“It is a story,” said Notta, springing up quickly, and glad of this opportunity to tell their strange adventures and to ask a few questions about the Emerald City. “A long story, your Highness,” continued Notta. In as few words as possible he told of his former life in the circus, of their flight to Mudge, of Mustafa’s determination to have them capture the Cowardly Lion.
As Notta paused for breath, the King said, “Shall we let them pass through Doorways, my love?” Instead of answering the Queen leaned over and whispered in Theodore’s ear.
“Her Highness wishes to be amused,” announced the King, straightening up. “You said in this circus it was your business to make people laugh. Well, if you can make us laugh you may continue your journey. You may begin now and you may have three trials.”
The King folded his hands on his stomach and leaned back vastly pleased with himself. Notta’s forehead wrinkled anxiously, for Queen Adora looked as if she had never laughed in her life. But with a wink at Bob the clown began. First he let out an ear splitting screech that so alarmed the King his crown fell off. Then he turned a complete somersault, chair and all, ran across the room on his hands and cartwheeled back so fast one could not have told whether he was a person or a pinwheel. Next he bent double, seized his ankles with his hands and jumped in this singular position entirely over Bob, finishing with a neat bow before the Queen’s throne.
“Do you think that’s funny?” puffed the Queen, turning to squarely face the King, who was mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“No-no!” stuttered Theodore, in a slightly cracked voice. “It quite upset me, my love. Slammer, where’s my crown?” Slammer recovered the King’s crown and then both their Majesties stared solemnly at Notta. The clown stared back, a puzzled expression on his round jolly face. Then, dragging a huge handkerchief from his pocket, he whirled it over his hand and instantly it tied itself into a foolish rag baby, which the clown clasped to his bosom, crooning:
“I love my baby, ‘deed I do, Indeed, indeed I do! He has no hair upon his head, But neither, Sir, have you!
“But his will grow, it will, I know, As soon as he is big, But yours will never grow-and so
You’d better buy a wig!”
“Wh-at!” screamed King Theodore furiously, and Notta, dropping the handkerchief baby, noticed for the first time that the King’s head was entirely bald. Bob Up was holding himself together and smiling into his collar.
“Shocking!” coughed Adora, looking at the clown through her eye glasses.
“I was singing about Slammer,” gulped Notta, noting in an instant that the chief doorman was bald too. “Now just let me tell you a little joke. There was once a triangular pig, who could dance a triangular jig, and-”
“Do you believe that?” shrilled King Theodore, again turning to face his Queen.
“No,” snapped the Queen, shutting her lips very tight. “How could I?”
“Then, if the clouds rolled away, would they be mist?” roared Notta, before they could continue their disagreeing. He bounced four feet into the air and pointed playfully at the King.
“I wouldn’t miss ‘em,” replied the King sullenly. “Do you think that’s funny?” Again he turned to the Queen, who shook her head emphatically.
“Well, I think it’s funny!” said Bob, jumping out of his chair. He looked indignantly from the King to the Queen.
“Then why don’t you laugh?” asked the King accusingly. Poor Bob couldn’t explain that laughing was a hard matter for an orphan, so he sat down rather suddenly, while Notta began looking all around as if he were hunting something. He searched on each step of the King’s throne, then he looked into his Majesty’s lap and, finally, running around to the back peered under Theodore’s collar.
“What’s the matter?” asked his Majesty irritably. “What are you looking for now?”
“My joke,” sighed the clown, “I’m looking for my poor little joke. It was lost on you. When I asked, ‘If the clouds rolled away, would they be mist,’ you should have said it’s according to the way you spell ‘em-see?”
“No,” said Theodore, sternly, “I don’t,
“I only see you are a dunce; You haven’t made us laugh, not once!”
The Queen nodded emphatically at this and, glaring scornfully at the two intruders, swept out of the throne room.
“Last rule,” whispered Notta, winking at Bob for out of the tail of his eye, he could see the King signaling Slammer. Rushing forward impetuously he flung up his hand. “Could your Majesty tell me a word to rhyme with toboggan?” he asked pleadingly. Immediately King Theodore’s face lit up with pleasure. He closed his eyes and began to drum with one hand on the arm of his throne. If there was one thing he adored it was rhyming.
He forgot to finish his directions to Slammer and instead mumbled hurriedly under his breath, “Choggin, foggin, doggon, noggin, loggin, joggin. Ah, I have it-joggin!” He opened his eyes and looked
around triumphantly, but the clown and Bob Up were nowhere to be seen. In fact they had run as soon as the King’s eyes closed. For Notta, while endeavoring to make their Majesties laugh, had discovered that one of the doors said “Out.” And out they went, bowling over doormen like ten pins in their headlong flight. As the door slammed they slid down a steep dark passageway and in about two minutes shot out into the middle of a dusty road. Above them on a high hill rose the gray walls of the singular Kingdom of Doorways.
“Toboggan was right,” muttered the clown, rising stiffly. “This country grows odder and odder, Bob. What do they call it now-Oz? But never mind, we shall have lots to tell each other on stormy nights when we reach the states. Lots and lots!”
Bob did not answer. Instead he clutched Notta’s wide pantaloon and pointed toward a large clump of bushes. Looking out from the leaves was the head of a huge, shaggy lion. A shudder ran down the clown’s back. He tried to remember the procedure of Bill, the old lion tamer in the circus. ‘Subdue the creature with your eye,” Bill said. Yes, that was what he had said. Notta’s knees rattled like castanets, but with a frightened gulp he stared the lion straight in the eye. For a moment nothing happened, then with a gusty sigh the lion began to speak.
“What have they done with the rest of me?” it roared mournfully.
“Who?” stuttered Notta, getting a good hold on Bob and making ready to run at the lion’s first
move.
“The Mudgers,” wheezed the lion, two tears rolling down its nose. With many gulps and sighs it told them how Tazzywaller had cut it in two and imprisoned its back half in the lion enclosure.
“You mean to say that you were cut in half and still live to tell the tale?” gasped Notta in astonishment.
“I don’t know what you mean by telling the tail. How can I tell the tail anything when all my connections with it are Cut off? Oh, my poor tail, how it must miss me!” moaned the half lion. “Then you only have two legs,” said Bob in a relieved tone and coming out from behind Notta. The lion nodded gloomily. “If I had four, do you think I’d be standing propped up against these bushes. I’d have eaten you long ago.
“What a blessing,” murmured the clown under his breath, “that it’s only half a lion.”
“I’d like a little sympathy,” continued the lion in its mournful voice. “If the little fellow would pat me on the head, I think it would ease me a bit.”
“Shall I?” asked Bob Up doubtfully.
“How do we know you won’t bite him?” asked Notta cautiously.
“I haven’t the courage,” replied the lion dolefully. “Besides my stomach is gone and that rather takes the appetite away, you know. Oh, my poor little empty stomach, how dreadfully it must feel! Then, to bite a person I should have to work myself up into a rage, and that I cannot do without a tail to lash. And half my heart is missing so I-”
“Do everything half-heartedly,” finished Notta, with a wink at Bob.
“Exactly,” blubbered the half lion. Two more tears rolled down its nose, and these so
affected Bob Up that he stepped bravely over and patted its mane.
“Harder!” cried the half lion, closing its eyes. “Harder! Harder!” Notta seized a stick and fell to patting the lion’s head with this, but it kept roaring harder until Bob Up and Notta were perfectly breathless.
“Sorry,” puffed the clown at last, “but we’ll have to say goodbye now. We’re on our way to the Emerald City.”
“Are you?” The half lion opened its eyes and regarded them with new interest. “There’s a wonderful wizard in the Emerald City,” it began in a more cheerful roar. “Could you, would you, tell him about my sad separation? Tell him I am pining for my better half and perhaps he would put me together again. Promise to tell him.” The poor beast was so earnest that he almost lost his balance.
“Why, certainly we will tell him,” said Notta, who was the most obliging soul imaginable.
“We’ll be glad to, old fellow, but I didn’t think there were any more wizards.”
“No wizards?” coughed the lion, surveying the clown in amazement. “Why, Oz is full of wizards. Just keep going north and you’ll soon find that out. I would go along with you, but I haven’t quite learned to travel on two legs, and I’m so tired of standing.”
“Why don’t you sit down,” asked Bob thoughtlessly. The lion groaned and looked at him reproachfully, and seeing it was going to cry again Notta began to move off.
“By the way,” he asked, pausing suddenly, “did you come through Doorways?”
“Yes!” sobbed the lion, sniffing with each word, “through the right door.”
“Which door was that?”
“I don’t remember,” sighed the half lion drearily. “I remember nothing nowadays. When I used to forget a fact all I had to do was to scratch my head with my hind leg and instantly it came back, but now-.” The lion began to sob heavily.
“Well, goodbye!” said Notta uneasily, taking Bob’s hand. “If we see this wizard you’ve mentioned we’ll tell him your sad story.”
“Goodbye,” choked the lion, waving his paw feebly.
“I’d like to see a real wizard, Notta,” said Bob Up, as they trudged down the dusty road.
“Odder and odder!” murmured the clown, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I declare, Bob, if you weren’t along I should think I were asleep and dreaming all this.”
“Here’s another sign,” whispered Bob Up in a low voice so the sign would not hear him. “Wonder if it talks too.”
“I dare say they all can if they want to replied Notta. “At any rate a sort of sign language.”
“North Road to U,” said this sign, in large blue letters.
“D stood for doorways. I wonder what U stands for?” mused the little boy, staring up at the sign with both hands in his pockets.
“Maybe it stands for us?” chuckled the clown, turning a handspring.
“You!” sneered the sign, giving itself a little shake. “Why, I wouldn’t stand for you a single minute. I’d rather-.” What it would rather Notta and Bob did not wait to hear. Seizing hands, they ran gaily down the road toward the unknown and curious country of U.
CHAPTER 8 The Cowardly Lion’s Quest
Quite unconscious of Mustafa’s evil plans for his capture, the Cowardly Lion of Oz paced to and fro on the wide veranda of the loveliest palace in Oz. It was early morning in the Emerald City, and Ozma and her court had not yet risen, but many of the palace pets were abroad and talking sociably together in the garden. Ozma’s Saw Horse was running races with Hank, Betsy Bobbin’s small mule, the Comfortable Camel and Doubtful Drome dary were ambling down the paths in their wobbly-kneed fashion, while Dorothy’s little dog, Toto, and the Glass Cat were arguing over the Patchwork Girl’s last verses. They all seemed happy and contented and the Cowardly Lion, noting this, sighed heavily. “Not one of them is ever afraid,” he murmured sorrowfully. “I, of all creatures in Oz, am the only cowardly one.
“What say?” The Cowardly Lion jumped, as he always did at an unexpected sound, then gave a little roar of relief as the Soldier with the Green Whiskers stepped out from behind a pillar.
“What say?” repeated the Soldier, putting down his gun which was never loaded, and regarding the Cowardly Lion inquiringly.
“I was saying that I am the only cowardly person in Oz.”
“Well, you can fight, can’t you?” The Soldier tugged his green whiskers thoughtfully as he asked this question. “Now, I am a very brave man, but I can never fight, so there you are. This was perfectly true. The Soldier with the Green Whiskers, who was Ozma’s entire army, never was afraid, but he always ran at the first sign of danger. While the Cowardly Lion trembled terribly as enemies approached, he always fought until he overcame them.
“So what’s the difference,” said the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, shouldering his gun and marching down the steps. “You feel cowardly and act bravely. I feel brave and act cowardly.” “It makes a great difference to me,” mumbled the Cowardly Lion. “I want to feel brave. Oh, if only once I could feel brave!” Shaking his mane mournfully, he padded down the steps after the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and soon came upon the Comfortable Camel and Doubtful Dromedary, who were swaying idly under a tall breakfast tree.
“Morning,” wheezed the Comfortable Camel, twitching his crooked nose. “Handsome as ever,
I see.”
“I doubt that, Camy,” said the Doubtful Dromedary, eyeing the Cowardly Lion solemnly.
“He’s always doubting things,” smiled the Comfortable Camel, rolling his large, limpid eyes. “Now, I never do.”
“He’s right this time. I’m not handsome at all; no coward could be handsome,” said the lion gruffly, flinging himself on the ground beside the strange pair. “Ah, if I could only feel courageous!”
“You’re nice as you are, you dear cowardly old thing,” snorted the camel, wagging his head affectionately. “Why, if you were brave, you would be just like any other lion. It’s being cowardly that makes you so interesting.”
“I’d rather be brave than interesting,” rumbled the lion sadly. “You know perfectly well that courage is the finest thing in the world.”
“I doubt that,” put in the dromedary, shifting a mouthful of grass from one cheek to the other, “I doubt that very much.”
“What’s the matter?” cried the Patchwork Girl, bouncing out merrily from the other side of the tree. “You all sound as solemn as Pokes!”
The Patchwork Girl is a great favorite in the Emerald City. She was made long ago by a magician’s wife and brought to life by the powder of life. But Ojo, a little Munchkin boy, who happened to be present while the magician was mixing Scrap’s brains, put in a large portion of cleverness and curiosity while the old wizard’s back was turned, so that instead of being a good and obedient servant as the wizard had intended her to be, the Patchwork Girl was full of fun and mischief. Indeed, she refused to be a servant at all, and ran off to the Emerald City, where Ozma has allowed her to live ever since. The Emerald City is the capital of Oz and located in the exact center of that great and magic wonderland. Its palace of green marble and emeralds, its flowering gardens and quaint green cottages make it the loveliest of all fairy cities, and so many strange and delightful people live there it is the most interesting place you could imagine. First in interest is Ozma, the fairy ruler of Oz. No one could help loving her. Then there is Dorothy, who has had more adventures than any little girl you have ever heard of and who prefers to be a Princess in Oz to returning to her old home in Kansas. There is Tik Tok, a marvelous machine man who is bright as the copper that he is made of, and who can think, walk and work when properly wound. And there’s the Scarecrow, as lively and accom plished a gentleman as ever advised a Queen. Oh, think of a live Scarecrow! There’s Jack Pumpkinhead, made entirely of wood, excepting his pumpkin head, and there’s Sir Hokus of Pokes, a knight so many centuries old that only in Oz could he be alive at all. There’s the Tin Woodman, Emperor of the Winkies, who comes often to the capital to visit
his old friends.
There are hundreds of the gentle Oz folk, who live in the little green cottages and bow politely when friends pass. There are the magnificent courtiers and palace servants, ready at a moment’s notice to pass round lemonade, while the Scarecrow dishes out Oz-cream and cake. And last but not least there are the amusing animals who have come to live in the royal stables. No wonder everyone is anxious to visit the Emerald City. If I could just find a magic umbrella or a handy cyclone I would go myself. Why, it would be worth the journey just to hear the Cowardly Lion and Comfortable Camel talking together like old cronies. The Comfortable Camel and the Doubtful Dromedary were recently discovered by Sir Hokus of Pokes and Dorothy, and are comparative new comers in the Emerald City, but the Cowardly Lion was one of the very first of the Oz creatures to arrive at the capital and is a prime favorite with everyone from Princess Dorothy to the royal cook.
But all the time I’ve been telling you this, the conversation under the breakfast tree has been growing more interesting.
“I thought the Wizard of Oz gave you a large dose of courage when you first came here,” drawled the camel, looking anxiously up at the Patchwork Girl, who was swinging head down from the breakfast tree.
“He did,” mourned the Cowardly Lion dreamily, “but it has worn off and, though he has tried and tried, he can’t seem to mix up any more.
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