THE HUMAN OCTOPUS STARTS UPON A MISSION
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Across the minor sea whose blue, sparkling waters kissed the fair shores
of Queen Titania's fairy kingdom, about a hundred leagues as flies the
crow, there was another country where lived the notorious enchanter
Dragonfel.
A fairy messenger on a winged steed had conveyed information that
Dragonfel intended to make trouble. But this was nothing new for
Dragonfel.
As a matter of fact, he was always trying to make trouble for everybody.
Trouble was his specialty.
Dragonfel was not a nice man, and, if you had known him, you would not
have liked him. He cheated when he played croquet, and he was always
claiming wickets that he never made. He did not go to Sunday School,
either. If he had gone, he would not have put a penny in the plate for
the heathen. That was the kind of man he was.
Yet he was the possessor of fabulous riches, and he never would have
missed what he might have given away had he been charitably inclined,
which he was not in the least.
No one else in the whole world was as wealthy as he. He owned a
combination mine in which were diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds,
and other precious gems galore, some of them as big as cobblestones.
[Illustration]
It may be said with safety that Dragonfel was inclined to have his own
way, and carry out his own ideas. He was very rich, and had money to
burn. When in the mood of celebrating some great event, such as the
Burial of Good Intentions, or the Failure in Eden, instead of climbing
on some rock to set off firecrackers, burn Roman candles, or discharge
toy cannon, he delighted in burning Bank Bonds, Legal Tenders, or
Government Securities of large denominations, until the ashes of them
were declared a nuisance by his Board of Health, and with reluctance he
would discontinue his celebration.
As is usual in all such great operations there were panics at times,
through alarms of fire, explosions, or escaping gas, when everybody
tried to get out at once and but few could escape.
One day it would be the danger of being smothered, the next of being
roasted, the third of a cave-in where all would be buried alive, and so
from hour to hour fear was in the way.
[Illustration: Distress in the Mine.]
There were mine-sprites whom he kept steadily at work, without regard
for Union hours, digging the gems out with their fingers.
The poor mine-sprites were greatly over-worked, and not the least regard
was paid to life or limb. The hours were long as they struggled at
the wheelbarrows or mine-carts, either pushing or pulling, with their
unreasonable loads piled high in the air, and with gems that in the
market would have brought enough to pay the debt of a Principality
slipping off, and rolling in the dust.
[Illustration]
The palace of Dragonfel was a sight, and it would have made your eyes
blink to see it. It was constructed entirely of diamonds, rubies, and
emeralds all stuck together with cement. There were no opals, because
Dragonfel thought they were unlucky. If you could have pried off any one
of them you would have had enough to keep you in the greatest luxury all
your life. The famous Kohinoor was but a grain of sand compared to any
of them.
Back of the palace, and casting a frowning shadow over it, was a single
towering mountain whose top was an extinct volcano. No one could recall
the exact date of its last eruption, for Dragonfel stubbornly insisted
upon running his business without an almanac. There were those
scientifically inclined who leaned to the theory that the volcano had
been the cause of all the gems in Dragonfel's mine.
[Illustration]
Though it must have been a very long time since the volcano had
celebrated with home-made fireworks, the enchanter had always
anticipated a further display, so he had taken the precaution to buy
an old-fashioned fire-engine which was installed conveniently at hand
in a building over whose doors was the caption: NEPTUNE HOOK AND
LADDER CO. NO 1. In the building were plenty of rubber coats, boots,
and red helmets. Everything was ready for an emergency.
There were some who declared that Dragonfel had some business connection
with Beelzebub, but, whether this was true or not, he had the bad taste
to get himself up after the authentic portraits of that disreputable
person. He was very tall indeed, with almost a scarlet countenance,
and he wore a long, flowing cloak that was a perfect match for his
complexion. He kept his hair rather long, and brushed it stiffly up, to
convey the impression that he had a natural horn.
[Illustration]
He boasted a host of followers, all big, hulking black-guards of
giant-like stature, with repulsive names such as Boundingbore, Mandrake,
Wolfinger, Grouthead, Snoutpimple, and the like, and whenever they did
something mean he rewarded them. The consequence was that they were
trying to do mean things all the time.
They were in charge of the mine, and the way they treated the poor
mine-sprites was awful. It was a good thing for them that the officers
of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children were unable to
get around.
So on a certain day, following his usual custom, Dragonfel was making an
inspection of the mine. He had descended through a secret passage, and
walked about the dark chambers lit here and there by gloomy flares of
light.
[Illustration]
Guarded by the enchanter's cruel followers, the mine-sprites, poor
little, emaciated, witch-like creatures in tattered clothes, were
digging away with their raw, bruised fingers at the sides of earth and
exhuming precious stones. They were not allowed to use picks, for that
would have made the work easy.
Diamonds, rubies, pearls, amethysts, emeralds, and other gems, every
one of them worth a king's ransom, lay piled about carelessly in heaps.
The opals when they were discovered were thrown away. Sprites kept
staggering off with heavy loads in wheelbarrows.
Dragonfel surveyed the work with great satisfaction, and asked Grouthead
who was in general charge:
"When were they fed last?"
"Three days ago, kind master!"
Everyone called him "kind master," though whether this was in sarcasm or
not no one knew.
"See that they don't get anything to eat before the full week is up,"
ordered Dragonfel. "And that reminds me of my own dinner. Boundingbore,
tell the cook I want turtle soup, spiced venison pastries, apple
dumplings, strawberry shortcake, and iced lemonade with plenty of
crushed raspberries in it."
The mouths of the poor little mine-sprites watered, and they smacked
their lips, but Grouthead snapped his long snake-whip so that it sounded
like a pistol-shot, and they frantically continued digging away in the
earth with their fingers.
Boundingbore flew to do Dragonfel's bidding, and Snoutpimple observed,
rather timidly:
"The air down here is very bad, kind master!"
"That's good," said Dragonfel, with hearty unction. "It might make me
ill if I were obliged to remain, so as I have a proper regard for my
health I think I will get right out into the open."
Attended by Mandrake, Snoutpimple, Wolfinger, and some of the rest, he
went on his way, while Grouthead snapped his whip to incite the
frightened, gasping, exhausted mine-sprites to further effort.
[Illustration: HELPLESSNESS IN THE MINE.]
When he came up out of the shaft Dragonfel gave a deep breath of relief
as his nostrils sucked in the bracing air that had a salt tang of the
sea in it. Out in the harbor there tossed a galleon on the lazy swell--a
craft built low amid-ship, and with both bow and stern curving high into
the air.
Dragonfel gazed off at it with interest, and remarked:
"It may come in handy soon if these Brownies and fairies continue
longer. They are getting altogether too good, and must be stopped. But
let us go back to the palace to see if anything has happened in our
absence."
Nothing else was to be seen on the wide water to draw his attention,
except some mermaids who were above the waves, engaged in combing their
hair, who, to most people, are very interesting.
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A little bird with very acute hearing listened intently to his words
as it lightly balanced on the twig of a gumdrop tree, and then flew
straight across the sea to tell a fairy, who told the other fairies.
Dragonfel with his big, clumsy, lumbering cohorts strode on to the
palace that was guarded by a Demon Usher--a queer, comical-looking chap
who with his wings much resembled a human grasshopper, and who half
flew, half walked.
He had thin little wisps of hair sticking out from each side of his
nose, like the scanty whiskers of a cat.
The Demon Usher with hops and jumps escorted him to a magnificent
throne, and grovelled with smirks before him, while Dragonfel with what
he thought to be the quintessence of grace sank upon it, and then
arranged himself in what he imagined was a kingly posture.
"Well," he gruffly said, "has anyone been here since I've been gone?"
"No, kind master!" the Demon Usher hastened to assure him. "No one has
been here since the band and you remember them."
"Ah, that band!" repeated Dragonfel, with a shudder. "I can't get their
notes out of my ears yet. But what have we here?"
[Illustration]
A huge creature resembling an octopus, with great, staring eyes popping
from his head, and hundreds of fuzzy tentacles protruding in all
directions from his grotesque body, came crawling toward him.
Straightway Dragonfel sprang up from the throne, while Wolfinger,
Mandrake, Boundingbore, and Snoutpimple, who had assumed respectful
positions at his sides, drew back in alarm.
But the Demon Usher gave a cackle of a laugh, and gleefully rubbed his
hands together as though he were washing them with invisible soap.
"Have no fear, kind master!" said a thin, piping voice from somewhere
within the horrid creature's hulk. "Is not this a pretty disguise?"
"The Red Spirit, as I live!" cried Dragonfel, in a tone of admiration
not unmixed with relief. "You rascal, why have you chosen this
masquerade?"
"But is it not a clever one?" persisted the Red Spirit. "See, kind
master, I can either compress or expand myself at will."
As he spoke he shrank to practical insignificance, and then almost
immediately afterward swelled out until it seemed that he would burst.
"Capital!" said Dragonfel encouragingly. "You can be of great assistance
to me. I have a mean task for you to do."
"The meaner the better, kind master!"
Dragonfel raised his arm, and pointed toward a window that gave a vista
of the far-off, smiling sea.
"Go, Human Octopus," he commanded, "and spy upon the Brownies and
fairies!" Without another word the hideous object started to crawl off
by means of his myriad tentacles, and all who were present watched his
convulsive, eccentric movements with malicious satisfaction.
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