The Wise Man Speaks
“I suppose,” sighed the old soldier, stirring his coffee with the handle
of his sword, “it would do no good to hunt for the King’s head in the
garden?” Drying out before the blazing fire in the kitchen stove and
sipping Mrs Sew-and-Sew’s fragrant coffee the little company had grown
more calm.
“I’ll just have a look,” said Prince Tatters, pushing back his chair,
but the old Wise Man shook an impatient finger at the very idea of such
a thing.
“When a King’s head goes off it goes off,” declared Pudge huskily—“Way
off as far off as it can go.”
“How far is that?” asked the old soldier. “And—”
“Hush, I am thinking,” wheezed Pudge, ruffling up his hair with one hand
and holding out his coffee cup with the other. “I am thinking and
presently I shall speak. Another cup of coffee, ma’am!” This was his
seventh cup and after he had sipped it deliberately, scraped all the
sugar out of the bottom and licked the spoon, he set down both cup and
saucer, flung up his hands and spoke. “Let Prince Tatters go in search
of his father’s head,” said the old Wise Man of Ragbad. “Let him seek at
the same time his fortune, or a Princess with a fortune, for otherwise
he will end as a common rag-picker.”
“But suppose,” objected Grampa, who tho’ an old bachelor himself had
romantic ideas about marriage, “suppose he cannot love a Princess with a
fortune. Suppose—”
“It is not wisdom to suppose!” sniffed Pudge. “Hush! I am thinking and
presently I shall speak again.” He closed his eyes and pressed his
fingers to his forehead and after a short silence, during which Mrs
Sew-and-Sew took a quick swallow of coffee and Grampa a hasty pinch of
snuff, he spoke again. “It is the rainy day,” announced Pudge in his
most solemn voice, “the rainy day I have long predicted. As the King has
lost his head we must ourselves see what he has saved up for it. Come!”
Marching to the King’s best bed chamber, Pudge flung open the cupboard
and there beside Fumbo’s worn cloak hung the only thing he had saved up
for a rainy day—a huge red umbrella.
“And must Tatters go out into Oz with only this to protect him from
danger?” wailed Mrs Sew-and-Sew, beginning to sneeze again.
“No!” declared Grampa, stamping his good foot. “I myself will accompany
him!”
“Oh, Grampa!” cried the Prince, who was too young to realize the
dangers of head hunting or the hardships of fortune finding, “may we
start at once?”
“Hush!” mumbled Pudge, holding up his finger, “I am thinking.” Blowing
out his cheeks, he stood perfectly quiet for about as long as it would
take to count ten.
“To-morrow morning will be the time to start,” said the old Wise Man.
“Let us return to the King.” Sobering a bit at the thought of his
unfortunate father, Prince Tatters followed them down stairs, but every
now and then he gave a little hop, for the idea of setting out upon such
an adventure thrilled him tremendously. When they reached the throne
room, Fumbo was leaning quietly against the post. He had evidently
become more used to the loss of his head and was busily twiddling his
thumbs.
“If we could just get him a false head till we find his own,” sighed
Grampa, thumping the King affectionately on the back, “he would look
more natural. Ah, I have it!” Plunging out into the wet garden, the old
soldier plucked a huge cabbage and hurrying back set it upon the King’s
shoulders. But no sooner had he done so than Fumbo broke the cord tying
him to the pillar, rushed to the kitchen and tried to climb into the
soup pot! Indeed, Mrs Sew-and-Sew snatched off his cabbage head just in
time to save him from this further calamity.
Panting a little from the exertion and surprise they all sat down to
think again. But by this time the news had spread into the village, and
the twenty-four rustic laborers, the Miller, and the Baker and the
Redsmith came hurrying to the castle to offer their services. They were
subjects to be proud of, let me tell you, though a little odd looking in
their patched and many colored garments. They listened in respectful
silence while Grampa told all he knew of the strange plight of King
Fumbo.
“I will make the King an iron head,” volunteered the Redsmith eagerly.
He had a forge next to the mill and did all the iron work in Ragbad.
“No, no!” protested Grampa. “Iron is too hard. Do you want Mrs
Sew-and-Sew to break her knuckles?” he finished indignantly, then dodged
behind a pillar, because it was not generally known that Mrs Sew-and-Sew
boxed the King’s ears every morning.
“I will make the King a new bun—er—head,” puffed the Baker, stepping
forward importantly, “a head as good as his own!”
“You mean a doughnut?” asked Grampa in astonishment. “Why, that would be
splendid!” Fortunately no one heard him this time and as Mrs
Sew-and-Sew was pleased with the idea the Baker hurried into the kitchen
and with several raisins, some flour, spices, milk and butter, kneaded
up and baked a head that was the image of Fumbo’s own. It had melancholy
prune eyes, red icing for hair and cinnamon whiskers. Once it had been
glued on the King’s shoulders everyone drew a deep sigh of relief and
Fumbo himself walked calmly to his throne and sat down. Promising to
bake new heads as they were needed, the Baker said good-night, and as it
was growing late the others said good-night too and marched back to the
village to repair the damage done by the storm.
But in the castle itself, there was little sleep that night. King Fumbo
never closed his prune eyes, for the Baker had given him no eyelids.
Prince Tatters, though packed off early to bed, could do nothing but
twist and turn and think of the wonderful adventures he would have
seeking his fortune. Mrs Sew-and-Sew sat up till the morning star rose
over Red Mountain, mending and piecing the few poor garments the Prince
possessed, and thinking up good advice to give him with his breakfast.
Grampa, too, had much to occupy him, oiling his gun, packing his
knapsack and polishing his sword and game leg. Many old soldiers do a
lot of talking about game legs, but Grampa had the real genuine article.
It buckled on at the knee and was an oblong red and white ivory box that
opened out like a checker board when one wanted to play. Jointed neatly
on the end of this was another red box that Grampa used for a foot, and
that contained the little red figures one used for playing. The game
itself was known as scrum and was a great favorite in Ragbad, being a
bit like checkers, a bit like parcheesi and a bit like chess.
Grampa was very proud of his game leg, for it not only served him in
place of the one he had lost in battle, but whiled away many dull hours,
and being hollow was a splendid place to store his pipe and tobacco. The
old soldier had seventy-five pipes and deciding which of these to carry
with him took longer than all his other preparations. At last even this
important matter was settled and he lay down to snatch a few hours’
sleep before morning. And morning came in almost no time, the sun rising
so bright and cheerily that even Mrs Sew-and-Sew took heart, and when
Grampa stuck his head in the kitchen door to see how breakfast was
coming she told him how she intended to refurnish the entire castle when
he returned with the King’s head and the fortune.
“Fine!” cried the old soldier, who was in excellent spirits himself.
“And if you will just sew a button on this shirt I’ll be ready to
start at once!” So while Grampa went on with the breakfast Mrs
Sew-and-Sew, who was frightfully clever with her needle, sewed a button
on the shirt. That was all Grampa needed to complete his outfit, so he
hurried up stairs to waken the Prince, and at eight o’clock precisely
the old soldier and Tatters issued forth from the palace gates.
Grampa wore the red uniform of the Ragbad Guards, with its scarlet coat
and checkered trousers and carried not only his knapsack, gun and sword,
but his trusty drum as well. Prince Tatters, over his many colored rag
suit, had flung the shaggy skin of a thread bear, and with the big
umbrella grasped firmly in one hand and a box of lunch in the other,
presented so brave and determined an appearance that the twenty-seven
good men of Ragbad, drawn up to bid them farewell, burst into loud
cheers. The children waved their hats and handkerchiefs and strewed the
path of the two heroes with the bunches of posies and ragweed they had
risen at dawn to gather. Mrs Sew-and-Sew and the King stood on the
balcony waving their arms—she waving both hers and his—for poor Fumbo,
with his dough head, had no way of knowing what the excitement was all
about and stood there without so much as blinking a prune.
“Good-bye!” choked Mrs Sew-and-Sew, steadying Fumbo with one hand and
fluttering her apron with the other. “Don’t forget your father’s head!”
“Good-bye!” shouted Pudge, leaning far out of his window in the tower
to wave his red night cap. Pudge never rose till ten.
Grampa touched his cap, Prince Tatters waved his umbrella, and having
taken the patched flag of Ragbad from Scroggles, who had accompanied
them thus far, they wheeled sharply to the left and marched down the
broad red highway that led straight out into other and dangerous lands
of Oz!