the golden feather that, we know, took the magic message to the Emerald City, but as neither Snip nor the old tailor could follow its flight, they stood gaping after it in perfect astonishment.
"Why I didn't know Pajuka had any gold feathers. How did it fly off by itself? Oh dear, I wish someone would help me find him," wailed the little button boy dismally. "Couldn't you, Mister—Mister—?"
"Just plain Tora," put in the tailor, rubbing his forehead absently. "Well, it's a mighty queer business, Snip. I'd like to help you, but I've all this work to do." The old man waved wearily toward the racks and stacks of unfinished cloaks and waistcoats.
"Do you mean to say you make clothes for them?" Snip jerked his thumb indignantly over his shoulder.
The tailor nodded. "Have to," he added miserably. "Been at it for years and years."
"Do they pay you?" asked the little button boy in surprise.
"Well, they let me live in this house, and they give me plenty to eat. Besides, I can't get away," finished the old man, sinking down on a three-legged stool and letting his head drop heavily in his hands.
"But you're not invisible like they are. How did you happen to come here anyway?"
The tailor pushed his specs up on his forehead. "Seems as if I'd always been here," he mourned dolefully, "stitching, stitching, stitching and never getting done. If I try to pass through that gate," he pointed through the window into a small yard, "if I try to pass through that gate some invisible force holds me back. So what can I do? But I have my ears," he continued more cheerfully. "They can go off wherever they please and they tell me what's going on and keep me pretty happy."
"Well, I wouldn't stand it," exclaimed Snip, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and staring down sympathetically at the old man. In spite of his strange ears, there was something so gentle and lovable about the old tailor that Snip could not bear to have him unhappy. "I'd get away somehow," declared the little boy earnestly.
Tora shook his head hopelessly. "The thing to do, is to getyouaway before they come back," he sighed, taking an old silver watch from his vest pocket. "The Blanks are great eaters and wouldn't miss their breakfasts for a fortune. So now's the best time for you to go. Come on, I'll show you the way to the Fare-well. You can see it from the gate."
"Is that the only way out?" groaned Snip. He felt that one experience with a well would be quite enough for him.
"Only way I know," answered Tora, taking down his coat from a peg. "You reach Blankenburg by the Well-come and leave by the Fare-well."
Sticking his needle in his lapel, he started rapidly for the door and, feeling very mixed up indeed, Snip hurried after him. There was not a Blank in sight as they stepped into Tora's yard and Snip, looking at the handsome dwellings on both sides of the street, thought he would like to see more of this strange city. A bright pink blanket flew from a castle which stood at the end of the square and Tora explained that this was the national emblem of the Blanks.
There were a hundred questions on the tip of Snip's tongue. For instance, he wanted to know how the Blanks had come to be invisible and how Tora himself had come to have such wonderful ears, but the old gentleman was so anxious for him to get safely off that he had not time for a single question.
"If they capture you before you reach the well, be sure not to let them wash your face," warned Tora earnestly, "for if they wash your face, it will disappear. Remember don't wash your face, whatever happens."
This was an easy promise for a little boy to make and, following the direction of Tora's long finger, Snip saw a stone well in the small park at the corner of the street.
"Good-bye!" sighed the old man, giving him a wistful pat on the shoulder. "If you ever find this King or reach the Emerald City, tell someone about old Tora, will you?"
"I'll tell Ozma; I'll tell everybody!" promised the little button boy, settling his cap determinedly. Then, because he hated to leave Tora looking so sad, he seized him suddenly by the hand. "Why don't you try to get through the gate now?" urged Snip. "Come on, I'll help you!" As he spoke, he kicked open the gate with his heel, stepped out and began to tug at the tailor's coat.
"No use," began the old man. "No use for me to try to get away—"
Before he could finish the sentence Snip had dragged him entirely through. For an instant he stood staring back uncertainly at his little shop with its shabby sign, "The Tired Tailor of Oz." He had printed it to amuse himself one stormy evening. Snatching a piece of chalk from his pocket, while Snip danced up and down with anxiety and impatience, Tora dashed back and scribbled two letters before the second word.
"The Re-Tired Tailor of Oz," said the sign now, and with a long, gusty chuckle, the old man grasped Snip by the hand and ran with all his might toward the Fare-well.
The Blanks were evidently still at breakfast, and Tora and Snip made their way through the deserted streets of Blankenburg without meeting a soul. In a jiffy they came to the Fare-well, both out of breath but happy to be near to freedom.
The Old Tailor's Story
Snip was just gathering his courage for a jump down the well when Tora lifted him up and dropped him gently over the edge. Again that terrifying swoop into the darkness. "After this," gulped Snip dizzily, as he turned over and over, "I shall think nothing of falling out of a button tree, or down a flight of steps. Perhaps I'll try a fall every day just to keep in practice."
With a breathless bump, Snip landed in the padded bucket, putting an end to these curious thoughts. Before he had time for any others, he had shot through another underground passage and up and out of the well with such force that he rolled like a ball on the soft green moss. When he stopped rolling he saw Tora sitting beside him, smoothing down his long silver locks and untangling his whiskers.
"Are your ears on tight?" asked Snip anxiously, for it would certainly be a dreadful thing if the tailor's ears had been left behind. Tora put up his hand quickly to touch them and then, with a pleased nod, arose to his feet.
"You've brought me good luck, Snip," smiled the old gentleman. "I've tried a hundred times to escape from the Blanks, but never could get through that gate."
"Well, I am glad I could help you, for you helped me," said Snip. "Now that you have escaped, where will you go? Do you remember where you lived before?"
"I remember nothing," acknowledged the tailor sorrowfully, "so I'm going with you and after we find this good goose you speak of and the King, I'll just look around for another shop. A tailor has no cause to worry, and I've all my tools right with me." He chuckled, jingling his pockets cheerfully.
Snip had to smile himself, for Tora certainly did look like a walking work-shop. Around his neck were three long tape measures. Through tapes in his vest there hung a dozen pairs of scissors and shears of all sizes. Fastened to his coat was a huge pin cushion and both lapels were stuck full of needles. As for his pockets, they simply bulged with spools of silk, beeswax and thread.
Snip thought he had never seen a more interesting traveller and, feeling happier than he had since he left Kimbaloo, and quite hopeful of finding Pajuka, he began to examine the surrounding country. The Fare-well had spilled them into a large field of wheat and, from several purple barns in the distance, Snip knew they were still in the land of the Gillikens.
"You'll have to be guide, Snip," sighed the tailor, gazing around with a bewildered expression. "I've lived so long with the Blanks that I know nothing of these parts at all. As for the Emerald City, I can't remember even hearing of it."
"Well, I've never been there," admitted Snip, "but I know it is in the very center of Oz and we were going south when Mombi threw me down the well. So if we can find out which direction is south we ought to reach the Emerald City by night time. Which way doyouthink it is?"
The tailor squinted doubtfully up at the sun and, after a few more useless guesses, they determined to take a chance and started diagonally across the field.
"I wonder what shape Mombi did turn the King into," muttered Snip, as they hurried along through the wheat. "And I wonder whether Ozma can change Pajuka back to his own self again. He's so tired of being a goose!"
"It must be pretty tiresome," observed Tora, pushing his specs up on his forehead, "though no worse than tailoring from morning till night for a city full of invisible and ungrateful rascals. Not that I mind the tailoring," he explained hastily, looking down sideways at Snip. "I love that, and say, I'd like to make you a little suit sometime when I've set up my shop. No, it wasn't the tailoring, but the imprisonment that I minded."
"Do you 'spose they've missed you yet? What will they do when they find you're gone?" chuckled the little button boy. He looked up expectantly, but the old man was staring thoughtfully over an olive tree and did not seem to hear Snip's question.
"Bother!" exclaimed Snip. "His ears have gone off again. How awfully inconvenient!"
"I always let them off after breakfast," explained the tailor apologetically and just as if he had read Snip's thoughts. "It rests them, you know."