L. Frank Baum - Oz 28

by Speedy In Oz

  Speedy In Oz - Oz 28

  L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER 1

  The Carelessness of Sizzeroo

  T0-NIGHT, I shall wear my green padded coat, my silver boots and the purple pantaloons,” murmured King Sizzeroo ofUmbrellaIsland, stroking his braided beard with one hand and giving the wheel that controlled the motion of the island a lazy turn with the other. “And to-morrow-”

  “Watch out! Watch out!” Four sharp claws dug into his Majesty’s

  plump shoulder and Pansy, the Royal Watch Cat, dropping from the ribs of an umbrella tree overhead, began screaming hysterically into the King’s left ear.

  “How many times must I ask you not to do that?” shivered Sizzeroo, jerking his head to the right.

  “Am I your Majesty’s Watch Cat, or am I not?” shrilled Pansy, arching her back defiantly. “Is it my duty to watch out for you when you are not watching out for yourself-and us-or is it not?”

  “Not so loud, not so loud,” begged the King fretfully. “You’re taking all the curl out of my ear, be-

  side”

  “Watch out! Ough! Qugh! Meouch!” Poor Pansy! Already her warning was too late. With a thump that sent the hundred silver bells in the top-most silver tower into a rattle of frightened discords, with a bump that flung Sizzeroo over the fountain and

  Pansy into the fish pond,UmbrellaIslandcame to a shuddering stop. As its startled sovereign raised himself painfully on one elbow, he could hear the furniture and ornaments in his palace still crashing about. Looking gloomily down into the village, he could see that dozens of cottages were now without roofs and chimneys, and many of the Islanders strewn about in strange and uncomfortable attitudes.

  “I’ll not wear my green coat and silver boots, after all,” groaned Sizzeroo, feeling about for his crown. “The old black skull cap, the grey carpet slippers, my snuff colored robe. Anything! Anything, will do! My! My! and My Land!”

  For about as long as it would take you to count ten, the Umbrellians lay where they had fallen. Then, snatching up their parasols and umbrellas, they leapt to their feet and started on a run for the castle, and panting ahead of all the rest, came the King’s three counselors. They had been having a quiet cup of tea on the terrace and had not only been upset, but severely scalded by the overturn of the tea table when the island came to so sudden a standstill. Noting their shocked and anxious faces, Sizzeroo sighed heavily.

  “There are times,” moaned the many-chinned monarch, pulling himself with great difficulty out of the rose bush into which he had fallen, “there are times when I wish I were not a King. what now? And what next and what ever? Pansy, Pansy, drop that gold fish at once.”

  “If you fling me to the fishes, what do you expect?” snarled the Watch Cat, speaking indistinctly, for the gold fish was still in her mouth. Sullenly she scrambled out of the pond.

  “I did not fling you to the fishes and well you know it,” reproved Sizzeroo. Taking the fish from Pansy, he gently threw it back in the pond and, tucking the Watch Cat under his arm, turned uneasily to meet his sputtering counselors. “Dear, dear and dear! I suppose they will blame this all on me,” he muttered, dabbing unhappily at the dripping cat with the end of his padded coat.

  “And whom else could they blame?” inquired Pansy sarcastically. “If you had listened when I first called out, you would not have run into a mountain. You’ll wreck this island yet, you careless old thing!”

  “Did you call me a King or a Thing?” Sizzeroo gave Pansy a stern shake.

  “Oh, save your breath for the others,” advised Pansy, and springing lightly to his shoulder, the Watch Cat began energetically to lick herself dry.

  “Here they come.” And Pansy was right, for as she finished speaking, up the long flight of marble steps to Sizzeroo’s high and private terrace, bounded Bamboula, the Imperial Su-jester, Kachewka, the King’s Chief Counselor, and Waddy, the enormous and enormously clever Wizard of the Realm. The rest of the Islanders milled noisily about on the level below, talking in hoarse and excited voices, emphasizing their remarks with little jerks of their umbrellas and parasols. Kachewka, first to reach the King’s side, was tall and thin, with a long nervous nose, at present twitching with annoyance and displeasure.

  “What happened?” he demanded, snapping his little eyes savagely. “What is the meaning of all this toss-up and shake aboutery? Have I not cautioned your Majesty to look where you are going, to go where you are looking, when sailing this island through the sky? What were you doing, may I ask, at the time of the crash?”

  “I was thinking,” admitted the King, glancing remorsefully from one to the other of his counselors.

  “Thinking!” exploded Kachewka, taking out his red handkerchief and giving his nose a violent blow. “What right have you to think? Thinking is my business. Thinking is what I am paid to do, and poorly paid at that. Thinking! Bah! Thinking causes all the trouble out of the world. Of what were you thinking, pray?”

  “Of my green padded coat, my silver boots and so

  on-

  “And so on the rocks,” choked Kachewka, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. “We will all have to wear padded coats and crash pants if this keeps up.”

  Now Waddy, seeing Sizzeroo looking so downcast, Slipped hastily back of the King and, giving him a sly poke in the ribs, touched a gold button in the great silver shaft that supported the tremendous billowing umbrella that spread like a canopy over the entire island. This button, Waddy’s own invention, controlled and guided the island automatically like the electric steering devices on some of our own ocean liners.

  “There now,” puffed the Wizard, giving Sizzeroo a comforting thump between the shoulders, “everything will be all right. Think no more of it, dear old Gum Drop. We have had a shock but no bones are broken and chimneys and roofs are soon mended.”

  Waddy’s further remarks were completely drowned out by the furious beating of Bamboula’s drum.

  Bamboula, like the Wizard, was round and jolly and whenever the King’s Su-jester had anything to suggest, he preceded his speech by a loud tattoo on his drum, thus assuring himself of Sizzeroo’s attention.

  As the King, wincing slightly, leaned forward, Bamboula stopped drumming and spoke.

  “I suggest that we immediately go about restoring order. I suggest that your high and mighty absent-minded Majesty retire to the palace for a nap,” proposed Bamboula, sensibly enough.

  “Why, I believe I will,” sighed Sizzeroo, thoughtfully touching a long scratch on his cheek. “A little sleep will be good for me.”

  “It will be good for us all,” said Kachewka stiffly.

  “And now that the island is moving again-”

  “Moving?” muttered Waddy, who had been glanc-mg critically out over the silvering twilight sky.

  “We’re sinking. Can’t you feel it? We’re going down~down~~when the umbrella is still up! Down, do you understand? Meander! Meander!” The Wizard clapped his hands sharply and beckoned energetically to the King’s messenger, who stood in the crowd below, gazing up at the group on the terrace with dazed and stupid grin. “Run to the edge of the island, my boy, and look over. Quickly!”

  “Quickly! Quickly!” shouted Bamboula, with two terrified thumps on his drum. Thus urged, Meander began to run and shuffle down the slopping terrace that stetched to the edge of the island - at this point no more than a hundred yards away. “Well! Well!” bawled Sizzeroo, as Meander, leaning on the top rail of the golden fence that ran all the way round the island, stared fearfully downward.

  “Oh, why do you say ‘Well’?” moaned Kachewka, covering his eyes. “There is nothing well about it. I knew the minute that tea-pot hit me on the nose that a dreadful disaster had overtaken us.”
/>   To be perfectly truthful, Umbrella Island was now rushing downward at a sickening speed.

  “Be still! Stand where you are. Do nothing until I sneeze,” commanded Kachewka, as the frightened Umbrellians showed signs of dashing in all directions.

  “Meander, my boy, do you see anything?” pleaded Sizzeroo, starting heavily down the terrace.

  “Anything! Oh, King!” Instead of explaining, Meander put his head down on the top rail and trembled so violently that he loosened three palings from the golden fence. No wonder. A giant had hold of the umbrella handle that went through and protruded from the under side of the island and was

  dragging it roughly downward. CHAPTER 2

  Loxo, the Lucky

  BEFORE Meander could open his mouth to report this appalling piece of news, the Urn-brellians found themselves staring into the face of the giant himself. It was a face twice as large as their island, topped by hair like awaving forest, with eyes like two burning lakes of lava, with a mountainous nose and a mouth resembling a yawning cave, full of crooked and mossgrown rocks.

  “Oh! Oh! and Oh!” wailed Sizzeroo, clutching Waddy’s sleeve, while Pansy dove hurriedly into the King’s pocket. “Tell me I’m asleep and dreaming. Tell me it isn’t so. If I’m awake, I’m perfectly petri-fled and simply a-quiver.

  “You’re a-quiver, then! Me too!” Waddy clapped a plump hand to his loudly beating heart and looked wildly across at Kachewka. As he did, Kachewka sneezed five times, which in the island code of signals meant, “Silence everyone.’ Our Wizard will

  handle this matter.”

  The command for silence was quite unnecessary. The Umbrellians were too terrified to utter a sound, but now they stopped looking at the giant and turned frantic and appealing eyes on the Wizard. Poor Waddy, after an indignant glance at Kachewka, whom he felt was being entirely too generous, drew himself up and prepared for the worst.

  “So !” hissed the giant, glaring down at them all with his red and burning eyes. “So, this is what hit me! How dare you hit me in the head with an island? If there’s one thing that makes me madder than another, it’s being hit in the head with an island. What right has an island rocketing through the sky in this reckless fashion? What right has an island in the air, anyway?” he bellowed in a voice that blew fifty umbrellas inside out and flattened back the ears of the Islanders themselves.

  “By right of invention and wizardry!” shouted Waddy, assuming as bold and unconcerned an attitude as an old fellow of two hundred and fifty pounds well can. “I see your Highness has never studied Unnatural History?”

  “Study! Why should I study?” roared the giant wrathfullv. “I am above such things. Besides. I do not need to study Unnatural History to know when

  I am hit in the head. Look at this lump.” He raised a huge hairy hand to a large protuberance between his eyes. “Well, someone is going to pay for this. I, Loxo the Lucky, have spoken.”

  “Permit me to observe that it is a great honor to meet so celebrated a character,” quavered the Wizard, while the Islanders continued to tremble and hold their tongues.

  “If you call knocking me in the head with your island, meeting me, I certainly decline the honor,” rumbled Loxo with a scowl. “Besides I already know all the people I care to know.”

  “But do let me explain,” implored Waddy, clasping his hands earnestly.

  “Explain!” The giant leaned forward and tearing up a palm-leaf fan tree began angrily to pick his teeth. “There is a deal to be explained. Explain away this bump, if you will. Explain yourselve~ that is, if you can.” Loxo stared long and disdainfully at the gay and flowery little isle spread out like a saucer beneath his nose. But even so, his voice was a bit less angry and, noting a gleam of unmistakable interest and curiosity in his gigantic eye, Waddy took heart and began quickly to explain Umbrella Island and its unusual inhabitants as best he could.

  “To begin with,” announced the Wizard impressively, “we were a tidy but quite ordinary little island, surrounded by the usual ocean and covered by the customary sky. We lay by fisherman’s reckoning seventy leagues from the mainland of Ev, which, you know, lies across the Deadly Desert from the great and flourishing Kingdom of Oz. As we are at present over Oz, I presume that you, yourself, hail from that incomparable and enchanting Fairy Land?”

  “Where else would I come from?” demanded the giant gruffly. “Go on! Go on!”

  Now I have suspected that the Umbrellians were of some strange fairy origin, for how otherwise could we account for a talking cat, a practicing wizard, or the flying island itself? But I must not interrupt Waddy and as the giant continued to call in an impatient voice for him to proceed, he gravely went on with his recital.

  “In the early days of our history,” explained the Wizard complacently, “we engaged in the raising of silk worms and the manufacture of fine silken fabrics. By energy, industry and successful trade with Pingaree and the nearby Island of Impossipillio, we amassed a considerable fortune for ourselves and our gracious sovereign.” Waddy bowed ceremoniously to the King, and Sizzeroo with a nervous jerk of his head acknowledged the salute and the fortune. “Then, about seven years ago,” Waddy fixed the giant with an anxious and solemn eye, “seven years ago, our amiable monarch developed an overpowering desire for travel and adventure. But being un-fond of ships, opposed to caravans and unwilling to go anywhere without taking every courtier, counselor, islander and animal along, I, as Chief Magician of the Realm, did set myself to devise a way in which this might happily be accomplished. After seven months of deep thought,” Waddy cleared his throat with scarcely concealed pride, “after seven months, I conceived the idea of an enormous umbrella that would go through the center of the island and carry us safely and buoyantly through the air or over the water, giving us all the interest and excitements of travel with the comforts and luxury of home. How well I succeeded with this idea, your Greatness may judge for yourself.”

  “Umph!” grunted the giant, touching the lump on his head tenderly.

  “And so,” the Wizard, anxious to be done with the conversation, hurried on, “by a judicious mixture of mechanics and magic I was able to construct and

  install this huge umbrella, and lift our island from its permanent resting place. We can now sail at will over the ocean, anchoring off strange continents and shores, or explore the high and hitherto un-chartered regions of the air. We have even crossed over into the realms of Reality on the other side of the rainbow and noted with interest and profit the curious customs of its monarchies and republics In the course of these journeys, the foliage of our island has changed considerably, becoming rich and tropical. The numerous umbrella and shade trees you see scattered about our hills are the result of my profound study and experimentation. They produce in profusion the umbrellas and parasols that our mode of life makes so necessary and essential. Every man, woman and child is required by law to carry an umbrella or parasol at all times, not only for Pleasure and style, but as a precaution as well. Should the island tilt and any of them fall over the fence, the umbrellas act as parachutes, keeping them safely afloat until rescued.”

  “I see you have supplied the cows and goats with umbrellas, too,” remarked the giant, throwing away his palm leaf fan tree tooth pick.

  “Ah, but naturally,” Waddy assured him in a dignified voice. “We are a kind and humane people

  and would not think of denying our animals comforts and luxuries that we enjoy ourselves.” Somewhat exhausted, the Wizard paused for breath and the Umbrellians, noting the interest Loxo was taking in their affairs, stopped trembling and began to straighten their hats, smooth down their silk blouses and tilt their umbrellas and parasols at more comfortable and becoming angles. Even Pansy came out of the King’s pocket and perched inquisitively on his shoulder.

  “But about the braids,” inquired the giant, as Waddy stood staring silently and hopefully up al him.

  “Braids? Oh, braids are our peculiarity,” admitted the Wizard, and with a little chuckle d
rew the long plait that hung down his back over one shoulder, thoughtfully stroked the braided whiskers on each side of his cheeks and his long luxuriant braided beard. “We find them comfortable, convenient and, we hope, ornamental,” he explained indulgently.

  Now I am not surprised that Loxo mentioned braids. They are the first thing you would notice about an Umbrella Islander. The dark hair of the women and girls was braided in shining plaits, reaching often below their waists. The men and

  boys wore their hair in a single braid, like a Chinaman’s queue, and the braided side-whiskers and beards of the older men gave them an exceedingly merry and mischievous expression. Even the animals on Umbrella Island had braided tails and manes and Pansy, the Watch Cat, not only had a braided tail, tied with a red ribbon, but the soft hair growing from the tips of her ears was also braided and finished with perky red bows.

  As a race, the Umbrellians were dark haired, fair skinned, slender and handsome. Men and women alike wore loose coats or blouses, wide silk trousers and bright leather boots. The men and boys carried umbrellas, the women and girls parasols, and the pleasing contrast of their costumes and umbrellas made any group of Islanders not only a gay and cheerful sight, but a simply charming one, as well. But Loxo, I am afraid, did not wish to be cheered or charmed, and his eye, roving discontentedly over the subjects of Sizzeroo, came to a surprised stop on Pansy.

  “What’s that?” he coughed, pointing a finger as long as a telegraph post at the King’s Watch Cat.

  “I am a cat with my tail in a plait, I watch out for the King and at danger, cry ‘Scat!’

  Can a giant find anything wrong about that?”

  purred Pansy, delighted to find herself the center of attraction. Now whether Pansy’s saucy verse, or the red ribbons in her ears irritated the giant and reminded him of his grievance, I cannot say, I only know that he gave a sudden grunt and then, blowing his lips first in and then out, cried furiously, “Wrong? Everything is wrong! I don’t care a cooky how you wear your hair, trim up your cats, make your fortunes or run your ridiculous island, except when you run it into me. What I care about is this bump on my head and for tha~I’ll tak~I’ll-” Savagely the glance of Loxo ranged from one end of the island to the other, settling at last on a small figure that had just run out of the palace and was standing quietly beside the King. “I’ll take that boy to lace my boots,” he roared vindictively. “And I’ll take him now!”