COUNTRY OF OZ. INC.”
“Well, the Ferryman’s rapid, even if the ferry isn’t,” Robin shouted to Merry.
Eventually, in a final burst of activity from its pilot, the raft scraped gently against the shore. Merry and Robin started down the sloping bank to board it, but the Ferryman waved his arms in alarm and motioned them back. They waited while he dashed about energetically, mooring the ferry securely in several places, the rigging a minute, red-striped awning over the little gangplank. Then, and only then, were they allowed to step onto the raft.
“Good morning, sir,” Robin shouted politely. “We’d like to cross the river.”
“Howzat agin?” cried the old man, cupping one ear with a gnarled hand.
“I say we’d like to cross the river,” Robin shrieked, wishing he could turn off the waterfall for a minute. “How much is the-”
“Eh?” yelled the Ferryman, leaning closer. “Howzat agin?” “WHAT’S THE FARE?” Robin bellowed. “Lots of air? A-course there is. Kind of a silly thing to call me clear across the river for, young feller.” “Oh, dear,” Robin sighed.
“Well, you’d be deaf too, if you lived so close to that waterfall,” Merry said sympathetically. “Let me try.”
Stepping close to the old man, she began whinnying shrilly into his left ear, while Robin bellowed into his right one. At first he merely looked baffled and yelled “Howzat agin?” to everything they said, but finally his face cleared, and he gave them a jovial, toothless grin.
“Oh, you want to go across the river! Well, why didn’t you say so? No charge, glad to oblige-” He stopped, then added eagerly, “-unless you’d happen to have a mite of food about you somewhere? Don’t matter what. Berries, roots, any old thing.”
Robin remembered the raspberries he had saved, and hastily presented them to old Howzatagin, who appeared overjoyed, and ate them on the spot.
“Now I needn’t catch a fish for breakfast, you know,” he confided as he returned Robin’s raspberry-stained handkerchief. “Well, all aboard! All ashore that’s going ashore! Up the gangplank! Stow the awning! Lash the railings! Cast off the moorings! Coil the sheets! Man the rudder! Hoist the tops’l! Mind the binnacle! Take the helm! Nor’ by Southeast! Steady as you go!”
Robin had opened his mouth to ask why Howzatagin didn’t like to catch fish, but presently he gave up and closed it again. Between the waterfall’s din and the racket the old man was making as he barked out orders to himself and dashed here and there obey-mg them, things were far too noisy and confusing for conversation. Robin and Merry concentrated on keeping out of the way, and uttered not a word throughout the snail-like trip across the river and the long rigamarole of landing on the other shore.
At last they stepped off the ferry, and Robin, feeling he had spent the better part of his life on the journey, muttered to Merry that it might have been better to swim.
“What’s more, I’m hungry again,” he added with a sigh.
“Maybe you could catch a fish, even if the Ferryman doesn’t like to,” suggested Merry.
“Oh, don’t do that, young feller!” begged Howzatagin, who seemed to hear much better now that they were away from the waterfall. “Poor little tykes, think how they must hate it!”
“Who?” Robin asked in bewilderment.
“The fish! How would you like to have a nasty old hook in your mouth?” Howzatagin demanded. “I have to catch ‘em sometimes, because there’s not much else to eat hereabouts. But it always makes me cry.” He pulled out an enormous scarlet handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “I think of them as my friends, I do. There’s some as I even know by their first names. Got a trout in the house right now as I’m curing of a sprained fin. Name’s Richard. Come on in and meet ‘im. I’ll give you a cookie.”
Fascinated at the prospect of meeting a trout named Richard, Robin and Merry followed the old Ferryman into his twiggy hut. There they found not only the trout, who was swimming wanly around a punch-bowl, but a dozen or so other little convalescents, both birds and animals, perched on the rafters or curled up on the old man’s bed. They were recovering from a variety of ailments-broken legs, dislocated tails, ear-aches, or, as in the case of one rather pale-looking young beaver named Henry, merely upset stomachs-and many were neatly bandaged.
“You must be very fond of animals,” Merry said shyly as the Ferryman led Robin to a table and set out seed-cookies, wild cranberry juice, and a mug of steaming herb tea.
“Well, they’re company,” the old man explained. “Only trouble with the Red Gorge, it’s kinda lonesome. Not many folks ever pass this way. Besides the food bein’ skeerce.”
“Why don’t you move?” asked Robin.
“Move?” Howzatagin looked scandalized. “Why, I couldn’t leave my post, young feller! I’m the Ferryman! Only one in the Quadling Country! Sole employee of the Municipal Interstate Rapid Transit Waterways System Commission of the Quadling Country of Oz, Inc.”
“What does ‘Inc.’ mean?” Merry asked.
“Inconsequential,” sighed Howzatagin. “But I wouldn’t move. Oh, no, I couldn’t do a thing like that! Where are you folks headin’
for?”
“Well-the Emerald City, if we can find a way,” Robin said. Briefly he told the old man of their adventures of the past two days, adding that he hoped someone in the capital could tell them how to get home to Oregon. “Do you think that fairy ruler would help Us?” he inquired.
“Easiest thing in the world!” Howzatagin declared. “Why, Princess Ozma’ll just put on her Magic Belt and wish you home again.”
“Wish us home?” Merry echoed.
“Magic Belt?” Robin said at the same moment.
“Oh, ho, you are strangers, aren’t you?” the Ferryman chuckled. “Never heard of the Magic Belt! I s’pose you never heard of the Wizard, either, or the Cowardly Lion, or the Tin Woodman, or Princess Dorothy, or Betsy Bobbin, or the Sawhorse, or-”
“No, never!” chorused Robin and Merry. Merry added uneasily, “What’s a Sawhorse?”
For the next half hour they listened, fascinated, while Howzatagin, who had lived in the Emerald City many years before becoming the sole employee of the M.I.R.T.W.S.C.O.T.Q. C.O.O.Inc., told them all about the beautiful capital of Oz and the many celebrities who lived there. To Robin it sounded as if nobody but celebrities lived there-and such astonishing ones they were that if he himself had not been traveling with a living, talking merry-go-round horse he would not have believed a word the old man said. There was a Scarecrow, stuffed with straw, who was not
only alive but had the best brains in the land-a kind-hearted Woodman made entirely of tin-a Tiger whose appetite continually demanded fat babies, but whose tender conscience had never allowed him to eat a single one-a Lion who trembled piteously with fright even while dashing into battle-a Wizard who could perform any conceivable feat of magic and had once been Ruler of Oz-a yellow hen named Billina who had been Dorothy’s companion in a shipwreck and later rescued Ozma and her whole party from the Gnome King-a madcap rag girl named Scraps who was made of an old patchwork quilt but brimmed with more life and far more mischief than most ordinary folk-a Sawhorse whose common wooden legs were shod with pure gold, who had been the faithful steed of Princess Ozma when she was a boy.
“Princess Ozma was a boy once?” Robin burst out, delighted. It made her seem much more approachable, somehow.
“A boy named Tip,” said Howzatagin, nodding wisely. “Bewitched, you know.”
“What about those other girls-Princess Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin? Were they boys too?”
“Oh, no! Why, they came from Americky, same as you. Carried here by earthquakes and shipwrecks and cyclones and I dunno what all. Princess Ozma kept wishin’ ‘em back home with her Magic Belt, but they kept comm’ back, and finally they just decided to stay.”
“Oh, Robin, couldn’t we stay too?” Merry begged.
“For always?” Robin said. “Merry, don’t you want to go back to Oregon at all?”
&nb
sp; “Well-if I could be a Real Horse, and stay with you I might,” Merry said. “But in Oregon I’d just be fastened to a merry-go-round, and I couldn’t even talk!”
“I’ll bet the Wizard would change you to a real horse, ” Howzatagin told her.
“Oh, would he?” Merry whinnied, bouncing with excitement. “Oh, Robin, did you hear that? Oh, hurry, let’s go ask him!” Robin agreed-reluctantly-that it was time to go. He could have listened to stories of the Emerald City folk forever. “But it’ll be even better to meet them myself,” he reflected, so after thanking the old Ferryman for his kindness, they left the hut.
“Just foller that path through the woods there,” Howzatagin told them. “And when you come out on t’other side, keep agoin’ till you come to a road made of yaller bricks. Then just stay on that Yaller Brick Road. It’ll take you right into the Emerald City! Goodby! Come back and visit me again someday!”
“We will!” Robin promised, climbing onto Merry’s back. “Tell Richard we’re glad we met him. Goodby!”
Chapter 9
PRINCE Gules, Fred, Fess, the Unicorn and Flitter, cautiously following the dotted-line path of white stones,
discovered that it led them right through the thicket, and out on the other side. As they emerged, they found themselves at the top of a little slope, and paused to look curiously at the tidy, rolling land which spread out before them.
It seemed to be one vast farm. Everywhere were orderly plots of fruit trees and berry bushes, and rows of little plants. All were laden and ready for harvest. There was not a person, an animal, or a bird to be seen anywhere, and not one sound to be heard, but at first this seemed to be the only queer thing about the place.
Then Fess, hoping to pick some pears and apples to replenish the lunchbasket, led the way down the slope and over to the nearest tree. There he stopped in astonishment, and simply gaped.
“Signs!” he exclaimed-and even his hushed voice sounded too loud in the silence. “Look here, Your Highnessl. This tree is growing signs, instead of fruit!”
“So is that one,” whispered the Unicorn.
“They all are!” said the Prince.
It was true. Even the bushes and plants were loaded with signs, which grew on stake-like stems amid leaves that on closer inspection proved to be handbills and small posters. Some of the signs were small and obviously still green, with their lettering cramped and indistinct; some were ripe, and plain to read; still others were withering, with their lettering half worn off and their edges cracked and splitting.
They spelled out every sort of message. As the travelers followed the dotted line they could read KEEP OUT, DO NOT DISTURB, NO SMOKING, SCHOOL ZONE, STANDING ROOM ONLY, and a hundred others. One whole group of trees bore nothing but STOP signs; another RAILROAD X-ING signs; still another merchants’ signs, such as FIRE SALE, EVERYTHING MUST GO, SPECIAL CLEARANCE, and $AVE! $AVE! $AVE! This last one seemed to fascinate the FIittermouse, who stared at it wide-eyed at they passed, then kept trying in a nervous whisper to pronounce it to himself. “All the signs in the world must come from here!” Fess murmured to the Unicorn as they passed a price-tag bush. “Isn’t it interesting?”
“Well, it’s a nice place to visit, I suppose,” she conceded remotely. “But I wouldn’t care to live here.”
“I wouldn’t have the country if you gave it to me in a silver manger!” Fred grumbled, making very little attempt to keep his voice down. “Nobody riding out to welcome us, everything ordering us around-look at that bush there! ‘No Hunting.’ ‘No Smoking.’ ‘No Trespassing’! Who’d want to trespass in this place if they could bypass it? Furthermore-”
“There’s a helpful one,” Prince Gules interrupted, pointing to a sign growing by itself at a place ‘where the dotted line branched and wandered off in several directions through the trees. “THIS WAY IN” the sign directed, and below the words was an arrow pointing out one of the many paths. “Nice of them to tell us, I’m sure!” Fred commented. “Any
decent country would send an escort. After all, a party of our consequence-
He broke off, shying slightly, as the sign suddenly changed to “SHHHHHHHH!” Then he tossed his head disdainfully and started along the path indicated-though without finishing his sentence, Fess noticed. He also rolled a wary eye at the sign as he went by, but it changed blandly to “No Smoking” and made no further comment.
There were a good many of these “talking” signs growing beside the path at intervals. “Like sentries,” Fess reflected Uncomfortably. “Or even spies.” Certainly something was keeping a sharp watch on the travelers. A KEEP OFF THE GRASS sign changed to “PLEASE!” when Fred inadvertently placed one hoof beyond the dotted line. A moment later, as the Unicorn reached eagerly toward a clump of daisies, the skywriting itself broke off the lazy squiggles it was making, and scrawled angrily, “DO NOT PICK THE FLOWERS!” The Unicorn had already spat the daisies out in distaste; Fess, retrieving one from the corner of her mouth, discovered that they were made of cardboard, and each petal was neatly lettered, “He Loves Me” or “He Loves Me Not.”
“Everything Loves Us Not in this place,” Flitter whispered forlornly as he read the petals over Fess’s shoulder. The little creature seemed depressed by this silent country, and was huddled inside Fess’s collar with only his head sticking out.
“Never mind,” Fess murmured, stroking the drooping, blue-gray fur with one finger. “We’ll find some people soon.”
It seemed to him the dotted-line path was leading them toward the source of the skywriting-and perhaps the ruler of the country. There must be someone in charge of this strange place, he reasoned, who could tell them how to get out of it. Prince Gules, who had been riding along in silence, looking around with the mildly entertained expression of a sight-seeing tourist, was apparently of the same opinion, for he turned to smile at Fess, and whispered, “Bound to come to the castle soon.
However. it was not a castle they came upon presently, when the dotted line made a sharp turn between two groves of trees. It was merely a graveled clearing, with a small tool-shed in the center. Nailed to the door of the shed was a sign reading, “Bill Bored, Prop.” Below the sign, a sleepy-faced gardener in a worn straw hat was sitting in an old chair, smoking a pipe. It was the smoke from this pipe that floated up into the air to form the skywriting-which at the moment was spelling out, in trailing, bored-looking letters, “Good Morning-I Guess. Welcome To Sign-Here-I Suppose.”
The Unicorn gave an affronted gasp, while Fred-perhaps fortunately-was rendered quite speechless by this unflattering greeting. Prince Gules, too, raised a critical eyebrow, but his manners were as excellent as the gardener’s were bad.
“Thank you,” he replied graciously.
At once the sign on the door changed to: QUIET! SPEAK
SIGN LANGUAGE ONLY!
The Prince favored it with a chilly look, remarking, “I’m afraid I don’t know how.”
Under his regal stare the sign faded a bit, then grudgingly-and with a slight air of embarrassment, Fess thought-reverted to its former announcement.
“The signs in your country repeatedly say No smoking’,” Prince Gules reminded the gardener severely.
For answer, the gardener put the pipe in his mouth and puffed out, in skywriting, “I’m Different. I’m The Boss. Who Are You? And Who Are Those Creatures With You? Signatures, Please.”
Fred stamped indignantly at “creatures’; and the Unicorn elevated her snow-white nose and looked down it at the gardener, but the Prince merely became more courtly.
“I am Gules, Prince of Halidom,” he said. “Traveling with me is the Unicorn, Emblem of Halidom and Unique Animal of the World. My attendants are my Steed, Fr … Federigo; my page, Fess of Troth; and his pet the Flittermouse.”
Fred was much soothed by the quiet grandeur of this little speech-and especially by the Prince’s having remembered to call him “Federigo”-but the gardener seemed unimpressed.
“Well, I’m Bill Bored, Proprietor Of Si
gn-Here,” scrawled the skywriting, carelessly. “And As Far As I’m Concerned, You’re All Trespassers, And Against The Law. What’s Your Business Here?”
“We have no business here,” Prince Gules began, only to be interrupted by the sign on the door, which waspishly changed to “Right!” As this piece of impertinence drew down upon it another of the Prince’s quelling stares, however, it seemed to lose its nerve, changed uneasily to “Write”, and finally faded out sulkily altogether.
Meanwhile, the Prince was explaining to Bill Bored that while they had entered Sign-Here by accident and wished only to leave it, they would be glad to know if he had seen anything of a Golden Circlet.
“What’s A Cold Circle?” scrawled the skywriting, ending in an untidy puff of smoke as Bill Bored yawned.
“I said Golden Circlet. The Second Treasure of Halidom!” the Prince said in ringing tones.
Fess, who had so far admired the Prince’s conduct of the interview-especially his squelching of the impertinent sign-now decided that a little less grandeur and a little more information was in order, and quickly told Bill Bored about the robbery, and the importance of finding the Circlet as soon as possible.
“But so far, we don’t even know where to look,” he finished. “Well, It’s No Good Asking Me,” Bill Bored sky-wrote indifferently. “I Haven’t Seen It.” After a pause in which he yawned again, he added three smoky words. “Ask The Oracle.”
The travelers turned to him eagerly.
“Where is the Oracle, Sir?” asked Fess.
“In The Coracle,” was the laconic answer.
“But where is the Coracle?” Fess persisted, while Fred danced impatiently, the Unicorn sighed with exasperation, and even Flitter thrust his head out of Fess’s collar to scowl.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 40 Page 8