"Why, she's gone!" gasped Ojo, in amazement, and listening carefully he thought he could hear the muffled screams of Scraps coming from the center of the folded leaf. But, before he could think what he ought to do to save her, another leaf bent down and captured the Glass Cat, rolling around the little creature until she was completely hidden, and then straightening up again upon its stem.
"Look out," cried the Woozy. "Run! Run fast, or you are lost."
Ojo turned and saw the Woozy running swiftly up the road. But the last leaf of the row of plants seized the beast even as he ran and instantly he disappeared from sight.
The boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of the great leaves were bending toward him from different directions and as he stood hesitating one of them clutched him in its embrace. In a flash he was in the dark. Then he felt himself gently lifted until he was swaying in the air, with the folds of the leaf hugging him on all sides.
At first he struggled hard to escape, crying out in anger: "Let me go! Let me go!" But neither struggles nor protests had any effect whatever. The leaf held him firmly and he was a prisoner.
Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think. Despair fell upon him when he remembered that all his little party had been captured, even as he was, and there was none to save them.
"I might have expected it," he sobbed, miserably. "I'm Ojo the Unlucky, and something dreadful was sure to happen to me."
He pushed against the leaf that held him and found it to be soft, but thick and firm. It was like a great bandage all around him and he found it difficult to move his body or limbs in order to change their position.
The minutes passed and became hours. Ojo wondered howlong one could live in such a condition and if the leaf would gradually sap his strength and even his life, in order to feed itself. The little Munchkin boy had never heard of any person dying in the Land of Oz, but he knew one could suffer a great deal of pain. His greatest fear at this time was that he would always remain imprisoned in the beautiful leaf and never see the light of day again.
No sound came to him through the leaf; all around was intense silence. Ojo wondered if Scraps had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the leaf prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought he heard a whistle, as of some one whistling a tune. Yes; it really must be some one whistling, he decided, for he could follow the strains of a pretty Munchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to sing to him. The sounds were low and sweet and, although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly, they were clear and harmonious.
Could the leaf whistle, Ojo wondered? Nearer and nearer came the sounds and then they seemed to be just the other side of the leaf that was hugging him.
Suddenly the whole leaf toppled and fell, carrying the boy with it, and while he sprawled at full length the folds slowly relaxed and set him free. He scrambled quickly to his feet and found that a strange man was standing before him—a man so curious in appearance that the boy stared with round eyes.
He was a big man, with shaggy whiskers, shaggy eyebrows,shaggy hair—but kindly blue eyes that were gentle as those of a cow. On his head was a green velvet hat with a jeweled band, which was all shaggy around the brim. Rich but shaggy laces were at his throat; a coat with shaggy edges was decorated with diamond buttons; the velvet breeches had jeweled buckles at the knees and shags all around the bottoms. On his breast hung a medallion bearing a picture of Princess Dorothy of Oz, and in his hand, as he stood looking at Ojo, was a sharp knife shaped like a dagger.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ojo, greatly astonished at the sight of this stranger; and then he added: "Who has saved me, sir?"
"Can't you see?" replied the other, with a smile; "I'm the Shaggy Man."
"Yes; I can see that," said the boy, nodding. "Was it you who rescued me from the leaf?"
"None other, you may be sure. But take care, or I shall have to rescue you again."
Ojo gave a jump, for he saw several broad leaves leaning toward him; but the Shaggy Man began to whistle again, and at the sound the leaves all straightened up on their stems and kept still.
The man now took Ojo's arm and led him up the road, past the last of the great plants, and not till he was safely beyond their reach did he cease his whistling.
"You see, the music charms 'em," said he. "Singing or whistling—it doesn't matter which—makes 'em behave, andnothing else will. I always whistle as I go by 'em and so they always let me alone. To-day as I went by, whistling, I saw a leaf curled and knew there must be something inside it. I cut down the leaf with my knife and—out you popped. Lucky I passed by, wasn't it?"
"You were very kind," said Ojo, "and I thank you. Will you please rescue my companions, also?"
"What companions?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"The leaves grabbed them all," said the boy. "There's a Patchwork Girl and—"
"A what?"
"A girl made of patchwork, you know. She's alive and her name is Scraps. And there's a Glass Cat—"
"Glass?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"All glass."
"And alive?"
"Yes," said Ojo; "she has pink brains. And there's a Woozy—"
"What's a Woozy?" inquired the Shaggy Man.
"Why, I—I—can't describe it," answered the boy, greatly perplexed. "But it's a queer animal with three hairs on the tip of its tail that won't come out and—"
"What won't come out?" asked the Shaggy Man; "the tail?"
"The hairs won't come out. But you'll see the Woozy, if you'll please rescue it, and then you'll know just what it is."
"Of course," said the Shaggy Man, nodding his shaggy head. And then he walked back among the plants, still whistling, and found the three leaves which were curled around Ojo's traveling companions. The first leaf he cut down released Scraps, and on seeing her the Shaggy Man threw back his shaggy head, opened wide his mouth and laughed so shaggily and yet so merrily, that Scraps liked him at once. Then he took off his hat and made her a low bow, saying:
"My dear, you're a wonder. I must introduce you to my friend the Scarecrow."
When he cut down the second leaf he rescued the Glass Cat, and Bungle was so frightened that she scampered away like a streak and soon had joined Ojo, when she sat beside him panting and trembling. The last plant of all the row had captured the Woozy, and a big bunch in the center of the curled leaf showed plainly where he was. With his sharp knife the Shaggy Man sliced off the stem of the leaf and as it fell and unfolded out trotted the Woozy and escaped beyond the reach of any more of the dangerous plants.
A GOOD FRIENDChap. 11.
A Good Friend
Chap. 11
SOON the entire party was gathered on the road of yellow bricks, quite beyond the reach of the beautiful but treacherous plants. The Shaggy Man, staring first at one and then at the other, seemed greatly pleased and interested.
"I've seen queer things since I came to the Land of Oz," said he, "but never anything queerer than this band of adventurers. Let us sit down a while, and have a talk and get acquainted."
"Haven't you always lived in the Land of Oz?" asked the Munchkin boy.
"No; I used to live in the big, outside world. But I came here once with Dorothy, and Ozma let me stay."
"How do you like Oz?"asked Scraps. "Isn't the country and the climate grand?"
"It's the finest country in all the world, even if it is a fairyland, and I'm happy every minute I live in it," said the Shaggy Man. "But tell me something about yourselves."
So Ojo related the story of his visit to the house of the Crooked Magician, and how he met there the Glass Cat, and how the Patchwork Girl was brought to life and of the terrible accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte. Then he told how he had set out to find the five different things which the Magician needed to make a charm that would restore the marble figures to life, one requirement being three hairs from a Woozy's tail.
"We found the Woozy," explained the boy, "and he agreed to give us the three hairs; but we couldn't pull them out. So we had to bring the Woozy along with us."
"I see," returned the Shaggy Man, who had listened with interest to the story. "But perhaps I, who am big and strong, can pull those three hairs from the Woozy's tail."
"Try it, if you like," said the Woozy.
So the Shaggy Man tried it, but pull as hard as he could he failed to get the hairs out of the Woozy's tail. So he sat down again and wiped his shaggy face with a shaggy silk handkerchief and said:
"It doesn't matter. If you can keep the Woozy until you get the rest of the things you need, you can take the beast and his three hairs to the Crooked Magician and let him find a way to extract 'em. What are the other things you are to find?"
"One," said Ojo, "is a six-leaved clover."
"You ought to find that in the fields around the Emerald City," said the Shaggy Man. "There is a Law against picking six-leaved clovers, but I think I can get Ozma to let you have one."
"Thank you," replied Ojo. "The next thing is the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"For that you must go to the Winkie Country," the Shaggy Man declared. "I've never noticed any butterflies there, but that is the yellow country of Oz and it's ruled by a good friend of mine, the Tin Woodman."
"Oh, I've heard of him!" exclaimed Ojo. "He must be a wonderful man."
"So he is, and his heart is wonderfully kind. I'm sure the Tin Woodman will do all in his power to help you to save your Unc Nunkie and poor Margolotte."
"The next thing I must find," said the Munchkin boy, "is a gill of water from a dark well."
"Indeed! Well, that is more difficult," said the Shaggy Man, scratching his left ear in a puzzled way. "I've never heard of a dark well; have you?"
"No," said Ojo.
"Do you know where one may be found?" inquired the Shaggy Man.
"I can't imagine," said Ojo.
"Then we must ask the Scarecrow."
"The Scarecrow! But surely, sir, a scarecrow can't know anything."
"Most scarecrows don't, I admit," answered the Shaggy Man. "But this Scarecrow of whom I speak is very intelligent. He claims to possess the best brains in all Oz."
"Better than mine?" asked Scraps.
"Better than mine?" echoed the Glass Cat. "Mine are pink, and you can see 'em work."
"Well, you can't see the Scarecrow's brains work, but they do a lot of clever thinking," asserted the Shaggy Man. "If anyone knows where a dark well is, it's my friend the Scarecrow."
"Where does he live?" inquired Ojo.
"He has a splendid castle in the Winkie Country, near to the palace of his friend the Tin Woodman, and he is often to be found in the Emerald City, where he visits Dorothy at the royal palace."
"Then we will ask him about the dark well," said Ojo.
"But what else does this Crooked Magician want?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"A drop of oil from a live man's body."
"Oh; but there isn't such a thing."
"That is what I thought," replied Ojo; "but the Crooked Magician said it wouldn't be called for by the recipe if it couldn't be found, and therefore I must search until I find it."
"I wish you good luck," said the Shaggy Man, shaking his head doubtfully; "but I imagine you'll have a hard job getting a drop of oil from a live man's body. There's blood in a body, but no oil."
I Hate Dignity
"There's cotton in mine," said Scraps, dancing a little jig.
"I don't doubt it," returned the Shaggy Man admiringly. "You're a regular comforter and as sweet as patchwork can be. All you lack is dignity."
"I hate dignity," cried Scraps, kicking a pebble high in the air and then trying to catch it as it fell. "Half the fools and all the wise folks are dignified, and I'm neither the one nor the other."
"She's just crazy," explained the Glass Cat.
The Shaggy Man laughed.
"She's delightful, in her way," he said. "I'm sure Dorothy will be pleased with her, and the Scarecrow will dote on her. Did you say you were traveling toward the Emerald City?"
"Yes," replied Ojo. "I thought that the best place to go, at first, because the six-leaved clover may be found there."
"I'll go with you," said the Shaggy Man, "and show you the way."
"Thank you," exclaimed Ojo. "I hope it won't put you out any."
"No," said the other, "I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I've been a rover all my life, and although Ozma has given me a suite of beautiful rooms in her palace I still get thewandering fever once in a while and start out to roam the country over. I've been away from the Emerald City several weeks, this time, and now that I've met you and your friends I'm sure it will interest me to accompany you to the great city of Oz and introduce you to my friends."
"That will be very nice," said the boy, gratefully.
"I hope your friends are not dignified," observed Scraps.
"Some are, and some are not," he answered; "but I never criticise my friends. If they are really true friends, they may be anything they like, for all of me."
"There's some sense in that," said Scraps, nodding her queer head in approval. "Come on, and let's get to the Emerald City as soon as possible." With this she ran up the path, skipping and dancing, and then turned to await them.
"It is quite a distance from here to the Emerald City," remarked the Shaggy Man, "so we shall not get there to-day, nor to-morrow. Therefore let us take the jaunt in an easy manner. I'm an old traveler and have found that I never gain anything by being in a hurry. 'Take it easy' is my motto. If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you can."
After walking some distance over the road of yellow bricks Ojo said he was hungry and would stop to eat some bread and cheese. He offered a portion of the food to the Shaggy Man, who thanked him but refused it.
"When I start out on my travels," said he, "I carry along enough square meals to last me several weeks. Think I'll indulgein one now, as long as we're stopping anyway."
Saying this, he took a bottle from his pocket and shook from it a tablet about the size of one of Ojo's finger-nails.
"That," announced the Shaggy Man, "is a square meal, in condensed form. Invention of the great Professor Wogglebug, of the Royal College of Athletics. It contains soup, fish, roast meat, salad, apple-dumplings, ice cream and chocolate-drops, all boiled down to this small size, so it can be conveniently carried and swallowed when you are hungry and need a square meal."
"I'm square," said the Woozy. "Give me one, please."
So the Shaggy Man gave the Woozy a tablet from his bottle and the beast ate it in a twinkling.
"You have now had a six course dinner," declared the Shaggy Man.
"Pshaw!" said the Woozy, ungratefully, "I want to taste something. There's no fun in that sort of eating."
"One should only eat to sustain life," replied the Shaggy Man, "and that tablet is equal to a peck of other food."
"I don't care for it. I want something I can chew and taste," grumbled the Woozy.
"You are quite wrong, my poor beast," said the Shaggy Man in a tone of pity. "Think how tired your jaws would get chewing a square meal like this, if it were not condensed to the size of a small tablet—which you can swallow in a jiffy."
"Chewing isn't tiresome; it's fun," maintained the Woozy. "I always chew the honey-bees when I catch them. Give me some bread and cheese, Ojo."
"No, no! You've already eaten a big dinner!" protested the Shaggy Man.
"May be," answered the Woozy; "but I guess I'll fool myself by munching some bread and cheese. I may not be hungry, having eaten all those things you gave me, but I consider this eating business a matter of taste, and I like to realize what's going into me."
Ojo gave the beast what he wanted, but the Shaggy Man shook his shaggy head reproachfully and said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to convince as a Woozy.
At this moment a patter of footsteps was heard, and looking up they saw the live phonograph standing before them. It seemed to have passed through many adventures since Ojo and his comrades last saw the machine, for the varnish of its wooden case was all marred and dented and scratched in a way that gave it an aged and disreputable appearance.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard. "What has happened to you?"
"Nothing much," replied the phonograph in a sad and depressed voice. "I've had enough things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock a department store and furnish half a dozen bargain-counters."
"Are you so broken up that you can't play?" asked Scraps.
"No; I still am able to grind out delicious music. Just now I've a record on tap that is really superb," said the phonograph, growing more cheerful.
"That is too bad," remarked Ojo. "We've no objection to you as a machine, you know; but as a music-maker we hate you."
"Then why was I ever invented?" demanded the machine, in a tone of indignant protest.
They looked at one another inquiringly, but no one could answer such a puzzling question. Finally the Shaggy Man said:
"I'd like to hear the phonograph play."
Ojo sighed. "We've been very happy since we met you, sir," he said.
"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes one appreciate happiness more. Tell me, Phony, what is this record like, which you say you have on tap?"
"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands the common people have gone wild over it."
"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then it's dangerous."
"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the phonograph. "Listen. This song will prove a rare treat to you, I know. It made the author rich—for an author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"
Then the phonograph began to play. A strain of odd, jerky sounds was followed by these words, sung by a man throughhis nose with great vigor of expression:
"Ah want mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu;Ah want mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!Ah love mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu,There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Ah want mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu;Ah want mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!Ah love mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu,There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Ah want mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu;Ah want mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!Ah love mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu,There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Here—shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man, springing to his feet. "What do you mean by such impertinence?"
"It's the latest popular song," declared the phonograph, speaking in a sulky tone of voice.
"A popular song?"
"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember the words of and those ignorant of music can whistle or sing. That makes a popular song popular, and the time is coming when it will take the place of all other songs."
"That time won't come to us, just yet," said the Shaggy Man, sternly: "I'm something of a singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled by any Lulus like your cross-eyed one. I shall take you all apart, Mr. Phony, and scatter your pieces far and wide over the country, as a matter of kindness to the people you might meet if allowed to run around loose. Having performed this painful duty I shall—"
But before he could say more the phonograph turned and dashed up the road as fast as its four table-legs could carry it, and soon it had entirely disappeared from their view.
The Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed well pleased. "Some one else will save me the trouble of scattering that phonograph," said he; "for it is not possible that such a music-maker can last long in the Land of Oz. When you are rested, friends, let us go on our way."
During the afternoon the travelers found themselves in a lonely and uninhabited part of the country. Even the fields were no longer cultivated and the country began to resemble a wilderness. The road of yellow bricks seemed to have been neglected and became uneven and more difficult to walk upon. Scrubby underbrush grew on either side of the way, while huge rocks were scattered around in abundance.
But this did not deter Ojo and his friends from trudging on, and they beguiled the journey with jokes and cheerful conversation. Toward evening they reached a crystal spring which gushed from a tall rock by the roadside and near this spring stood a deserted cabin. Said the Shaggy Man, halting here:
"We may as well pass the night here, where there is shelter for our heads and good water to drink. Road beyond here is pretty bad; worst we shall have to travel; so let's wait until morning before we tackle it."
They agreed to this and Ojo found some brushwood in the cabin and made a fire on the hearth. The fire delighted Scraps, who danced before it until Ojo warned her she might set fire to herself and burn up. After that the Patchwork Girl kept at a respectful distance from the darting flames, but the Woozy lay down before the fire like a big dog and seemed to enjoy its warmth.
For supper the Shaggy Man ate one of his tablets, but Ojo stuck to his bread and cheese as the most satisfying food. He also gave a portion to the Woozy.
When darkness came on and they sat in a circle on the cabin floor, facing the firelight—there being no furniture of any sort in the place—Ojo said to the Shaggy Man:
"Won't you tell us a story?"
"I'm not good at stories," was the reply; "but I sing like a bird."
"Raven, or crow?" asked the Glass Cat.
"Like a song bird. I'll prove it. I'll sing a song I composed myself. Don't tell anyone I'm a poet; they might want me to write a book. Don't tell 'em I can sing, or they'd want me to make records for that awful phonograph. Haven't time to be a public benefactor, so I'll just sing you this little song for your own amusement."
They were glad enough to be entertained, and listened with interest while the Shaggy Man chanted the following verses to a tune that was not unpleasant:
"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwellAnd fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,Where magic is a science and where no one shows surpriseIf some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decreesTo make her people happy, for her heart is kind and trueAnd to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,Nor old Professor Wogglebug, who's highly magnifiedAnd looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of woodHe does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores—The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.There's Tik-tok—he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight—He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eatBut never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow HenAnd Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.Just search the whole world over—sail the seas from coast to coast—No other nation in creation queerer folks can boast;And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,A Woozy, and—last but not least—a crazy Patchwork Lass."
"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwellAnd fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,Where magic is a science and where no one shows surpriseIf some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decreesTo make her people happy, for her heart is kind and trueAnd to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,Nor old Professor Wogglebug, who's highly magnifiedAnd looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of woodHe does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores—The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.There's Tik-tok—he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight—He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eatBut never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow HenAnd Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.Just search the whole world over—sail the seas from coast to coast—No other nation in creation queerer folks can boast;And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,A Woozy, and—last but not least—a crazy Patchwork Lass."
"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwellAnd fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,Where magic is a science and where no one shows surpriseIf some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.
Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decreesTo make her people happy, for her heart is kind and trueAnd to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.
And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.
I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,Nor old Professor Wogglebug, who's highly magnifiedAnd looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.
Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of woodHe does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.
And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores—The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.
There's Tik-tok—he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight—He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eatBut never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.
It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow HenAnd Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.
Just search the whole world over—sail the seas from coast to coast—No other nation in creation queerer folks can boast;And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,A Woozy, and—last but not least—a crazy Patchwork Lass."
Ojo was so pleased with this song that he applauded the singer by clapping his hands, and Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded fingers together, although they made no noise. The cat pounded on the floor with her glass paws—gently, so as not to break them—and the Woozy, which had been asleep, woke up to ask what the row was about.
"I seldom sing in public, for fear they might want me to start an opera company," remarked the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his effort was appreciated. "Voice, just now, is a little out of training; rusty, perhaps."
"Tell me," said the Patchwork Girl earnestly, "do all those queer people you mention really live in the Land of Oz?"
"Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing: Dorothy's Pink Kitten."
"For goodness sake!" exclaimed Bungle, sitting up and looking interested. "A Pink Kitten? How absurd! Is it glass?"
"No; just ordinary kitten."
"Then it can't amount to much. I have pink brains, and you can see 'em work."
"Dorothy's kitten is all pink—brains and all—except blue eyes. Name's Eureka. Great favorite at the royal palace," said the Shaggy Man, yawning.
The Glass Cat seemed annoyed.
"Do you think a pink kitten—common meat—is as pretty as I am?" she asked.
"Can't say. Tastes differ, you know," replied the Shaggy Man, yawning again. "But here's a pointer that may be of service to you: make friends with Eureka and you'll be solid at the palace."
"I'm solid now; solid glass."
"You don't understand," rejoined the Shaggy Man, sleepily. "Anyhow, make friends with the Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the Pink Kitten despises you, look out for breakers."
"Would anyone at the royal palace break a Glass Cat?"
"Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr soft and look humble—if you can. And now I'm going to bed."
Bungle considered the Shaggy Man'sadviceso carefully that her pink brains were busy long after the others of the party were fast asleep.
THE GIANT PORCUPINEChap. 12
The Giant Porcupine
Chap. 12
NEXT morning they started out bright and early to follow the road of yellow bricks toward the Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was beginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he had a great many things to think of and consider besides the events of the journey. At the wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently reach, were so many strange and curious people that he was half afraid of meeting them and wondered if they would prove friendly and kind. Above all else, he could not drive from his mind the important errand on which he had come, and he was determined to devote every energy to finding the things that were necessary to prepare the magic recipe. Hebelieved that until dear Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel no joy in anything, and often he wished that Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now a marble statue in the house of the Crooked Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to save him.
The country through which they were passing was still rocky and deserted, with here and there a bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo noticed one tree, especially, because it had such long, silky leaves and was so beautiful in shape. As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly, wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it bore pretty flowers.
Suddenly he became aware that he had been looking at that tree a long time—at least for five minutes—and it had remained in the same position, although the boy had continued to walk steadily on. So he stopped short, and when he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as well as his companions, moved on before him and left him far behind.
Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that it aroused the Shaggy Man, who also halted. The others then stopped, too, and walked back to the boy.
"What's wrong?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no matter how fast we walk," declared Ojo. "Now that we have stopped, we are moving backward! Can't you see? Just notice that rock."
Scraps looked down at her feet and said: "The yellow bricks are not moving."
"But the whole road is," answered Ojo.
"True; quite true," agreed the Shaggy Man. "I know all about the tricks of this road, but I have been thinking of something else and didn't realize where we were."
"It will carry us back to where we started from," predicted Ojo, beginning to be nervous.
"No," replied the Shaggy Man; "it won't do that, for I know a trick to beat this tricky road. I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn around, all of you, and walk backward."
"What good will that do?" asked the cat.
"You'll find out, if you obey me," said the Shaggy Man.
So they all turned their backs to the direction in which they wished to go and began walking backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were gaining ground and as they proceeded in this curious way they soon passed the tree which had first attracted his attention to their difficulty.
"How long must we keep this up, Shags?" asked Scraps, who was constantly tripping and tumbling down, only to get up again with a laugh at her mishap.
"Just a little way farther," replied the Shaggy Man.
A few minutes later he called to them to turn about quickly and step forward, and as they obeyed the order they found themselves treading solid ground.
"That task is well over," observed the Shaggy Man. "It's a little tiresome to walk backward, but that is the only way to pass this part of the road, which has a trick of sliding back and carrying with it anyone who is walking upon it."
With new courage and energy they now trudged forward and after a time came to a place where the road cut through a low hill, leaving high banks on either side of it. They were traveling along this cut, talking together, when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one arm and Ojo with another and shouted: "Stop!"
"What's wrong now?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"See there!" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing with his finger.
Directly in the center of the road lay a motionless object that bristled all over with sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was as big as a ten-bushel-basket, but the projecting quills made it appear to be four times bigger.
"Well, what of it?" asked Scraps.
"That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble along this road," was the reply.
"Chiss! What is Chiss?"
"I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine, but here in Oz they consider Chiss an evil spirit. He's different from a reg'lar porcupine, because he can throw his quills in any direction, which an American porcupine cannot do. That's what makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too near, he'll fire those quills at us and hurt us badly."
"Then we will be foolish to get too near," said Scraps.
"I'm not afraid," declared the Woozy. "The Chiss is cowardly, I'm sure, and if it ever heard my awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be scared stiff."
"Oh; can you growl?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"That is the only ferocious thing about me," asserted the Woozy with evident pride. "My growl makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed of itself. If I growled at that creature you call Chiss, it would immediately think the world had cracked in two and bumped against the sun and moon, andthat would cause the monster to run as far and as fast as its legs could carry it."
"In that case," said the Shaggy Man, "you are now able to do us all a great favor. Please growl."
"But you forget," returned the Woozy; "my tremendous growl would also frighten you, and if you happen to have heart disease you might expire."
"True; but we must take that risk," decided the Shaggy Man, bravely. "Being warned of what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific noise of your growl; but Chiss won't expect it, and it will scare him away."
The Woozy hesitated.
"I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you," it said.
"Never mind," said Ojo.
"You may be made deaf."
"If so, we will forgive you."
"Very well, then," said the Woozy in a determined voice, and advanced a few steps toward the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it asked: "All ready?"
"All ready!" they answered.
"Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves firmly. Now, then—look out!"
The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its mouth and said:
"Quee-ee-ee-eek."
"Go ahead and growl," said Scraps.
"Why, I—Ididgrowl!" retorted the Woozy, who seemed much astonished.
"What, that little squeak?" she cried.
"It is the most awful growl that ever was heard, on land or sea, in caverns or in the sky," protested the Woozy. "I wonder you stood the shock so well. Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I suppose Chiss is now quite dead with fright."
The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.
"Poor Wooz!" said he; "your growl wouldn't scare a fly."
The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised. It hung its head a moment, as if in shame or sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence: "Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire, too; good enough to set fire to a fence!"
"That is true," declared Scraps; "I saw it done myself. But your ferocious growl isn't as loud as the tick of a beetle—or one of Ojo's snores when he's fast asleep."
"Perhaps," said the Woozy, humbly, "I have been mistaken about my growl. It has always sounded very fearful to me, but that may have been because it was so close to my ears."
"Never mind," Ojo said soothingly; "it is a great talent to be able to flash fire from your eyes. No one else can do that."
As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss stirred and suddenly a shower of quills came flying toward them, almost filling the air, they were so many. Scraps realized in an instant thatthey had gone too near to Chiss for safety, so she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him from the darts, which stuck their points into her own body until she resembled one of those targets they shoot arrows at in archery games. The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat, the quills rattled off her body without making even a scratch, and the skin of the Woozy was so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.
When the attack was over they all ran to the Shaggy Man, who was moaning and groaning, and Scraps promptly pulledthe quill out of his leg. Then up he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting his foot on the monster's neck and holding it a prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now as smooth as leather, except for the holes where the quills had been, for it had shot every single quill in that one wicked shower.
"Let me go!" it shouted angrily. "How dare you put your foot on Chiss?"
"I'm going to do worse than that, old boy," replied the Shaggy Man. "You have annoyed travelers on this road long enough, and now I shall put an end to you."
"You can't!" returned Chiss. "Nothing can kill me, as you know perfectly well."
"Perhaps that is true," said the Shaggy Man in a tone of disappointment. "Seems to me I've been told before that you can't be killed. But if I let you go, what will you do?"
"Pick up my quills again," said Chiss in a sulky voice.
"And then shoot them at more travelers? No; that won't do. You must promise me to stop throwing quills at people."
"I won't promise anything of the sort," declared Chiss.
"Why not?"
"Because it is my nature to throw quills, and every animal must do what Nature intends it to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were wrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn't be made with quills to throw. The proper thing for you to do is to keep out of my way."
"Why, there's some sense in that argument," admitted theShaggy Man, thoughtfully; "but people who are strangers, and don't know you are here, won't be able to keep out of your way."
"Tell you what," said Scraps, who was trying to pull the quills out of her own body, "let's gather up all the quills and take them away with us; then old Chiss won't have any left to throw at people."
"Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must gather up the quills while I hold Chiss a prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of his quills and be able to throw them again."
So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills and tied them in a bundle so they might easily be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released Chiss and let him go, knowing that he was harmless to injure anyone.
"It's the meanest trick I ever heard of," muttered the porcupine gloomily. "How would you like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away from you?"
"If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would be welcome to capture them," was the reply.
Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in the road sullen and disconsolate. The Shaggy Man limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt him, and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills had left a number of small holes in her patches.
When they came to a flat stone by the roadside the Shaggy Man sat down to rest, and then Ojo opened his basket and tookout the bundle of charms the Crooked Magician had given him.
"I am Ojo the Unlucky," he said, "or we would never have met that dreadful porcupine. But I will see if I can find anything among these charms which will cure your leg."
Soon he discovered that one of the charms was labelled: "For flesh wounds," and this the boy separated from the others. It was only a bit of dried root, taken from some unknown shrub, but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by the quill and in a few moments the place was healed entirely and the Shaggy Man's leg was as good as ever.
"Rub it on the holes in my patches," suggested Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but without any effect.
"The charm you need is a needle and thread," said the Shaggy Man. "But do not worry, my dear; those holes do not look badly, at all."
"They'll let in the air, and I don't want people to think I'm airy, or that I've been stuck up," said the Patchwork Girl.
"You were certainly stuck up until we pulled out those quills," observed Ojo, with a laugh.
So now they went on again and coming presently to a pond of muddy water they tied a heavy stone to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.