Kabumpo in Oz

“What are we doing?” murmured the Prince drowsily in his sleep.

“Disappearing,” chuckled Kabumpo under his breath. “Disappearing from Pumperdink, my lad.”

Chapter 4
The Curious Cottabus Appears

“Ouch!” Prince Pompadore stirred uneasily and rolled over. “Ouch!” he groaned again, giving his pillow a fretful thump. “Ouch!” This time his eyes flew wide open, for his knuckles were tingling with pain.

“A rock!” gasped the Prince, sitting up indignantly. “A rock under my head! No wonder it aches! Great Gillikens! Where am I?” He stared about wildly. There was not a familiar object in sight. Indeed he was in a dim, deep forest, and from the distance came the sound of someone sawing wood.

“Oh! Oh! I know!” muttered the Prince, rubbing his head miserably. “It’s that wretched scroll. I’ve disappeared and this is the place I’ve disappeared to.” Stiffly he got to his feet and started to walk in the direction of the sawing, but had only gone a few steps before he gave a cry of joy, for there, leaning up against a tree, snoring like twenty wood-cutters at work, was Kabumpo.

“Wake up!” cried Pompadore, pounding him with all his might. “Wake up, Kabumpo. We’ve disappeared!”

“Have we?” yawned the Elegant Elephant, opening one eye. “You don’t say? Hah, Hoh, Hum!” With a tremendous yawn he opened the other eye and began to chuckle and shake all over.

“We stole a march on ’em, Pompa. I’d like to see the King’s face when he finds us gone. Old Pumper will be Oyezing all over the palace. He’ll think we’ve disappeared by magic.”

“Well, didn’t we?” asked Pompadore in amazement.

“Not unless you call me magic. I carried you off in the night. Did you suppose old Kabumpo was going to stand quietly by while they married you to a faggotty old fairy like Faleero? Not much,” wheezed the Elegant Elephant. “I have other plans for you, little one!”

“But this is terrible!” cried the Prince, catching hold of a tree. “Here you have left my poor old father, my lovely mother, and the whole Kingdom of Pumperdink to disappear. We’ll have to go right straight back—right straight back to Pumperdink. Do you hear?”

“Do have a little sense!” Kabumpo shook himself crossly. “You can’t save them by going back. The thing to do is to go forward, find the Proper Princess and marry her. No scroll magic takes effect for seven days, anyway!”

“How do you know?” asked Pompa anxiously.

“Read it in a witch book,” answered Kabumpo promptly. “Now, that gives us plenty of time to go to the Emerald City and present ourselves to the lovely ruler of Oz. There’s a Proper Princess for you, Pompa!”

“But suppose she refuses me,” said the Prince uncertainly.

“You’re very handsome, Pompa, my boy.” The Elegant Elephant gave the Prince a playful poke with his trunk. “I’ve brought all my jewels as gifts and the magic mirror and door knob as well. If she refuses you and the worst comes to the worst”—Kabumpo cleared his throat gravely—“well—just leave it to me!”

After a bit more coaxing and after eating the breakfast Kabumpo had thoughtfully brought along, Pompa allowed the Elegant Elephant to lift him on his head and off they set at Kabumpo’s best speed for the Emerald City of Oz.

Neither the Prince nor the Elegant Elephant had ever been out of Pumperdink, but Kabumpo had found an old map of Oz in the palace library. According to this map, the Emerald City lay directly to the South of their own country. “So all we have to do is to keep going South,” chuckled Kabumpo softly. Pompadore nodded, but he was trying to recall the exact words of the mysterious scroll:

“Know Ye, that unless ye Prince of ye ancient and honorable Kingdom of Pumperdink shall wed ye Proper Fairy Princess in ye proper span of time ye Kingdom of Pumperdink shall disappear forever and even longer from ye Gilliken Country of Oz. J. G.”

Pompadore repeated the words solemnly; then fell a-thinking of all he had heard of Ozma of Oz, the loveliest little fairy imaginable.

“She wouldn’t want one of her Kingdom to disappear,” reflected Pompadore sagely. Now, as it happened, Ozma did not even know of the existence of Pumperdink. Oz is so large and inhabited by so many strange and singular peoples that although fourteen books of history have been written about it, only half the story has been told. There are no Oz railway or steamship lines and traveling is tedious and slow, owing to the magic nature of the land itself, its many mountains and fairy forests, so that Pumperdink, like many of the small Kingdoms on the outskirts of Oz, has never been explored by Ozma.

Oz itself is a huge oblong country divided into four parts, the North being the purple Gilliken country, the East the blue Munchkin country, the South the red lands of the Quadlings, and the West the pleasant yellow country of the Winkies. In the very center of Oz, as almost every boy and girl knows, is the wonderful Emerald City, and in its gorgeous green palace lives Ozma, the lovely little Fairy Princess, whom Kabumpo wanted Pompadore to marry.

“Do you know,” mused the Prince, after they had traveled some time through the dim forest, “I believe that gold mirror has a lot to do with all this. I believe it was put in the cake to help me find the Proper Princess.”

“Where would you find a more Proper Princess than Ozma?” puffed Kabumpo indignantly. “Ozma is the one—depend upon it!”

“Just the same,” said Pompa firmly, “I’m going to try every Princess we meet!”

“Do you expect to find ’em running wild in the woods?” snorted Kabumpo, who didn’t like to be contradicted.

“You never can tell.” The Prince of Pumperdink settled back comfortably. Now that they were really started, he was finding traveling extremely interesting. “I should have done this long ago,” murmured the Prince to himself. “Every Prince should go on a journey of adventure.”

“How long will it take us to reach the Emerald City?” he asked presently.

“Two days, if nothing happens,” answered Kabumpo. “Say—what’s that?” He stopped short and spread his ears till they looked like sails. The underbrush at the right was crackling from the springs of some large animal, and next minute a hoarse voice roared:

“Aha!” exulted the voice triumphantly. “There you are!” And a great round head was thrust out, almost in Kabumpo’s face. “Oh! I’m going to enjoy this. Don’t move!”

Kabumpo was too astonished to move, and the next instant the Cottabus had flounced out of the bushes and settled itself directly in front of the two travelers. It was large as a pony, but shaped like a great overfed cat. Its eyes bulged unpleasantly and the end of its tail ended in a large fan.

“Well,” grunted Kabumpo after the strange creature had regarded them for a full minute without blinking.

“Well, what?” it asked, beginning to fan itself sulkily. “You act as if you had never seen a Cottabus before.”

“We never have,” admitted Pompa, peering over Kabumpo’s head and secretly wishing he had brought along his jeweled sword.

“Why haven’t you?” asked the Cottabus, rolling up its eyes. “How frightfully ignorant!” It closed its fan tail with a snap and looked up at them disapprovingly. “Will you kindly tell me who you are, where you came from, when you came, what you are going for, how you are going to get it, why you are going and what you are going to do when you do get it!”

“I don’t see why we should tell you all that,” grumbled Kabumpo. “It's none of your affair.”

“Wrong!” shrieked the creature hysterically. “It is the business of a Cottabus to find out everything. I live on other people’s affairs, and unless”—here it paused, took a large handkerchief out of a pocket in its fur and began to wipe its eyes—“unless a Cottabus asks fifty questions a day it curls up in its porch rocker and d-d-dies, and this is my fifth questionless day.”

“Curl up and die, then,” said Kabumpo gruffly. But the kind-hearted Prince felt sorry for the foolish creature.

“If we answer your questions, will you answer ours?”

“I’ll try,” sniffed the Curious Cottabus, and leaning over it dragged a rocking chair out of the bushes and seated itself comfortably.

“Well, then,” began Pompa, “this is the Elegant Elephant and I am a Prince. We came from Pumperdink because our Kingdom was threatened with disappearance unless I marry a Proper Princess.”

“Yes,” murmured the Cottabus, rocking violently. “Yes, yes!”

“And we are going to the Emerald City to ask Princess Ozma for her hand,” continued the Prince.

“How do you know she is the one? When did this happen? Who brought the message? What are you going to do if Ozma refuses you?” asked the Cottabus, leaning forward breathlessly.

“Are you going to stand talking to this ridiculous creature all day?” grumbled Kabumpo. But Pompadore, perhaps because he was so young, felt flattered that even a curious old Cottabus should take such an interest in his affairs. So beginning at the very beginning he told the whole story of his birthday party.

“Yes, yes,” gulped the Cottabus wildly each time the Prince paused for breath. “Yes, yes,” fluttering its fan excitedly. When Pompadore had finished the Cottabus leaned back, closed its eyes and put both paws on the arms of the rocker. “I never heard anything more curious in my life,” said the curious one. “This will keep me amused for three days!”

“Of course—that’s what we’re here for—to amuse you!” said Kabumpo scornfully. “Let's be going, Pompa!”

“Perhaps the Curious Cottabus can tell us something of the country ahead. Are there any Princesses living ’round here?” the Prince asked eagerly.

“Never heard of any,” said the Cottabus, opening its eyes. “Can you multiply—add—divide and subtract? Are you good at fractions, Prince?”

“Not very,” admitted Pompadore, looking mystified.

“Then you won’t make much headway,” sighed the Cottabus, shaking its head solemnly. “Now, don’t ask me why,” it added lugubriously, dragging its rocker back into the brush, and while Kabumpo and Pompa stared in amazement it wriggled away into the bushes.

“Come on,” cried Kabumpo with a contemptuous grunt, but he had only gone a few steps when the Curious Cottabus stuck its head out of an opening in the trees just ahead. “When are you coming back?” it asked, twitching its nose anxiously.

“Never!” trumpeted Kabumpo, increasing his speed. Again the Cottabus disappeared, only to reappear at the first turn in the road.

“Did you say the door knob hit you on the head?” it asked pleadingly.

Kabumpo gave a snort of anger and rushed along so fast that Pompa had to hang on for dear life.

“Guess we’ve left him behind this time,” spluttered the Elegant Elephant, after he had run almost a mile.

But at that minute there was a wheeze from the underbrush and the head of the Cottabus was thrust out. Its tongue was hanging out and it was panting with exhaustion. “How old are you?” it gasped rolling its eyes pitifully. “Who was your grandfather on your father’s side, and was he bald?”

“Kerumberty Bumpus!” raged the Elegant Elephant, flouncing to the other side of the road.

“But why was the door knob in the cake?” gulped the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.

“How should we know,” said Pompa coldly.

“Then just tell me the date of your birth,” wailed the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.

“No! No!” screamed Kabumpo, and this time he ran so fast that the tearful voice of the Cottabus became fainter and fainter and finally died away altogether.

“Provokingest creature I’ve ever met,” grumbled the Elegant Elephant, and this time Pompa agreed with him.

“Isn’t it almost lunch time?” asked the Prince. He was beginning to feel terribly hungry.

“And aren’t there any villages or cities between here and the Emerald City?” Pompa spoke again.

“Don’t know,” wheezed Kabumpo, swinging ahead.

“Oh! There’s a flag!” cried Pompa suddenly. “It’s flying above the tree tops just ahead.”

And so it was—a huge, flapping black flag covered with hundreds of figures and signs.

“Hurry up, Kabumpo,” urged the Prince. “This looks interesting.”

Chapter 5
In The City of The Figure Heads

“It reminds me of something disagreeable,” answered Kabumpo, as he eyed the flag. Nevertheless he quickened his steps and in a moment they came to a clearing in the forest, surrounded by a tall black picket fence. The only thing visible above the fence was the strange black flag, and as the forest on either side was too dense to penetrate and there seemed to be no way around, Kabumpo thumped loudly on the center gate.

It was flung open at once, so suddenly that Kabumpo, who had his head pressed against the bars, fell on his knees and shot Pompadore clear over his head. Altogether it was a very undignified entrance.

“Oh! Oh! Now we shall have some fun!” screamed a high, thin voice, and immediately the cry was taken up by hundreds of other voices. A perfect swarm of strange creatures surrounded the two travelers. The Elegant Elephant took one look, put back his ears and snatched Pompa from the paving stones.

“Stop that!” he rumbled threateningly. “Who are you anyway?” The crowd paid no attention to the Elegant Elephant’s question, but continued to dance up and down and scream with glee. Clutching Kabumpo’s ear, Pompa peered down with many misgivings. They were entirely surrounded by thin, spry little people, who had figures instead of heads, and the fours, eights, sevens and ciphers bobbing up and down made it terribly confusing.

“Let’s go!” said Pompa, who was growing dizzier every minute. But the Figure Heads were wedged so closely around them Kabumpo could not move and they were shouting so lustily that the Elegant Elephant’s voice was drowned in the hubbub. Finally, Kabumpo’s eyes began to snap angrily and, taking a deep breath, he threw up his trunk and trumpeted like fifty ferry-boat whistles. The effect was immediate and astonishing. Half of the Figure Heads fell on their faces, and the other half fell on their backs and stared vacantly up at the sky.

“Conduct us to your Ruler!” roared Kabumpo, in the dead silence that followed.

“How’d you know we had a Ruler?” asked a Seven, getting cautiously to its feet.

“Most countries have,” said the Elegant Elephant shortly.

“He’s got no right to order us around,” said a Six, sitting up and jerking its thumb at Kabumpo.

“Yes—but!” Seven frowned at Six and put his hands over his ears. “This way,” he said gruffly, and Kabumpo, stepping carefully, for many of the Figure Heads were still on their backs, followed Seven.

If the inhabitants of this strange city were queer, their city was even more so. The air was dry and choky and the houses were dull, oblong affairs, set in rows and rows with never a garden in sight. Each street had a large signpost on the corner, but they were not like the signs one usually sees in cities. For these were plus and minus signs with here and there a long division sign.

“I suppose everything in this street’s divided up,” mumbled Pompadore, looking up at a division sign curiously.

“Hope they don’t subtract any of our belongings,” whispered Kabumpo, as they turned into Minus Alley. “Look, Pompa, at the houses. Ever see anything like ’em before?”

“They remind me of something disagreeable,” mused the Prince. “Why, they’re books, Kabumpo, great big arithmetic books!” Pompa pointed at one.

“You mean they are shaped like books,” said the Elegant Elephant. “I never saw books with windows and doors!”

“A lot you know!” said Seven, looking back scornfully, but Kabumpo was too interested to care. Out of the windows of the big book houses leaped hundreds of the little Figure Heads, and they laughed and jeered at Pompa and Kabumpo.

“Ho! Ho!” yelled one, leaning out so far it nearly fell on its Eight. “Wait till the Count sees ’em. He’ll make an example of ’em!”

“What an awful country,” whispered Pompadore, ducking just in time, as a Four snatched at his hair from an open window. But just then they turned a corner and entered a large gloomy court. Sitting on a square and solid wood throne, surrounded by a guard of Figure Heads, sat the Giant Ruler of this strange city.

“What have you got there, Seven?” roared the Ruler.

“I am the Elegant Elephant and this is the Prince of Pumperdink,” announced Kabumpo before Seven could answer. Pompadore, himself, could say nothing for he had never before been addressed by a wooden Ruler in his life. And that is exactly what the King of the Figure Heads was—an ordinary school ruler, twice as large as a man, with arms and legs and a great square head set atop of his thin flat body.

“I don’t care a rap who you are. I want to know what you are?” said the Ruler.

“We are travelers,” spoke up Pompa, swallowing hard—“travelers in search of a Proper Princess.”

“Well, you won’t find any here,” grunted the Ruler shortly. “We don’t believe in ’em!”

“Would you mind telling me the name of your Kingdom,” asked Pompa, somewhat cast down by these words.

“You have no heads,” announced the Ruler calmly, “or you would have known that this is Rith Metic. I,” he hammered himself upon the wooden chest—“I am its Ruler and every inch a King—King of the Figure Heads,” he added, glaring around as if he expected someone to contradict him.

“All right! All right!” wheezed Kabumpo, bowing his head twice. “I knew twelve inches made a foot rule, but I never knew they made a King Rule. But could you give us some luncheon and allow us to pass peaceably through your Kingdom?”

“Pass through!” exclaimed the King, standing up indignantly. “We don’t pass anyone through here. You’ve got to work your way through. Pass through, indeed! And when you’ve worked your way through we’ll put you in a problem and make an example of you.”

“They’ll make a very good example, your Majesty,” said a tall thin individual standing next to the Ruler. He eyed the two cunningly. “If a thin Prince sets out on a fat elephant to find a Proper Princess, how many yards of fringe will the elephant lose from his robe and how bald will the Prince be at the end of the journey? I don’t believe anyone could figure that out,” he murmured gleefully.

“It might be done by subtraction,” said the King, looking at the two critically.

“Great hay stacks!” rumbled Kabumpo, glaring over his shoulder to see if he had lost any fringe so far. “What have we gotten into?”

“Bald!” gulped Pompa, rubbing his head. “Do you mean to say you take poor innocent travelers and make them into arithmetic problems?”

“Why not?” said the thin one, who looked exactly like a giant lead pencil. “And please address me as Count, after this—Count It Up is my name. What’s the matter with living in a problem, my boy? Life is a problem, after all, and you will get used to it in time. I’ll try to assign you to a comfortable book and you’ll find book-keeping a lot more simple than house-keeping. This way, please!”

“Please go,” yawned the Ruler, waving his hand. “The Count will take you in charge now.” And so dazed was the Elegant Elephant by all this strange reasoning that he tamely followed the lead pencil person.

“Good-bye!” shouted the Ruler hoarsely. “Start them on simple additions,” he said as they moved off.

The street ahead was filled with Figure Heads and as Kabumpo paused they began forming themselves into sums. The first row sat down, the next knelt behind them, the third stood up, the fourth nimbly leaped upon the shoulders of the third, and so on, until a long addition confronted the travelers.

“Now,” said Count It Up in his blunt way, “as you haven’t figures for heads, let us see if you have heads for figures.” Kabumpo pushed back his pearl headdress and drops of perspiration began to run down his trunk. Prince Pompa, lying flat on Kabumpo’s head, started to add up the first line of figures.

“Eighty-three,” he announced anxiously.

“Say three and eight to carry,” snapped Count It Up. “Here, Three!” A Three stepped out of the crowd and placed itself under the line. “I’ve got to be carried!” cried Eight, looking sulkily at Pompa.

“Carried!” snorted Kabumpo, snatching Eight into the air. “Well, I’ll attend to you. You do the adding, Pompa, and I’ll do the carrying.”

He landed the Eight head down at the bottom of the line of Figure Heads and swung his trunk carelessly while he waited for his next victim. So, slowly and painfully, Pompa counted up the long lines and Kabumpo carried and if they made the slightest mistake the Figure Heads shouted with scorn and danced about till the confusion was terrible. When an example was finished, the Figure Heads in it marched away but another would immediately form lines ahead so that it took them a whole hour to go two blocks.

“Oh!” groaned Pompa at last, “We’ll never get through this, Kabumpo. Look at those awful fractions ahead! Can’t I skip fractions?” he asked looking pleadingly at Count It Up.

“Certainly not!” said the pencilly man stroking his shiny hair, which was straight and black and grew up into a sharp point. “You shall skip nothing!”

“That gives me an idea,” whispered Kabumpo huskily. “Why shouldn’t we skip altogether? We’re bigger than they are. Why—”

“How are you getting on?” At the sound of that hoarse, familiar voice both the Prince and Kabumpo jumped.

“You don’t mind me asking, I hope?” Clinging to the high picket fence and looking anxiously through the bars was the Curious Cottabus.

“Have you found the Greatest Common Divisor yet?”

“Who’s he?” asked the Elegant Elephant suspiciously.

“Isn’t there any way out of Rith Metic but this?” wailed Pompa, looking at the Cottabus pleadingly. He was too tired to mind being questioned.

The curious beast was delighted to have this new opportunity to talk to the travelers.

“Will you answer a few questions if I tell you?” asked the Cottabus, raising itself with great difficulty and looking over the palings.

“Yes—yes—anything,” promised Pompa.

“Do you care for strawberry tarts?” asked the Cottabus, twitching its nose very rapidly.

“Of course,” said the Prince. “Oh! Do hurry. Count It Up will be back in a moment!” He had run ahead to arrange a new problem and the rest of the Figure Heads paid no attention to the queer creature clinging to the palings.

“Are you going to invite the Scarecrow to your wedding?” gulped the Cottabus.

“I don’t know any Scarecrow,” said Pompa, “so how could I?”

“Are you fond of that old elephant?” The Cottabus waved at Kabumpo, who stamped first one foot then another and fairly snorted with rage.

“All right,” sighed the Curious Cottabus, “that makes my fifty questions.”

Hanging on to the fence with one paw it waved the other backward and forward as it chanted:

The head of the Cottabus disappeared.

“Now isn’t that provoking,” gulped the Prince. “After it promised to help us, too!”

“I meant summersault,” wheezed the Cottabus, reappearing suddenly—

it recited dolefully, and losing its balance fell off the fence and landed with a thud on the ground below.

“Here! Hurry along!” scolded Count It Up, prodding Kabumpo with a sharp pencil. “The next is a nice little problem in fractions.”

“I wonder if it meant anything?” mused Pompadore, as Kabumpo approached the new problem. “’If you can’t its not your fault, so simply turn a summersault.’ Anyway it wouldn’t hurt to try. Stop a minute, Kabumpo!”

Sliding down the Elegant Elephant’s trunk, the Prince put his head on the ground and very carefully and deliberately turned a somersault. At his first motion Count It Up gave a deafening scream, fell on his head and broke off his point, while the Figure Heads began to run in every direction.

“Do it again! Do it again!” cried Kabumpo joyfully. So Pompa turned another somersault and another, and another, and another, till not a Figure Head was in sight. Even the Figure Heads at the windows of the houses tumbled out and dashed madly around the corner. Before they could return, Kabumpo snatched up Pompa and tore through the deserted streets of Rith Metic till he came to the black iron gate at the other end of the city. Butting it open with his head, the Elegant Elephant dashed through and never stopped running till he was miles away from there.

“Have to rest a bit and eat some leaves,” puffed Kabumpo, at last slowing down. “Whe—w!”

“Wish I could eat leaves,” sighed the Prince, as Kabumpo began lunching off the tree tops. “But, never mind, we’re out of Rith Metic! Wasn’t it lucky that Cottabus followed us? I never would have thought of getting out of sums by somersaulting. Would you?”

“Only sensible thing it ever said, probably,” answered the Elegant Elephant, with his mouth full of leaves. “There’s a lot more to be learned by traveling than by studying, my boy. Somersaults for sums—let’s always remember that!”

Pompa did not answer. He slid down Kabumpo’s trunk and began hunting anxiously around for something to eat. Not far away he found a large nut tree and, gathering a handful of nuts, he sat down and began to crack them on a white marble slab near by. Next instant Kabumpo heard a thud and a muffled cry.

The Prince of Pumperdink had vanished, as if by magic.

“Where are you?” screamed the Elegant Elephant, pounding through the brush. “Pompa! Pompa! He’s disappeared,” gasped Kabumpo, rushing over to the marble slab. There was not a sign of the Royal Prince of Pumperdink anywhere, but carved carefully on the white stone were these words:

“Fall in!” snorted Kabumpo, his eyes rolling wildly. “Great Gooch!”

Chapter 6
Ruggedo’s History In Six Rocks

On the same night that Prince Pompa and Kabumpo had disappeared from Pumperdink, a little gray gnome crouched in a deep chamber, tunneled under the Emerald City, laboriously carving letters on a big rock. It was Ruggedo, the old Gnome King, carving and grumbling and grumbling and carving, and pausing every few minutes to light his pipe with a hot coal which he kept in his pocket for that purpose. A big emerald lamp cast a green glow over the strange cavern and made the gnome look like a bad green goblin, which he was.

“Wag!” screamed the gnome, suddenly throwing down his chisel. “Where are you, you long-eared villain?” There was a slight stir at the back of the cave and a rabbit, of about the same size as the gnome, shuffled slowly forward.

“What you want?” he asked, rubbing one eye with his paw.

“Bring me a cup of melted mud, idiot!” roared the gnome, pounding on the rock. “And serve it to me on my throne at once!”

“Now, see here,” the rabbit twitched his nose rapidly, “I’ll get you a cup of melted mud, but don’t you call me an idiot. I don’t mind working for one, nor digging for one and listening to his foolishness, but nobody can call me an idiot—not even a make-believe King!”

“Oh, you make me tired!” fumed the gnome.

“Then go to sleep,” advised the rabbit with a yawn. “What’s the use of trying to pretend you’re a King, Rug? Ho, ho! King over one wooden doll, six rocks and twenty-seven sofa cushions! You may have been a King once, but now you’re just a plain gnome and nothing else, and if you go and sit quietly in your plain rocking chair I’ll bring you a cup of plain mud.”

With a chuckle, the rabbit retired, and Ruggedo, spluttering with fury, flounced into a doll’s broken rocker that was set in the exact center of the cave.

“Here I give that rabbit everything I steal and he won’t even allow me the little luxury of calling him an idiot or of pulling his ears. How can I pretend to be a King without an ear to pull?” grumbled the gnome.

“What are you grinning at?” Bouncing out of his chair, Ruggedo flew at a merry-faced wooden doll who sat propped up against the wall and shook her till her head turned round backwards and her arms and legs flew every which way. Then he hurled her violently into a corner. Quite out of breath he sank back in his chair and stared angrily about.

When Wag returned the gnome snatched the tin cup of melted mud and tossed it down with one gulp. Then, flinging the cup at the doll, he went back to work.

The rabbit shook his head mournfully and, picking up the wooden doll, straightened her out and placed her on a cushion. Then, yawning again, he lit a candle and started for the passage at the back of the cave.

“How are you getting on?” he asked, pausing to look over the gnome’s shoulder with a grin.

“Fine!” answered Ruggedo, forgetting to scowl. “I’m up to the sixth rock and expect to finish to-night.”

“Who do you think will read it?” asked the rabbit, putting back both ears and stroking his whiskers. Then he gave a great spring, just escaped the chisel Ruggedo had flung at his head, and pattered away into the darkness. For several minutes the gnome danced up and down with fury. Then, as there was no one to pinch or shake, he started to work harder than ever on the sixth rock of his history. There were six of the great stones set in a row on one side of the cavern and the carving on them had taken the old gnome King the best part of two years. The letters were crooked and roughly chiseled, but quite readable. On the first rock he had carved:

The second rock told of Ruggedo’s magnificent Kingdom under the mountains of Ev, of the thousands of gnomes he had ruled and the great treasure of precious gems he had possessed, in those good old days before he was banished from his dominions.

The third rock told of his transformation of the Queen of Ev and her children into ornaments for his palace and of their rescue by a party from Oz, through the cleverness of Billina, a yellow hen. It told of the loss of his Magic Belt which was captured at this same time by Dorothy, a little girl from Kansas.

The fourth rock related how Ruggedo had tried to conquer Oz and recover his belt; how all of his plans failed and how he tumbled into the Fountain of Oblivion and forgot all about his campaign.

The fifth rock had taken Ruggedo the longest to carve, for it gave the story of his banishment by the Great Jinn Titihoochoo. You have probably read this story yourself. How Tik Tok, Betsy Bobbin, Shaggyman and Polychrome, trying to find Shaggy’s brother, hidden in the Gnome King’s metal forest, were thrown down a long tube to the other side of the world, and how the owner of the tube sent Quox, the dragon, to punish Ruggedo by banishment from his Kingdom and how Kaliko was made King of the Gnomes.

The sixth rock told of Ruggedo’s last attempt to capture Oz. Meeting Kiki Aru, a Highup boy who knew a magic transformation word, Ruggedo suggested that they change themselves to Limoneags—queer beasts with lion heads, monkey tails and eagle wings—get all the beasts of Oz to help and march on the Emerald City. But this plan failed, too. Kiki lost his temper and changed Ruggedo to a goose, the Wizard of Oz discovered the magic word and changed both the conspirators to nuts. Later on they were changed back to their normal shapes, but again Ruggedo was plunged into the Fountain of Oblivion and again forgot his wicked plans. This ended the rock history, except for a short sentence stating that Ruggedo now lived in the Emerald City.

But the magic of the Fountain of Oblivion had soon worn off and it was not long before Ruggedo began to remember his past wickedness. That is why he decided to carve his life story in rock, so that it would be handy should he ever fall into the forgetful fountain again. And it had taken six rocks to tell all of his adventures. He had not carved these stories just as they had happened, nor ever called himself wicked, but he had told most of the facts, leaving out the parts most unflattering to himself. And now it was finished—his whole history in six rocks. Throwing down his chisel for the last time, Ruggedo straightened up and regarded his work with glowing pride.

“I don’t believe there’s another history like this in all Oz,” puffed the gnome, tugging at his silver beard.

“It’s a good thing,” chuckled Wag, who had come back to eat a carrot. “Oz would not be a very happy place if there were many folks like you.”

He seated himself quietly on the first rock of Ruggedo’s history, and began nibbling his carrot.

“Get up! How dare you sit on my history?” Ruggedo stamped his foot and started threateningly toward Wag.

“All right,” said the rabbit, “it’s too hard, anyway.”

“Of course it’s hard,” stormed Ruggedo. “I’ve had a hard life; hard as those rocks. Everybody’s been against me from the very start, and all because I’m so little,” he finished bitterly.

“No, because you are so wicked,” said the rabbit calmly. “Now, don’t throw your pipe at me, for you know it’s the truth.”

Ruggedo glared at the rabbit for a minute, then rushed over to the wooden doll, and began shaking her furiously. He always vented his rage on the wooden doll.

“Stop that,” screamed Wag, “or I’ll leave upon the spot. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You old scrabble-scratch.”

“She’s not alive,” snapped Ruggedo sulkily.

“How do you know?” retorted the rabbit. “Anyway, she’s a jolly creature. I’m not going to have her banged around. Here you’ve taken her away from her little mother, and she hasn’t even anyone to rock her to sleep.”

“I’ll rock her to sleep,” screamed Ruggedo, maliciously. And flinging the doll on the floor he began hurling small rocks at the helpless little figure.

Scrambling to his feet, Wag rescued the wooden doll again, and Ruggedo, who really was afraid the rabbit would leave him, subsided into his rocking chair. Then reaching up to a small shelf over his head, he pulled down an accordion. At the first doleful wheeze Wag gave a great hop, dropped Peg and disappeared into his room in the farthest corner of the cave.

After his last attempt to capture Oz, the gnome had been given a small cottage to live in, just outside the Emerald City. But Ruggedo could not bear life above ground. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and the contented, happy faces of the people hurt his feelings, for he was exactly what Wag had called him—an old scrabble-scratch. So, while he pretended to live in the little cottage, according to Ozma’s orders, he really spent most of his time in this deep, dark cave. He entered it by a secret passage, opening from his cellar.

Digging the long passage had been the hardest work Ruggedo had ever done in his bad little life. While toiling one day, he had bumped into the underground burrow of Wag, a wandering rabbit of Oz, and after a deal of bargaining, the rabbit had agreed to help him. Wag was to receive a ruby a month for his services, for the gnome still had a large bag of precious stones, which he had brought from the old Kingdom. After the bargain with Wag was made, the passage progressed rapidly, for the rabbit was an expert digger.

It was Ruggedo’s idea to tunnel himself out a secret chamber, directly under Ozma’s palace, and there establish a kingdom of his own. But when they had almost reached the spot, the earth began to crumble away, and a few strokes of Ruggedo’s spade revealed a great dark cavern, already tunneled by someone else. It was huge and the exact shape of the royal palace. This Ruggedo discovered by careful measurement, and also that it was directly beneath the gorgeous green edifice, so that the footsteps of the servants could be heard faintly, pattering to and fro.