As the chair, foot-stool and clock lost their power of speech at the
same instant the Gnome King regained his freedom, there was no one to
arouse Wumbo. And it was nearly noon time before he did awaken. Puzzled
to find himself in a chair instead of bed he straightened up, gave
himself a shake and blinked sleepily up at the clock. Something about
the clock reminded him of his bad little visitor and, whirling round,
he stared anxiously at his arm-chair. But of course Ruggedo was not
there.
“Gone!” exclaimed the wizard, clapping his hand to his head. “Wumbo,
you’re growing old and stupid. What’s to be done now? What’s to be done
now?”
Shuffling anxiously up and down his crystal hearth, Wumbo tried to
think of the quickest way to locate the wicked little gnome. A loud
thump upon the door interrupted his wonderings and, as he mechanically
muttered the magic phrase that opened it, the arm and hand of Kuma
Party came flying into the study.
“A message from my son,” breathed Wumbo, hurrying forward to clasp
the hand. There was a note folded up in the palm and while the wizard
opened it the arm settled quietly down beside the clock.
“Dear father,” wrote Kuma, “a small mortal boy and a gnome came to
my cottage yesterday afternoon. The boy is lost and the gnome quite
evidently means mischief. Knowing the perils for a mortal boy traveling
in a magic country, I offered to lend him my hand if he ever needed it.
This morning he sent for help and I have dispatched my right arm and
hand to help him escape from the Kingdom of Patch and am sending my
left to you for instructions. Can you, by your magic, suggest a way to
locate the gnome and keep the boy from harm?
“Your dutiful and affectionate son Kuma.”
Pushing his specs high on his forehead and knocking his wig sideways,
Wumbo dashed over to his desk, and wrote:
“Send your arm to the Emerald City. The gnome has gone there wearing a
cloak of invisibility. Take a letter of warning to Ozma and find and
hold the gnome till Ozma can by her magic overpower him.”
Folding the paper, he slipped it into Kuma’s hand. The hand closed over
it at once and in a flash the arm swept out of the cave and away over
the Gillikin mountains.
“Well,” sighed Wumbo, sinking into his chair, which immediately gave
him a reassuring little hug, “that ought to help some. But the gnome
certainly means to make trouble!”
Wumbo had never mastered long-distance magic and his spells and chants
worked only when he was present, but feeling that he had done all
that he could without breaking the law, and being fatigued by so much
thinking before breakfast, he gently clapped his hands. In a flash an
appetizing repast floated in on a golden tray and settled upon his
desk. Pulling up his chair, Wumbo mumbled a few words over the pens and
pencils scattered about his desk. Next instant they had rolled to the
floor and straightened up into an orchestra of five pieces. Softly and
sweetly they began to play an old Oz quadrille and, somewhat soothed
and comforted, the Wonder Worker began eating his breakfast.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]