“No! No!” insisted Carter, “Kings make the best customers, Betsy. Compliment and flatter ‘em and sell ‘em the whole cart load, that’s my way. Jump in and I’ll run you right up to the castle.”
Lifting her gaily into the cart, he started briskly down the pink lane calling, “Cabbages! fresh cabbages!” at the top of his vegetable voice. The lane led straight into a bright pink city and Betsy soon grew so interested in its tall turbaned citizens and queer cottages and shops that she forgot to worry about the King. She remembered afterward the scared glances of some of the townsmen, as they went rattling by, but at the time neither she nor Carter noticed anything amiss and the Vegetable Man never stopped till he reached the pink palace itself. As Carter paused under a balcony and began lustily calling his wares, a window just below was flung up violently and a turbaned head wagged warningly over the
sill.
“Go away! Go away!” quavered an old man, in a frightened voice. “The Pasha is in a terrible temper. Go away! Go away, rash mortals, I beg of you!”
But the Vegetable Man only laughed. “Wait till he’s seen my cabbages,” called Carter, holding one up proudly. “Wait-” And they did not have long to wait, let me tell you, for at that precise moment the Pasha of Rash rushed out upon the balcony-the Pasha, himself, and Ippty, Chief Scribe of the Realm, for Betsy and the Vegetable Man had, as you have probably guessed already, run straight into that peppery country.
“Good morning!” cried Carter, pleasantly, in no wise alarmed by the fearful frown of the Rash Ruler. “Permit me to observe that your Highness is beautiful as a banana and fragrant as an onion. And I am here to serve you. Let me serve your Majesty with a fresh young cauliflower, a bunch of beets or this handsome cabbage!” Carter held up the cabbage coaxingly.
“A cabbage! A cabbage!” choked Irashi, turning perfectly pink with passion. “How dare you offer me a cabbage?” So angry that further speech was impossible, he turned furiously to Ippty, waving his arms and sputtering like a motor cycle.
“Begone, pernicious peddlers,” ordered the Chief Scribe, pointing his fountain pen finger sternly at the two travellers. “Begone at once from Rash.”
Three drops of ink fell upon Betsy’s upturned nose and, thoroughly alarmed, the little girl sprang out of the cart and tried to pull Carter away.
“Hurry up! Hurry up!” she begged breathlessly, “Let’s run.” But already the Vegetable Man had tarried too long and was firmly rooted to the spot. And while he tugged wildly at one foot and then the other and Betsy jumped up and down with fright and impatience, Ippty leaned over the balcony. A closer inspection of the Vegetable Man proved so astonishing to the Chief Scribe that he nearly fell over the railing.
“He has corn ears!” yelled Ippty shrilly, “and a turnip nose. Look! Look at the monstrous creature!” Thus urged, Irashi, himself, peered over the railing. Perceiving in a moment what had happened to Carter, he began to stamp and shriek with anger.
“How dare you plant your feet in my best flower beds,” howled Irashi. “Call out the Guards! Throw them to the tiger. Salt! Vinegar! Mustard! Pepper!” At each shriek a Rash Guardsman dashed out of the palace, and before Carter could jerk himself loose he and Betsy were overpowered.
“He can’t help taking root,” protested Betsy indignantly. “He’s a Vegetable Man.”
“Aha! Now we are getting to the root of the matter,” snickered Ippty harshly. “And what right has a Vegetable Man in Rash, young lady?”
“Root him up! Throw him to the tiger. Vegetable Man! Vegetable Man, indeed!” roared Irashi, stamping one foot and then the other.
“Tiger!” groaned Carter. “How perfectly carnivorous. Of course,” he added turning quickly to Betsy. “It wouldn’t hurt me, for I have no feelings, but it will ruin my business. Spare me!” he cried, waving his arms imploringly up at the balcony. “And if you cannot spare me, spare my potatoes, my cabbages and fresh young beets. And spare this lovely little lady from Oz!”
“We’ll spare you, all right,” wheezed Irashi grimly.
“He’d make excellent soup, your Highness!” suggested Ippty, glancing down sideways at the Vegetable Man, but Irashi shook his head.
“No! No! The tiger shall have him,” declared Irashi stubbornly. “It’ll be a nice change for him Ippty, a little green with his dinner.” Irashi was so pleased with his joke that he winked down at Betsy. But the little girl stamped her foot angrily.
“You’d better let us go, or Ozma of Oz will capture your whole kingdom. We’re important people back in Oz!” shouted Betsy defiantly.
“Perhaps the girl is right,” ventured Fizzenpop, who had stolen anxiously out upon the balcony. “What harm have they done? Let them go, I beg!” “No!” With a determined wag of his turban, Irashi signaled to the Guard and flounced back into the palace.
“Don’t cry, Betsy,” begged the Vegetable Man. The Guards had at last jerked him loose and were marching the two across the gardens. “This tiger will probably eat me first and I’m so tough he’ll choke to death and you can run away.
“Well, I wish I had never found those quick sandals,” wailed the little girl. “It was the quick sandals that brought us here, Carter, and I don’t believe Ozma knows about this dreadful country at all. Couldn’t you please let us go Mr. Pepper?” she begged tearfully of the Guard. The tall Rasher looked down at her doubtfully, but Salt, who had hold of Carter, and was just behind, shook his turban violently.
“If we fail to obey the Pasha, we, ourselves, will be thrown to this tiger,” sputtered Salt grimly.
“That’s right,” chimed in Vinegar and Mustard, who were bringing up the procession with the Vegetable Man’s cart. “Let’s hurry through with it!” And turning a deaf ear to the pleas of the prisoners, the Rash Guardsmen rushed them across the lawn, up the steep steps and threw them over the prison wall. Then, without one backward glance, they marched off to the palace.
Too breathless to run, Betsy picked herself up and looked fearfully around for the tiger. Ugh! There he was and growling frightfully, for the vegetable cart and all the vegetables had hit him on the head. Slashing right and left and shaking himself so violently, that potatoes, beets and apples flew in every direction, he rose and started toward her. This, after all the other frightful happenings of the morning, was too much and covering her face, Betsy burst into tears. But if Betsy was frightened, the Hungry Tiger was perfectly petrified.
“Betsy! Betsy!” panted the astonished beast. “How in Oz did you get here?” And rubbing his soft nose against her cheek, he began to dry her tears with his tongue. At the first sound of that familiar voice, Betsy’s eyes flew open and next instant she had both arms round the Hungry Tiger’s neck, hugging him for dear life.
“Carter! Carter!” called the little girl excitedly, “Don’t be scared. It’s the Hungry Tiger, the Hungry Tiger of Oz!” She fairly sang out the name, in her relief and happiness. The Vegetable Man had dropped head first into the tiger’s tub of water. At Betsy’s cries, he made a valiant attempt to rise, but when he saw her actually embracing the tiger he was so startled and horrified that he fell back with a splash.
“Hungry Tiger!” gurgled Carter, bobbing up and down like a cork, “Hungry Tiger! Then so much the worse for us!”
CHAPTER 6
The Scarlet Prince
“WOULD you mind not using my drinking cup for a bath,” observed the Hungry Tiger mildly, as Carter continued to gurgle and splash about in the tub. Laughing with relief, Betsy seized the Vegetable Man’s hands and pulled him out of the water.
“Don’t be scared,” whispered Betsy comfortably. “This tiger’s a friend of mine and he wouldn’t hurt anybody!”
“Then what’s he doing here?” asked Carter accusingly. “Is this parsnippy Pasha his friend, too?” The Hungry Tiger winced guiltily at Betsy’s kind little speech, but resolved that she should never know he had willingly come to Rash “I’m his prisoner,” he explained in a hollow voice (And, indeed, he
was terr
ibly hollow by this time.) “I’m a prisoner like yourselves.” In husky roar, he told of his trip by hurry-cane to Irashi’s Kingdom and of his imprisonment in the Rash courtyard.
“So this light fingered Ippty brought you here,” mused Carter wonderingly. “But why?”
“To eat the Rash Prisoners,” answered the Hungry Tiger faintly.
“And have you eaten any?” Betsy regarded her old friend anxiously.
“Well, not yet,” admitted the Hungry Tiger, rolling his eyes mournfully at the little girl. “Not
yet!”
“Have a cabbage,” quavered Carter, waving toward the overturned vegetable cart. “Have a cauliflower or a nice bunch of beets.” The Hungry Tiger was a perfect stranger to him, and Carter could not feel the same confidence in the beast that Betsy seemed to feel.
“More vegetables,” groaned the tiger, sniffing the air sadly. “Well, I suppose they are better than nothing. But tell me Betsy, how in Oz did you ever get here and who,” he blinked rapidly at the strange figure of Carter Green, “who is this person?”
With a little chuckle, Betsy introduced the Vegetable Man, then as quickly as she could told of their amazing adventures with the winding road and quick sandals and of Carter’s unfortunate experience in the Pasha’s garden.
“Isn’t there some way out of here?” asked the little girl, looking around nervously. “Oh! What’s that?” A dismal wail, issuing from the stones beneath her feet, made Betsy leap into the air.
“It’s that singer again,” growled the Hungry Tiger and, lashing his tail a little, he put his nose close to the crevice in the blocks. “Less noise down there,” he roared warningly.
“I always sing when I’m hungry,” answered the singer. “Oh, I’m so hungry!”
“Hand me a tomato or something,” rumbled the Hungry Tiger. “Quick!” The Vegetable Man made haste to obey, bringing several tomatoes and a dozen apples as well. Looking up at the wall to see that he was not observed, the Hungry Tiger pushed them hurriedly through the crevice. As the last apple disappeared, a moist song, punctuated with sobs, came sighing upward.
“Oh beautiful Tiger, I love you so, To you, snif snuffle, my life I owe. And I’ll devote it to songs of praise And sing, snif, snif, to you, all of my days!”
“Mercy!” gasped Betsy Bobbin. The Hungry Tiger was so embarrassed by the sad singer’s ditty that, for a few minutes, he couldn’t roar a word. Then, as Carter and Betsy continued to look at him inquiringly, he explained how he had hidden the Rash Singer instead of eating him.
“See!” cried Betsy, turning proudly to the Vegetable Man. “I told you he wouldn’t hurt anyone! I think you’re just the dearest splen-didest tiger I ever-.”
“Sh!” cautioned the Hungry Tiger. “Here comes another prisoner. Quick, now, pretend you’re afraid of me!” Betsy and the Vegetable Man had just time to crouch back against the wall, when the guards dropped another Rasher into the courtyard.
“It’s a barber,” whispered Betsy, in an interested voice, and she was right, for clutched in one hand the prisoner had a mug full of suds and in the other a gleaming razor.
“What frightful luck,” moaned the Hungry Tiger. “If it had only been a bandit or a robber I could have eaten him without a qualm, but a barber, ugh, he smells of bay rum. Stop that racket, fellow, and let me think!”
And certainly, the poor tiger had plenty to occupy his thoughts, for if things went on in this fashion the underground cavern would soon be full and then what would happen? And how ever was he to get little Betsy Bobbin safely back to Oz? Paying no attention to the terrified squeals of the barber, the Hungry Tiger began to pace restlessly up and down the courtyard, till Betsy, feeling sorry for the frightened little man, ran out and assured him he was in no danger of being eaten.
It was a long time before the barber stopped shivering, but at last, tboroughly convinced, he hurried impetuously after the tiger. “Let me trim your beautiful whiskers,” he begged tremulously.
“Trim mine,” invited Carter, as the Hungry Tiger impatiently shook his head. The Vegetable Man’s rootlike beard had sprouted a foot since morning, so, trembling with relief and gratitude, the Rash barber stood upon the edge of the tub and trimmed it most skillfully, trying at the same time to bring Carter’s celery top hair into some kind of order. When the Vegetable Man, in answer to the barber’s questions, had told a bit about himself and Betsy, the barber related how he had accidently cut the cheek of Irashi, while shaving him.
“Just a tiny scratch,” explained the barber, “and for that I was condemned to die.”
“But why do you have such a bad King?” exclaimed Betsy, impatiently. “Why don’t you put him out and elect another?”
“We’ve tried,” sighed the barber dolefully, “but Irashi has the army in his power, and with Ippty’s help has outwitted us every time.”
“Is Ippty the fellow with the fountain pen finger?” asked Betsy curiously.
The barber nodded. “He has a handful of odd fingers,” he continued despondently, “a pencil, a sealing wax finger, an eraser, a candle thumb and a pen-knife besides. Oh, he’s a handy rogue for a fellow like Irashi, but the real ruler of Rash is Asha, the brother of the present Pasha. Weary of the cares of state, he retired to an unknown country to study radio, leaving his small son and Fizzenpop to govern the Kingdom. No sooner had he gone than Irashi seized the throne and hid the little Prince away. Until we find the lost Prince, nothing can be done,” finished the Rash Barber sorrowfully.
“Well, I’ll tell Ozma on him,” declared Betsy determinedly, “just as soon as I get back to the
Emerald City.”
“Do you think we ever will get back?” The Hungry Tiger paused in his restless walk and regarded the little group mournfully. “I’ve been here two days and there’s not a chink anywhere in this
wall.”
“Let’s all look,” proposed Betsy, jumping up, and encouraged by her cheerfulness, the four prisoners made a careful tour of the pink courtyard. But after several hours had been spent in an unsuccessful search, even Betsy grew downhearted.
“Shall we have something to eat?” asked the little girl, as they all dropped down wearily beside the Hungry Tiger’s water tub. “It’s a good thing they threw that cart over. At least, we won’t starve!” Insisting that this was his part of the performance, Carter passed round tomatoes and apples, till everyone felt refreshed. Even the Hungry Tiger, after swallowing several dozen of each, admitted that he felt a little less hollow.
“Make the most of the day time,” advised the Hungry Tiger gloomily, “for tonight you are supposed to be eaten and will have to hide down below till we find some way out of Rash!” It was not a pleasant prospect, and though Carter did what he could to keep things cheerful, Betsy and the barber grew quieter and quieter as the afternoon advanced.
No more prisoners were flung over the wall, and as the first stars twinkled out, the three slipped silently into the underground cave. The Hungry Tiger had just pushed the pink paving stone back, when Irashi and Ippty, preceded by the pink Guards bearing torches, stepped out upon the wall.
“Good evening, furious feline!” called Ippty shrilly. “How do you do and how do you do it? He’s eaten the entire lot,” he explained in a breathless whisper to Irashi.
“We’ve brought you some dessert,” announced the Pasha, who seemed to be in a high good humor. “A tempting little waif. Throw the little waif over,” he called playfully to the Guards. The Hungry Tiger had immediately turned his back upon these Rash rascals, but as a crumpled little bundle came tumbling down beside him, he swung around. What he saw made him roar so ferociously that Irashi, Ippty and the pink Guards covered their ears and fled from the wall.
“What’s he saying?” gasped the Pasha, sinking down on a pink settee and clapping his fat
hands to his quivering middle.
“He’s talking tiger, your Highness,” stuttered Ippty, with a slight shudder, “and tiger is a language I never studied. But nev
er mind, from now on, we are the sole rulers of Rash!” Thumping the Pasha upon the back, Ippty led him into the throne room. As soon as they had gone, the Hungry Tiger stopped roaring and gently approached the small prisoner.
“Don’t cry,” begged the Hungry Tiger miserably. It was dreadful to have everyone afraid of him, especially a helpless little boy. “Why, he’s no older than Betsy,” thought the Hungry Tiger, bristling with anger at Irashi’s wickedness. “If you stop crying, I’ll take you for a ride all round the courtyard,” he promised breathlessly. This offer so astonished the little fellow that he took his arm from before his face and blinked through his tears at the huge beast. There was no mistaking the kindly expression in the Hungry Tiger’s eyes, and with a gasp of relief he jumped up and was about to mount the great beast, when a thin figure leapt from the top of the wall and came hurtling down between them.
“Spare him! Spare him, cruel monster!” wheezed the newcomer hoarsely. “I am old and thin, but eat me instead.” Placing himself between the Hungry Tiger and the boy, the old Rasher extended his arms pleadingly. It was Fizzenpop, and as the Hungry Tiger drew back with embarrassment and surprise, the Grand Vizier of Rash flung himself at his feet.
“It is the Scarlet Prince!” panted Fizzenpop, beating his head up and down upon the stones, “Prince Evered of Rash!”
“Sh-!” warned the Hungry Tiger, looking about uneasily. Then as Fizzenpop continued his entreaties, he held up his paw for silence. “You’re a nice old bone,” sighed the Hungry Tiger. “But even so, I have no desire to eat you. It’s my conscience,” he continued heavily. “I’ve lived among people too long to hold a position like this.” The Grand Vizier could scarcely believe his ears.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 20 Page 4