“Smoke ‘em up! Smoke ‘em out! Throw ‘em down the chimneys!” they sputtered.
“Now then, boys, all together!” While Peter and Jack struck out left and right, the grim gray specters tried to lift them into the air. But there was no strength in their vapory arms and with little shrieks and hisses they pressed closer and closer.
“Run!” panted Peter, who was almost suffocated. The smoke did not affect Jack and, taking Peter’s hand, he tried to pull the little boy along. But the air was now so thick with their pursuers they could hardly see at all and bumped and crashed into chimneys at every turn. The last bump flung them headlong, and for a moment they lay perfectly still, while the Chimney-villains swept screaming overhead. It was dark as midnight, for the Smokies had all run together into a great suffocating cloud. Even the tiny sparks that were their eyes had gone out, and in utter and awful darkness Peter finally stumbled to his feet. Coughing and sputtering and with tears pouring down both cheeks, he felt in his pocket for another handkerchief, and as he did his fingers closed over a small candle end.
Immediately a bright idea struck Peter, and with a gasp he felt around for Jack’s head. Pulling the stout stem in the top he lifted out the piece Jack had cut when he hollowed out the pumpkin. Striking a match he lit the candle end, spilled in a few drops of candle grease and set the candle erect. Then replacing the top of Jack’s head he jerked him to his feet.
“What have you done?” faltered the Pumpkinhead in a faint voice. “My head feels very light, dear Peter, but I seem to see much better.”
“So do I,” choked the little boy, muffling his nose in his coat sleeve, “we can both see better. Come on, you’re lit up and my Jack O’ Lantern now!” The bobbing light in the pumpkin’s head seemed to puzzle their enemies, but Peter, guided by the cheery glow, pushed bravely through the clouds and crowds of them. The smoke still stung his eyes and throat, but he kept dodging chimney after chimney, and finally pausing to rest against an especially broad one, discovered a slide like the one they had come through in the first place. Jerking it open Peter pulled Jack into the grate and closed the slide. There was another slide at the back of the chimney place and as the Smokies poured against the first slide Peter opened the second and stepped out into a quiet little wood.
“A great way in and a great way out,” observed Jack, following Peter quickly and slamming the slide after him.
“And a great way from everywhere,” puffed Peter, dropping down on the nearest tree stump and staring resentfully up at the red wall. It looked the same from this side as from the other. Not a chimney showed, nor one puff of smoke, to warn luckless travellers of the disagreeable citizens of Soot City. It was so great a relief to breathe pure air again and find himself in real daylight that Peter sat for several minutes drinking in the fresh forest breezes and freeing his lungs from the bitter smoke. Then, standing up on the stump, he called Jack and blew out the candle in his pumpkin head. “You certainly saved my life that time,” said Peter feelingly. “If you had not lighted me out of there I’d have been a smoked herring by this time. How do you feel yourself, dear Jack?”
“A little light headed,” confessed Jack earnestly, “but on the whole, I rather liked it. It seems to me I felt brighter.”
“You mean you could think better?” asked Peter, staring hard at Jack, and trying not to laugh. “Yes ,” Jack nodded gravely, “so please light me up again dear Peter.”
“It might not be good for you,” said the little boy doubtfully. “It might make you light headed and giddy. Besides, pumpkins are only lit at night or in the dark and it’s quite light out here.”
“Oh are they?” Jack looked terribly disappointed. “Well any time you need a lantern, just light me up. Shall we go on to the Emerald City now?”
“Well, we might try to,” answered Peter looking around with lively interest. “Can you walk a little farther? Do your joints feel all right?” Although Jack was much taller than he, Peter felt somehow responsible for the flimsy fellow. It rather flattered him to have Jack so obedient to his wishes and so dependent upon his advice. After examining his joints carefully, Jack decided he might go a bit further, so Peter washed his face in a little Stream and at the same time removed the soot from Jack’s, and they prepared to continue their journey to the capitol. Taking his direction from the sun, Peter started North through the little wood. From the cardinals and robins, from the red beech and holly trees, he knew he must still be in the Quadling Country and when he saw a small red cottage in a clearing just ahead, he was sure of it.
Goody Shop, announced a sign, swinging from the crooked roof. “Hurrah!” shouted Peter, breaking into a run. “Maybe I can buy something to eat here. It must be nearly lunch time and I’m starved.”
“Oh do be careful,” warned Jack, holding to his head with both hands as he dashed hurriedly after Peter, “they may not be the kind of goodies you expect.” The shop was dim and dark and behind the red counter sat a prim little old lady in a ruffled gown.
“Good morning!” puffed Peter with a polite bow. “Our good morning is all gone,” said the old lady, rising stiffly from her tall stool, “but we have a very good afternoon, would you care for that?” She squinted anxiously at Peter. “And will you take it with you or have it sent?”
“Have it sent,” advised Jack in a hollow voice for he did not relish the old lady’s expression. “I wanted to buy something good, explained Peter hastily.
“Well why didn’t you say so in the beginning,” snapped the shop keeper testily. “One minute it’s good morning and now it’s goodbye. What kind of a goodbye do you want, long, short, fond or sorrowful?” At this strange question, Jack turned his head with both hands and simply stared at the old lady, and Peter himself began to feel terribly confused.
“What kind of goods do you sell here?” he demanded anxiously. “All the goods;” answered the old lady proudly, “but dry goods mostly. Waving toward the shelves, she folded her arms and looked suspiciously at her two customers, while Jack and Peter curiously surveyed her wares.
“Good news! Good advice! Good Intentions! Good Days! Good Night! Good Excuses! Good Riddance!” cried Peter, reading out the labels on the bottles and boxes.
“How odd! Good Ideas! Good Tempers! Good Notions! Good Times!”
“Come, come,” muttered the old lady, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, “make up your minds. You may each choose one,” she decided finally, as neither Peter nor Jack seemed able to decide. “Why don’t you take a good excuse?” she suggested, turning to Peter. “Boys are always needing good excuses, and a fresh batch has just come in~good ones too!”
“I think I’ll take some good advice,” announced Jack in a timid voice. “I’m not very bright and it might be useful.”
“But haven’t you anything good to eat?” sighed Peter. “A good lunch or dinner, even a breakfast would do.” With an impatient flounce the old lady reached up on a top shelf and handed Peter a small red box. Then giving Jack a red envelope, she shooed them out of her goody shop.
“I wish I’d taken some good excuses, murmured Peter, as they walked slowly down the crooked path. “This box is too small to hold a good meal of any kind.”
“What does it say?” asked Jack inquisitively.
“A good breakfast,” answered Peter reading the red label. “Well, even if it’s only a biscuit or just one sausage, I’ll eat it.” Eagerly Peter raised the lid. “Why it’s bird seed,” he exclaimed angrily, flinging the box with all his force into a redberry bush. “What a cheat! I’ve a good notion to go right back and tell her what I think of her.”
“But she didn’t charge you anything,” observed Jack mildly, “and you’ll have to admit it is a good breakfast!”
“A good breakfast,” roared Peter, glaring indignantly at his loose-jointed companion.
“Well, it is a good breakfast,” finished Jack Pumpkinhead apologetically, “for a bird.” Peter looked closely at Jack to see whether he was poking fun at him, but
quite soberly, Jack was opening his good advice.
“What does yours say?” Crowding closer, Peter read the words on the thin slip of paper and then began to hop up and down with glee.
“Keep your mouth shut,” advised the red paper briefly.
“Call that good advice?” sputtered Jack Pumpkinhead, tearing the paper into tiny pieces. “How can I keep my mouth shut when it’s carved open? Of all the silly nonsense!”
“But you’ll have to admit that keeping your mouth shut is good advice,” teased Peter, completely restored to good humor by this joke on Jack.
“Then why don’t you take it?” asked Jack stalking stiffly ahead. “Take it and welcome!” Smothering another chuckle, Peter hurried after Jack, reflecting to himself that this Pumpkinhead Man was not nearly so foolish as he appeared to be.
CHAPTER 3 What the Green Tree Said
WON’T Dorothy and Ozma be surprised when we turn up at the palace?” Taking a running jump, Peter cleared a tree and then hurried back to help Jack Pumpkinhead across.
“I’ll be surprised myself,” said Jack, stepping solemnly over the log. “Here we are at the end of this wood and no signs of the Emerald City at all. Do you see anything green, Peter?” Peter shook his head, for as far as the eye could reach there was nothing but rocks and sand, tinged with the rusty red of the Quadling Country.
“I see red, nothing but red,” sighed the little boy in a depressed voice. “Wait, there’s one green tree, though-a fir tree. Why, it’s running straight for us. Hey! Look what you’re doing! Get off my foot!” Giving the tree a quick shove, Peter sprang backward.
But the tree leaned a little further over, and resting its lower branches on his shoulders began to sob heavily.
“I’m very tired,” it panted in a weak whisper, “very tired!” It spoke through a hollow in the center of its trunk and its knot eyes stared mournfully into Peter’s own.
“Well, you can’t lean on me,” exclaimed Peter crossly, giving it another push.
“I’m tired too! Why I never heard of such a thing,” he continued in an indignant voice.
“What are you doing, where are you going, why don’t you act like a regular tree?” Wrenching the branches from his shoulders, Peter stepped off and eyed it angrily.
“You don’t belong in this country anyway, put in Jack accusingly. “You’re green and you know it!”
“Hush,” muttered the tree, putting a lower branch over its mouth. “I’m a Christmas Tree, looking for last year’s ornaments.” There were a few gay colored balls still clinging to the top and as Peter, too astonished to make any reply continued to stare, the tree drew closer.
“Are you a Christmas present?” it asked hoarsely. “Are you an ornament?”
“Oh go away!” laughed the little boy, giving it another shove. “Do I look like a Christmas present? And can’t you see we’re not ornaments?” With a little chuckle, he waved at his companion.
“I could use his head, “murmured the tree, squinting through its branches at Jack.
“It’s not at all pretty, but it would light up and look real merry. Here you!” With a sudden pounce the tree made for Jack. “Give me your pumpkin head and no nonsense either!” As Jack and Peter both jumped back together, a simply astonishing thing happened. From the end of each branch on the Christmas tree. a hand shot out, and with each hand extended it dashed after them.
“See! I trim myself!” it yelled, snapping its fingers hilariously. “Come here you provoking boy.
I’ll wager you have plenty of stuff in your pockets I could use for presents. Have you a watch or a gold pen knife?” At each question, it made greedy snatches at Peter. “Let me pick your pockets! Give me your head you great jumping-jack!” Ten of its hands just grazed Jack’s coat tails.
At first Peter had been rather amused by the Christmas tree, but now, thoroughly alarmed, he clutched Jack’s hand and ran so fast that Jack had all he could do to hold on to his head and keep from stumbling. As they continued to elude it, the determined little tree grew very angry. Hopping up and down on its roots, it seized the ornamentsfrom its top branches and hurled them one after another at the fleeing pair. Three balls and a candy cane crashed to bits on Peter’s head, and as he dodged in between two big boulders a silver dinner bell tied with red ribbon hit him sharply between the eyes.
“Gee-whiz!” spluttered the little boy, clapping his hand to his forehead, “this is no fun!” Pulling Jack after him, he squeezed into a narrow crevice between the rocks, but before he did Jack leaned down, picked up the bell and slipped it into his pocket. As the Christmas tree attempted to push its way between the rocks, Peter and Jack pressed against a rough wall at the back. Now it happened that in this wall there was a swinging rock door, and as they both leaned hard against it, the door swung inward and spilled them abruptly into a narrow stone corridor. Next instant the door slammed to, leaving them sitting in surprise and consternation on the rocky floor. They could hear the tree pounding with all its fists against the panels, but a bolt had dropped into place as the door closed, so there seemed little danger of further pursuit.
“I wish we’d stop this falling about,” complained Peter, picking himself up a bit wearily. “We’re always doing something we don’t expect.”
“That’s because we’re in Oz,” answered Jack cheerfully, “and at any rate, we have saved my head from the Christmas tree. Peter felt inclined to remark that saving Jack’s head was not so very important, but thinking better of it, he went on in an exasperated tone: “Christmas trees in our country don’t chase people nor throw things at them. They stay where they’re put.”
“Yes,” said Jack Pumpkinhead blandly, “I suppose they do, but Oz Christmas trees are more progressive, more up-and-coming.” Taking out the silver bell the Christmas Tree had thrown at Peter, Jack held it close to his ear and then swung it slowly to and fro. At its first silver ring Peter, thinking it would rouse the owner of the cave, rushed over to stop Jack, only to collide violently with a tiny black slave who had apparently sprung up from nowhere. He wore a simply enormous turban and carried an immense silver tray. Regaining his balance with great composure, the little black slave set the tray on the floor, folded his arms and with a deep bow melted into thin air.
“It’s a dinner!” shouted Peter, dropping on the floor and hungrily snatching off the white napkin that covered the tray. “Well, of all things!”
“Unexpected things, you mean,” corrected Jack slyly, “and I notice you don’t object to this one.
“Let me see that bell,” puffed Peter, reaching across the tray. It was not very light in the cavern, but even so he could read the inscription on the shining silver surface. “The Red Jinn’s dinner bell,” said the carved letters mysteriously. “A magic dinner bell,” exclaimed Peter delightedly. “This certainly makes up for the bird seed. And did you see that boy dissolve into nothing right before our eyes?” Jack nodded.
“Better eat that dinner before it does the same thing,” he advised calmly. As this seemed not at all improbable, Peter made short work of the roast duck, mashed potatoes, hot rolls and apple sauce. He had just finished the last roll, when tray, dishes and silverware vanished suddenly.
“Shall I ring the bell again?” inquired Jack, as Peter stared dazedly at the spot where the tray had been. Although Jack was not constructed for eating, he had thoroughly enjoyed watching Peter.
“No,” decided the little boy with a satisfied nod, “I’ve had enough, and it was good. But I wonder how that Christmas tree got hold of the Red Jinn’s dinner bell?”
“Stole it probably,” answered Jack, rubbing the bell on his sleeve. “Maybe the old Jinn didn’t run fast enough. Anyway it’s a regular Christmas present for you, Peter. Whenever you’re hungry we’ll just ring it.” With a pleased chuckle, Jack slipped the bell back into his pocket.
“It certainly will be useful,” sighed Peter, patting his stomach with a contented little sigh. Now that his hunger was satisfied, he felt quite cheerfu
l and adventurous again. “Let’s see where this passageway leads,” he added, peering round the dark corner at the end of the little corridor.
“Why don’t you throw that old sack away?” inquired Jack Pumpkinhead, as they walked slowly along the strange hallway. “What good is it?”
“I don’t know,” answered Peter, swinging the pirate’s sack carelessly to and fro. “I had it when I landed here and it might come in handy to carry things in.”
“What kind of things?” asked Jack stupidly. Peter did not bother to answer for they had come suddenly upon a great scowling goblin-head lantern. Under the lantern hung a flashing red sign.
“Tremble!”directed the sign in big red letters.
“I don’t see why we should tremble,” said Peter, squinting defiantly up at the goblin lantern. At Peter’s words the lantern went out, and whistling through the dark windy corridor came such a succession of wails, sighs and horrid screeches that Peter’s heart stood still.
“Are you trembling?” quavered Jack, as the hair raising noise died away. “Not exactly,” stuttered Peter, leaning against the wall to steady himself. As the lantern flashed on again, he peered anxiously all around. But there was no one in sight, so putting back his shoulders and taking a deep breath Peter marched bravely forward. “There’s nothing to be frightened about, he called reassuringly over his shoulder.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 23 Page 2