Dorothy Meets a New Celebrity
Dorothy had been to see the Tin Woodman and now, with Toto, her small
shaggy dog, running at her side, was skipping merrily down one of the
wide Winkie Lanes.
“I think Nick Chopper looks very well, don’t you Toto?” said Dorothy,
tickling his ear with a long feathery weed.
“Woof!” barked Toto reproachfully. Toto—like all other dogs in Oz—could
talk if he wanted to, but Toto, being originally from Kansas, preferred
his own language. Just then, seeing a lively baconfly, Toto gave another
bark and dashed across a daisy field. Away fluttered the baconfly, and
you have no idea how fast these little rascals can flutter, and away,
his ears flapping with excitement, pounded Toto, and away after Toto ran
Dorothy, for she was always in fear of losing her reckless little pet.
Up and down, here and there, ’round and ’round, darted the mischievous
baconfly, until Toto’s tongue hung out and he simply panted with
exhaustion. Then with a spiteful sputter, the baconfly disappeared under
a rhinestone, and after scratching and whining and even growling a
little, Toto gave up the chase and trotted rather sheepishly back to
Dorothy.
“That was really too bad of you Toto,” panted the little girl
reprovingly. “You wouldn’t eat a poor little baconfly, would you?”
“Woof, gr-rr woof!” sulked Toto, which was Kansas for “You _bet_ I
would!” Pretending not to understand this last remark, Dorothy fanned
herself with her broad straw hat and started slowly back toward the
lane. But the baconfly had led them such a roundabout chase that when
she did come to the lane she turned in exactly the opposite direction
from the way she had intended, and instead of walking toward the Emerald
City she began walking away from it. But as neither she nor Toto was
aware of this fact, they progressed most cheerfully, Dorothy carrying on
a one-sided conversation with the saucy little bow-wow. Occasionally
Toto would bark or wag his tail, but most of the time he listened in
superior silence to the little girl’s chatter of the fun they had had in
Nick Chopper’s tin castle.
Now how Nick Chopper came to have a castle is a story in itself, for
Nick has, in the course of his strange and interesting life, risen from
a wood-chopper to Emperor of all the Winkies and from an ordinary blood
and bone man to a real celebrity of tin. Yes, Nick is entirely a man of
tin, as you can see by referring to any of the histories of Oz. In these
same histories it is recorded how a wicked witch enchanted Nick’s ax, so
that first it cut off his legs, then his arms and finally his body and
head. But you cannot kill a good Ozman like Nick Chopper and after each
accident he hied him to a tin-smith for repairs. First the tin-smith
made him tin legs, then tin arms, next a tin body and at last a tin
head, so that he was completely a man of tin. And this same little
Dorothy, on her first trip to Oz, had discovered the Tin Woodman,
rusting in a forest, had oiled up his joints and taken him to the
Emerald City itself. There the Wizard of Oz had given him a warm, red
plush heart, which he still has and since then Nick has been in almost
every important adventure that has happened in the wonderful Land of Oz.
Ozma, the little fairy ruler of Oz, finding Nick so dependable and so
unusual, has made him Emperor of the East, and the loyal little Winkies
have built him a splendid tin castle in the center of their pleasant
yellow country.
Dorothy herself was first blown to Oz in a Kansas cyclone and after a
great many visits to this delightful country, determined to stay for
good. Ozma, with the help of her magic belt, transported Dorothy and
Uncle Henry and Aunt Em and Toto to the Land of Oz. Uncle Henry and Aunt
Em have a comfortable little farm just outside of the Emerald City, but
Dorothy and Toto have a cunning apartment in the Emerald Palace itself,
for Ozma cannot bear to have Dorothy far away. The two girls—for Ozma
herself is only a little girl fairy—have been through so many adventures
together that they are almost inseparable, and to show her love and
affection for this little girl from the United States Ozma has made
Dorothy a Royal Princess of Oz.
But through all her honors and adventures Dorothy has remained the same
jolly little girl she was in Kansas. Every now and then she puts aside
her silk court frocks, slips into an old gingham dress and steals off
for a visit to some of her friends in the country.
“We’ll soon be at the Scarecrow’s, Toto; shall you like that?” she
asked, after skipping along for five whole minutes without speaking.
“Perhaps he’ll have corn muffins and honey and—Whatever’s that?”
“Little girl! Little girl!” A voice came echoing high and clear down
the sunlit lane. Toto pricked up his ears, and Dorothy, shading her
eyes, turned in the direction of the voice. Running toward her was a
young man clothed all in buff—an extremely excited and agitated young
man—and by the time he reached Dorothy and Toto he was perfectly
breathless.
“Well—” began Dorothy, hardly knowing what else to say.
“Not very well, thank you,” puffed the young man, slapping at his face
with a yellow silk handkerchief. On closer inspection Dorothy saw that
his handsome suit was torn and muddied and the young man himself
exceedingly scratched and weary.
“I am most unhappy,” he continued, regarding her mournfully. “At least,
when I can remember to be. It is hard to be unhappy in a lovely country
like this.”
“Then why do you try to remember to be?” asked Dorothy with a little
laugh, while Toto made a playful dash at the stranger’s heels.
“A great deal depends on my remembering,” explained the young man
eagerly. “If I forget to be unhappy I may forget why I fell down the
mountain and why I am wandering in this strange country without friends
or food.”
“Well, why are you?” Dorothy could control her curiosity no longer.
“I am seeking a Princess,” replied the youth solemnly.
“A Princess! Well, will I do?” Dorothy smiled mischievously and while
the stranger stared at her, round-eyed, she made him her prettiest court
bow. The result was extremely funny. The Forgetful Poet—for of course
you have guessed all along that it was he—extended his arms toward Toto
and cried accusingly:
“I looked the maiden in the eye,
I looked her up and down,
She says she is a Princess,
But, she hasn’t any—any—?”
Toto barked indignantly at this limping poetry.
“I suppose you mean crown,” giggled Dorothy. “Yes I have too, but it’s
at home, in Ozma’s castle.”
“The crown is in the castle,
The castle’s in the town;
The town is in the land of Oz,
But how about her—her—”
He stared helplessly at Dorothy’s gingham dress and, with another little
scream of laughter, Dorothy finished his verse. “Gown!” spluttered the
little girl. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Pretty often,” admitted Percy Vere apologetically. “You see, I am a
poet. And I know who you are now. You’re Princess Dorothy herself!” He
smiled so charmingly as he said this that Dorothy could not help smiling
back.
“I’ve read all about you in Peer Haps’ history books,” confided Percy
triumphantly. “Shall I address you as Princess?” As he asked this
question the troubled expression returned to his eyes. “You haven’t seen
a Princess anywhere around here have you?” he added anxiously. Dorothy
shook her head and Toto began sniffing under all the bushes as if he
expected to find a Princess in any one of them.
“A little Princess,
Passing fair,
With rosy cheeks
And yellow—yellow—”
“Hair,” put in Dorothy quickly. “Who is she? Who are you and how did she
get lost? Let’s sit down and then you can tell me all about it.”
“He’s exactly like a puzzle,” thought Dorothy, with an amused little
sniff. So Percy Vere sat down beside her under a spreading jelly tree
and as quickly as he could he told of the strange happenings in Perhaps
City, of the prophecy about the monster, of the strange conduct of old
Abrog, the Prophet, and finally of the disappearance of both the
Princess and the Prophet.
Percy himself had fallen down the steep craggy sides of Maybe Mountain,
arriving in a scratched and bruised heap at the bottom. All morning he
had been wandering through the fields and lanes of the Winkle land and
Dorothy was the first person he had encountered.
“Well, I think you were just splendid,” breathed the little girl, as the
Forgetful Poet finished his story. Percy had tried to gloss over the
young men’s refusal to go in search of the Princess, but Dorothy had
guessed quite correctly what had happened.
“I’ll bet that old prophet carried her off himself,” she declared
positively.
“I think so two,
I think so three,
I think so four,
Where can they—?”
Percy mopped his brow and looked appealingly at the little girl.
“Be,” supplied Dorothy obligingly. “I’m sure I don’t know, but we can
soon find out. You just come to the Emerald City with me and we’ll look
in Ozma’s magic picture.”
“Why you are wise
As you are pretty;
Let’s hasten to
The Emerald City!”
Smiling all over because he had actually finished his own verse, the
Forgetful Poet helped Dorothy to her feet and both started gaily down
the lane, Dorothy telling the poet all about the interesting folk in the
capitol and Percy Vere telling Dorothy all about the City of Gold on
Maybe Mountain. Dorothy’s idea of looking in Ozma’s picture, like all of
her other ideas, was a mighty good one, for this picture has a magical
power enabling a person to see whomever he wishes, so that one look
would disclose the whereabouts of the lost Princess of Perhaps City. But
at every step, they were putting a longer distance between themselves
and that look. For at every step, thanks to that little baconfly, they
were going farther and farther away from the Emerald City of Oz.
They had eaten the lunch the Tin Woodman had thoughtfully put up for
Dorothy, and now, as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, the little
girl looked anxiously ahead for familiar landmarks. But instead the
lane—which should have led straight to the Scarecrow’s tower, which is
halfway between the Tin Woodman’s Palace and the Emerald City—the lane
suddenly came to a stop in a scraggly little woods.
“That’s funny!” mused Dorothy, looking around in surprise.
“Are we lost?” asked Percy, leaning wearily against a tree.
“Hello! Hello, why here’s a sign
Tacked up upon this prickly—prickly—”
Without bothering to finish the verse, Dorothy hurried over to the pine.
“Look out for the Runaway,” advised the sign, in large red letters.
“Runaway!” cried Dorothy, snatching Toto up in her arms. “Good
gracious! I wonder what kind of a runaway it is?” They were not long
left in doubt, for while Percy was still staring nervously all ’round,
there came a hiss and a snap and ’round a big rock shot the runaway
itself, scooping up the two travellers before they had time to even wink
a single eyelash.
“This is p-perfectly preposterous,” blustered the Forgetful Poet. Both
he and Dorothy were sitting in the middle of the runaway and Percy Vere
hastily slipped his arm around the little girl to keep her from falling
off. The runaway road itself was humping along like some dreadful sort
of serpent, jouncing and bouncing them so terribly that talking was
almost impossible.
“Wonder where it’s running!” gasped Dorothy, hugging Toto so tight he
began to growl a little. From somewhere ahead a gritty voice answered
her.
“I’m running straight to a pepper mine,” roared the runaway, “and you’ll
make a handsome pair of pepper diggers.”
“P-pepper diggers!” groaned Percy Vere.
“Pepper diggers, not that please,
The very idea makes me, makes me—”
“Ha-ha-ka kachoo,” sneezed Percy miserably.
“Pepper doesn’t grow in mines. It’s a plant,” shouted Dorothy
indignantly.
“Well, this pepper mine of mine was planted,” replied the road, twisting
’round to stare at Dorothy with its stony eyes. Neither Dorothy nor the
Forgetful Poet answered this time, for the bumping and bouncing had
grown so much worse that it was all they could do to hold on to each
other and keep from biting their tongues off. Nothing like this had ever
happened to the Forgetful Poet before. He was simply stunned. But
Dorothy had been in so many strange adventures and had had so many odd
experiences in the land of Oz, that she was already planning to outwit
the runaway.
“It wouldn’t be safe to jump off,” thought the little girl, “for we’d
probably be broken to bits, but—” Her eyes travelled upward to the trees
and bushes that were flashing past as the runaway flung itself
recklessly through the forest—“If we caught hold of a low branch the old
road would go on without us,” she reflected triumphantly.
As well as she could, for bumps and bounces, she whispered her plan to
Percy Vere. He nodded enthusiastically and transferred Toto to his
blouse, so that Dorothy would have both hands free. Then, when a huge
tree loomed up ahead, they both began to count, and as its branches
stretched over the runaway, they hurled themselves upward and held on
for dear life. Beneath slithered the road and not until the last yellow
length of it had flashed by did Dorothy and Percy Vere let go. Percy
dropped to the ground first, gently lifted Dorothy down, and took the
frightened, wiggling little Toto out of his blouse.
“Whew!” breathed Dorothy, leaning dizzily against Percy, “that’s the
worst ride I’ve had for a long time. Wonder where we are?”
“Do—we—do—this—often?” panted the Forgetful Poet, looking at Dorothy
with round eyes. “I’m perfectly pulverized!”
“Well, I never met a runaway before,” confessed Dorothy, “but you never
can tell what’s going to happen in Oz, so first thing we’d better do is
to find out where we are!”
“We’re in a forest dark and deep,
I hope the bears are all—are all—”
“Asleep! So do I!” sighed Dorothy, and began tip-toeing along under the
great lonesome trees, Toto keeping close at her side and Percy Vere
treading softly behind her.