L. Frank Baum - Oz 17

by The Cowardly Lion Of Oz

  “Did you?” The bird looked rather proud and began to puff out its feathers. “I’m the loudest snorer in the sky,” it announced, strutting about self-consciously. “That’s why my beak curls in this convenient fashion.”

  It was the bird’s beak that had made Notta laugh in the first place. It was long and blue, and curved so that it could fit over the comical creature’s ear like a personal telephone connection. “But why does it curl?” asked Notta, sitting down and staring at the bird intently.

  “So I can hear myself snore, replied the bird. “As soon as I snore in my own ear I wake up and stop snoring.” With its claw the Snorer adjusted its beak, much as one would adjust a pair of spectacles, and looked blandly at Notta. “I’m unusual don’t you think?”

  “Unusual,” whistled the Clown. “I’ll say you are! And never have I seen such a country. Why, if I could take along a few of these freaks, I’d have the finest show on earth.” He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully as he thought of the Mudgers, the Half-Lion, and now this bewildering bird.

  Snorer was about the size of a small child, with enormous feet, short legs and pink feathers. His head was somewhat like that of a large crane, and his eyes were as blue as his beak.

  “Why are you on the Isle of Un?” asked Notta, as the creature continued to look solemnly at him. “Because I’m unusual,” said the bird with a triumphant little hop. “But why are you here?”

  “Because I’m unlucky, I guess,” sighed the clown ruefully. “Won’t you come along and meet my friends?”

  “Yes, I’ll come with you,” said the bird calmly. It put its head on one side and looked at Notta. “You’re beautiful,” it sighed tremulously, “beautifully beautiful. I love you!”

  Notta had all he could do to keep from laughing, but seeing that Snorer was really in earnest, he patted it awkwardly on the head, and started back, the bird hopping happily beside him.

  “What’s this you’ve caught?” asked the Cowardly Lion, blinking suspiciously at Notta’s odd companion. As for Bob, who had wakened a moment before, he gave a little shout of laughter. “It’s because I’m so unusual,” whispered Snorer, putting up a claw and winking at Notta. “Tell them my name’s Nickadoodle.”

  So Notta gravely introduced Nick to Bob and the Cowardly Lion and, after Nick carefully explained his queer telephone nose, the four regarded one another with deep interest. “Maybe you can tell us the way to escape from Un,” suggested the Cowardly Lion in a rather choked voice, for every time he looked at Nick, he felt like roaring. Before Snorer could answer, Bob, who had been staring fixedly at the Cowardly Lion, burst out laughing.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded the Cowardly Lion gruffly.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Notta. Then he too clapped his hand to his mouth and began to rock backward and forward. “Feathers!” gasped the clown, “You’ve a big bunch of blue feathers in your mane!”

  “What?” roared the Cowardly Lion, angrily putting his paw to his head.

  “Oh, everyone grows feathers in Un,” chirped Nick cheerily, hopping toward Bob. “Take off your cap and see.”

  Snatching off his hat Bob ran his fingers hastily through his hair. Horrors! Right at the crown of his head were at least ten stiff red feathers. Notta had as many green ones, but his hung down over his right eye when he took off his cap. The desire to laugh at Snorer suddenly left them. To laugh at someone who was funny was one thing, but to be funny yourself-well, that was different! head on one side. “I think they’re quite becoming!”

  “Becoming!” screamed the Cowardly Lion. “Well, they’ll be coming out by the roots. It’s bad enough to be chicken hearted, but being feathered headed, I simply will not stand!” He gave the bunch of feathers a furious tweak, but he might as well have tried to pull off his ears.

  “We’ve got to get off this skyland,” blustered the poor lion, stamping around in a fury. “I’ll jump off before I grow another feather.” Bob was thinking that his would come in mighty handy for playing Indian.

  “I suppose we’ll soon grow enough to fly off,” said Notta, blowing the green feathers out of his eye and pushing them back under his cap. “I say, Nickadoodle, can’t you tell us a way out of this?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” murmured the great bird, nestling close to Notta. “You’re beautiful, beautiful!” He rolled his eyes rapturously.

  “Well, if you don’t want my beauty broken to pieces tell us a way to escape, begged the clown, looking nervously toward the edge of the skyland.

  “There’s only one way for you to leave,” said Snorer, “and that is in the royal Flyaboutabus.”

  “What is it?” choked Notta.

  “Where is it?” roared the Cowardly Lion.

  “Tied to a tree near the palace. But we’ll have to wait till the Uns go to wish,” replied Nick, rubbing his head against Notta’s knee. And while the three listened in amazement Snorer told them a bit about life on the Isle of Un. No one on Un, explained Nick gravely, ever worked, but each morning they went regularly to wish, and nothing was allowed to interrupt their wishing. For three hours they shouted their wishes as loudly as they could, and I-wish-I-was, because he could wish faster and shout louder than any of the rest, had been made king.

  “You’ll hear them at it soon,” said Snorer, adjusting his nose, “and that’s the best time for you to leave. Afternoons they fish and evenings they fight. Wish, fish and fight-that’s the program here.”

  “But how do they get anything done?” asked Notta, standing on his head to settle his feathers.

  “They don’t,” replied Snorer calmly. “Everything is undone; and about your feathers,” he pointed his claw at the Cowardly Lion’s mane, “every time anything unish happens to you you’ll grow another. First you were unwise to come here. That accounts for one; then you were uncomfortable and unsafe.”

  “Unlucky, unhappy and unfed!” spluttered the clown, turning a somersault with each word. “Lead us to the Flyaboutabus, old fellow, or we’ll soon be as feathered as geese.

  “All right,” chirped Nickadoodle obligingly, “but step softly and do just as I tell you.

  “Aren’t there any good Uns?” asked Bob with a little sigh.

  “Well, there was one,” Nick paused to adjust his nose, which was continually falling off its hook, “but I’ve forgotten his name, and the others treated him so unkindly that he’s hidden himself in some cave somewhere on the skyle. But they do say if he ever becomes king, the Uns will all have to reform.”

  Bob was hungry and far from rested, but as he stumbled along the rocky beach he fell to thinking about this good Un and wishing he might see him before they left the skyland. But Notta was so cheered at the thought of leaving Un that every few seconds he sprang into the air or somersaulted over the Cowardly Lion. The Cowardly Lion was dreadfully downhearted. The feathers preyed on his mind, his ears dropped and his tail dragged and nothing Notta could say made him feel any better.

  “It’s all very well for you and Bob. You can wear hats and hide your feathers, but a lion in a hat would look as ridiculous as a lion with feathers. I shall be the laughing stock of Oz,” groaned the poor beast.

  “Well, it’s not so bad to make people laugh,” comforted Notta. “That is my business, and I know. Come with me to America and your fortune will be made.” But the Cowardly Lion only shook his head and padded sadly over the rough stones.

  “This is a punishment,” thought the poor lion, “a punishment for my wickedness in planning to devour a brave man.” And perhaps he was right.

  By this time they were so near the palace that Nick held up his claw for silence. Hiding behind a huge rock, they watched the Uns climb down from their tree houses and hurry off to wish, just as sensible folk hurry off to work. “Too bad I didn’t send I-wish-I-was to Mudge,” whispered Notta. “Hush,” said Nickadoodle. “As soon as you hear an earfull of noise run for that third juniper tree.” He pointed out the tree with his claw and the three watchers waited anxiously for th
e signal. Soon there was not an Un in sight and a second later a perfect explosion of screeches rent the air. It was, as Notta explained afterward, an elephant earfull of noise, for every Un on the skyle was wishing at the top of his lungs.

  As soon as they had recovered from the first shock, Notta, Bob and the Cowardly Lion rushed toward the juniper tree. Nick had flown ahead and was already calling down directions when they reached it.

  From the top branch of the juniper tree the king’s feathery Flyaboutabus was tugging merrily at its rope. Following Nick’s instructions, Notta climbed to the top of the tree and, hanging on to the rope, managed to bring it down a bit. Nick, bidding Bob catch him around the neck, flew up next, and their

  weight brought it down still further. It was still terribly high for the Cowardly Lion, who could not very well climb the tree.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” croaked Nick, flapping his wings warningly. “There’s an Un.” And sure enough, a tardy Featherhead was staring at them in astonishment from the door of his tree house. With an ear splitting squall, he fell down the ladder and rushed off to the wishing place to tell the others. Prickling with terror, the Cowardly Lion made spring after spring, but each time he just missed the Flyaboutabus. And every time he made an unsuccessful leap, another feather sprouted gaily in his mane. “Better cut loose and leave him,” whispered Nick anxiously, but Notta and Bob hushed him up indignantly and by jumping tried to bring the bus lower.

  “Go on and save yourselves,” coughed the lion after the tenth attempt. He mopped his forehead dejectedly with his tail, and growled terribly as each feather pricked through. A shout from the clown made him turn. Rushing toward them in tumbling waves of fury were the Uns, led by I-wish-I-was. In a last despairing frenzy, the Cowardly Lion hurled himself into the air, and this time his front paws caught the feather wheels of the bus, and Bob and Notta, pulling together, helped him aboard. There was not a minute to lose, for the Uns were already surrounding the tree. Just as I-wish-I-was sprang into the lower branches, Snorer cut the rope with his knifelike beak and up sailed the Flyaboutabus like a balloon released from its string. Up, up, up they went, till the. wild screams of the Uns could no longer be heard. Up, up, and ‘round and ‘round, plunging now this way and now that, till Notta, Bob and the Cowardly Lion were too shaken and dizzy to know or care what was happening.

  But Snorer, more used to flying than the others, kept his head and, waiting his opportunity, seized a long lever that swung loosely to and fro in the front of the bus. He had never been in the Flyaboutabus before, but something told him that the lever must guide the movements of the strange vehicle. Sure enough, as soon as he took hold of it, the darting about stopped and it flew quite steadily.

  “Are we still going up?” quavered Notta, without opening his eyes. The clown lay flat on his back in the bottom of the bus with Bob sprawled on top of him. The Cowardly Lion had become wedged under a seat and was heaving and puffing unhappily.

  “Yes, but there’s some way to bring it down,” chirped Nick. “Come have a look. I know how to fly myself, but I don’t know how to fly a Flyaboutabus.”

  CHAPTER 13 Mustafa’s Blue Magic

  NOTTA rose unsteadily and lifted Bob into one of the side seats. Then he staggered over to the front of the bus and, holding his head with one hand, peered down at the gear and machinery. There was a row of buttons under the steering wheel and the first button said “Slower.” Notta hastily pushed this one and the great feather wheels on each side immediately slackened their frantic whirling, and while Nick held the lever Notta investigated their strange flying machine still further. It was shaped like an immense hollowed-out goose, with seats on each side and a high seat near the head. The head turned with the steering wheel and honked loudly when you pushed the button marked “Blow.” The tail of the goose moved from side to side, and the four powerful wheels whirled around continuously, so that the noise, when the bus flew swiftly, was terrific. Now, however, it was running more quietly, and Bob, no longer feeling giddy, began to look around with keen interest.

  Notta had pressed another button marked “Middle Air-Down,” and they were slanting gently toward the earth, floating almost without movement of the great feather wheels.

  “Isn’t this fun?” cried Bob, giving the clown a little hug as he sat down in the seat ahead. “Well,” chuckled Notta, “I don’t usually fly before breakfast, but I’d fly from Un any time.” Snorer, who still held the lever, beamed over his shoulder at the clown.

  “Didn’t I manage well?” he chirped happily. “I say, when anything’s to be done just leave it to old Nickadoodle.”

  “We can never thank you enough,” declared Notta. “But how will you get back? Will you fly?” “I’m not going back,” exulted Snorer, flapping his wings. “I’d be unusual anywhere and I am never going to leave you, you beautiful creature.”

  “Then our fortune is made,” said the clown, with a wink at Bob, “for in a circus you’d be more than half the show.”

  “I’ll show them how to snore,” chuckled Nick. “I do that better than anything else. But I’d do anything for you, for I love you with all my heart,” continued Snorer calmly, “and the boy, too. And I

  love-”

  “Don’t you dare love me,” rumbled the Cowardly Lion, wrathfully jerking his head from beneath the seat. “I won’t allow it!”

  “All right,” sighed Nick, adjusting his nose. “I’ll try not to love you, but it’s going to be hard work, you’re so handsome.”

  “There! There!” interrupted the Cowardly Lion gruffly, but he couldn’t help looking pleased. “You may like me if you wish,” he added mildly. “Any land in sight?”

  Notta leaned far over the edge of the bus. “I think I see a village of some kind far down below. Here, Bob, you come help steer.” So, while Nick grasped the lever to hold the bus steady, Bob sat in the high seat and turned the great goose head as Notta directed, now to the left and now to the right, and in less than an hour, they were floating slowly over a quaint blue city.

  “We’re still in the Munchkin country,” rumbled the Cowardly Lion, standing on his hind legs and looking over the side.

  “Well, we’ll just fly over this town and land in one of those fields,” puffed Notta uneasily. He was not sure he wouldn’t impale the Flyaboutabus on a steeple, or run over some of the inhabitants, if he attempted to land in the city itself. As it was they flew quite a distance before he located all the buttons necessary to make a landing. The Flyaboutabus came to earth with such a bounce that they all flew up like rubber balls, while the bus continued to fly and bump around the field until Notta ran after it and tied it to a tree.

  “And now what?” asked Nick, carefully putting his troublesome nose on its hook.

  “Breakfast!” wheezed the Cowardly Lion, rolling out of a huge bramble bush. “Aren’t you hungry, Bob?”

  Bob nodded. “But where are we going to get it?” he asked, looking rather puzzled.

  “One never knows in Oz, but if we look carefully, we’ll be sure to find something,” answered the lion easily.

  “Let’s make it a game,” suggested Notta, patting his figure in various important places to see whether his disguises were still safe. “Now then, all ready for a breakfast hunt. I’ll take this field, Nick can take the air and Bob and the Cowardly Lion may have the woods.” Bob smiled a little to himself. Hunting breakfast in the woods did seem ridiculous but, as the Cowardly Lion went poking his head in bushes and sniffing around trees in a businesslike manner, Bob began to look too. There were plenty of flowers in the woods, and for a time Bob found nothing else. At last pushing through a tangle of vines, the little boy found himself standing under a stout little tree that rattled curiously when the wind passed through its branches. There was a sign on the tree. Standing on his toes Bob spelled it out laboriously. Then he called Notta in excited little shrieks.

  “What is it?” panted the clown, breaking through the vines with the Cowardly Lion one leap behind him. “Are you hurt?�
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  “No,” cried Bob, “but I’ve won!” He pointed gleefully to the tree.

  ‘Travelers’ Tree,’ ” read Notta, ” ‘planted by the Wizard Wam in the year 1120 0. Z.’ Well, hurrah for Wam!” chortled the clown, and began walking all around the tree, while the Cowardly Lion sat down and panted a little from his long run.

  The lower branches were gay with many pink cups and on the next, poised over the cups, were the sauciest little tea, cocoa and coffee pots imaginable. Higher up grew clusters of covered dishes of every kind. In the very top of the tree was a large nest of some sort. Snorer, who came flying back just then, declared it was full of eggs. Instead of leaves, the tree flaunted many bright paper napkin blossoms.

  “Be sure to plant your dishes when you have finished eating,” directed another sign quite sternly. With a happy little chuckle, Bob picked a napkin for each, and three for the Cowardly Lion. Then Notta broke a coffee cup from its stem, and no sooner had he touched the cup than the coffee pot on the next branch tilted gently and filled the cup with fragrant hot coffee. The clown was so startled that he accidentally brushed off another cup, at which a cocoa pot poured a cup full of cocoa over his head before he had time to duck. Spluttering and coughing, Notta drew back, but that was the only accident, and as the clown said, it saved him from washing his face. The Cowardly Lion drank a dozen cups of coffee, one right after the other. Bob had two cups of cocoa, and Snorer, holding a tea cup in one claw, sipped the beverage suspiciously, then flew off to find something more to his taste. Next, Notta picked five dishes of Ozish stew for the Cowardly Lion, a plate full of meat hash for himself and a chop and baked potato for Bob Up. Nothing could have been jollier than that breakfast. The Cowardly Lion forgot to worry about his feathers, Bob forgot he had ever been an orphan, and Notta forgot that he was lost in a strange magic country and in the power of the wicked monarch of Mudge. When they could not eat another bite, Snorer flew to the top of a tree and brought down dozens of eggs from the nest. Strangely enough, they were hard boiled and Bob filled his blouse with them, for as Notta said, there was no telling where they would be by noon. The Cowardly lion now dug a deep hole and they buried all the dishes, which was lots less trouble than washing them, then back they went to the Flyaboutabus.