music and dancing, and after he had stolen the Dancing Pearl he just
used to sit and bang the cymbals while he smoked his water pipe and
watched the Dancing Pearl dance until it made his eyes swim. And he
never gave a thought to the way the Viceroy must feel at being deprived
of his dancing girl. But if the Hermit did not dwell upon the matter,
the Viceroy did, and the minute he found the Dancing Pearl was gone,
he went to see the celebrated Mongolian wizard, Hoo Hoo, who had his
office on the main street of Chow Chow.
But when he entered the wizard's office he was much disappointed to
find that the wizard had just gotten married and that his wife would
not let him take any case which had a lady in it.
"I'm awfully sorry," said the wizard to the Viceroy, "but as you are a
married man yourself, you can easily understand my position."
"Of course, of course," replied the Viceroy, impatiently, "but that
does not get me back my dancing girl, and I must have her back. There
is no one like her. She is the poetry of motion and the soul of
ecstasy. I'll give half my fortune to get her back."
"Well, in that case," said Hoo Hoo, "I'll have to take the job, for
the half of your fortune added to mine will make me a very rich man.
But I can only do the work by proxy--that is, my apprentice will have
to do it under my direction--for I positively will not hurt my wife's
feelings, not even for the half of your fortune."
Then he struck a gong and into the room walked a bright looking boy
about eight years old with his pigtail neatly curled about his head.
[Illustration: Floo the wizard at work.]
"This," said the wizard, "is my apprentice, Floo. I'll put him on the
case."
"Not much," exclaimed the Viceroy. "Why, he is only a boy. You seem to
think this affair of mine is mere child's play."
"Oh, no, I don't," said the wizard, "and if you think Floo is a child,
you are very much mistaken. He has been taught his trade very, very
carefully. Why, he can even tell how many hairs there are in your
pigtail. Tell him, Floo."
And Floo, after examining the Viceroy's pigtail for a few moments, told
him there were 3,672,491 hairs in it.
"There," said the wizard, proudly, "what do you think of that?"
"But," said the Viceroy, "how do I know he's right?"
"Well," responded the wizard, "how do you know he's wrong? Have you
ever counted the hairs in your pigtail, eh?"
"N--o," said the Viceroy, slowly, "but--"
"Then," said the wizard, "the less said the better."
So Floo was picked out to solve the mystery of the disappearance of
the Dancing Pearl, and the first thing the wizard did was to give him
a list of people in Chow Chow that might have carried off the dancing
girl.
"To save time," he said, "you'd better turn 'em all into turnips at
once, and then tell 'em you'll turn 'em back again if they'll confess
their crime."
But after Floo had turned all the people into turnips and told them
he would turn them back if they confessed, he found that every one of
them confessed without a moment's hesitation, which made things very
confusing, for when you transform a thousand persons and each one says
he stole a dancing girl when only one dancing girl was stolen, you do
not know what to think. So the wizard told Floo he had better give up
that line of investigation.
"Now," continued the wizard, "the next thing is to know what to do?
What do you think?"
"Well," said Floo, "I believe it would be a good plan to pick out the
person you think would never do such a thing as steal a dancing girl
and go after him. And after you find him you'll probably find he did
it. That is the way it always happens in the story books I've read."
"All right," said Hoo Hoo, "suppose we try it. But it's going to be a
tough job, I'm afraid."
And indeed it was, for Floo and the wizard thought and thought until
their heads ached trying to recall a person in Chow Chow who would not
care to steal the Viceroy's dancing girl, but at last Floo gave a shout.
"I have it," he cried. "I know of one person nobody would ever suspect,
and that is the Hermit of Hong. He hates everybody--ladies most of
all--and the only thing he enjoys is being by himself. So if the story
books are right he must be the one who carried off the Dancing Pearl.
I think I'll go to see him."
"Go ahead, then," said the wizard. Then he handed Floo a book bound in
leather. "Here," he said, "are a few simple instructions how to turn
things into other things. I would suggest that you turn the Hermit into
a lemon if you find it necessary. Good-by and good luck!"
So Floo set off for the Hermit's cave and when he got there he found,
as you already know, that the Hermit of Hong _had_ stolen the Dancing
Pearl, and was enjoying himself immensely as he watched her whirl about.
[Illustration: He watched her whirl about]
"Sir," demanded Floo, sternly, "what do you mean by such behavior? I
thought you were a hermit. And besides, don't you know that the Dancing
Pearl belongs to the Viceroy of Chow Chow?"
The Hermit of Hong laughed scornfully as he put down his cymbals and
laid aside his pipe. "Belongs to the Viceroy of Chow Chow? You mean,
_did_ belong to the Viceroy of Chow Chow. She belongs to me now. And
as for you, whoever you are, get out of my cave before I throw a toad
at you." Then he clashed his cymbals again and the Dancing Pearl went
on with her dancing.
Now you may think that Floo would have been discouraged to meet with
such a reception, but such was not the case, for he had not been
trained by the celebrated Mongolian wizard for nothing. No sir-ee, it
took much more than that to discourage him. So all he did was to take
out his book of instructions and look it over. Then he put some figures
down on a piece of paper, after which he wiggled his fingers a moment
and stamped his foot, and the Hermit of Hong was transformed into a
large and very yellow looking lemon. And the moment that happened the
Dancing Pearl stopped dancing and rushed up to Floo with a cry of joy.
"Oh," she panted, all out of breath from her late exertions. "I'm _so_
glad you came. I'm completely worn out."
"I should think so," said Floo. "Have you been dancing ever since that
old thing carried you off?"
"Yes," said the Dancing Pearl; "not even stopping for meals."
"Well," said Floo, "just you rest yourself and then we'll start back to
the Viceroy's palace."
Then he told the Dancing Pearl who he was and why Hoo Hoo had sent him.
"Of course," he continued, "the wizard will make much more money than
I will out of this job, but I think I'll get my salary raised anyhow.
And if I keep on being successful as I have been this time, I shouldn't
be surprised if I made a big enough salary after awhile to get married.
And if I ever get married I know who I'd like to marry."
And when he said that the Dancing Pearl hung her head and turned very
pink. "Oh," she murmured, "I'm much too old for you. I'm almost twelve."
"What of it?" cried Floo, "I'm going on nine."
So the Dancing Pearl and the wizard's apprentice decided to get married
as soon as Floo made enough money to support them, and they were so
taken up with their planning that they quite forgot the Hermit of
Hong who had been turned into a lemon. But if they had forgotten about
the Hermit, the Hermit had not forgotten about himself, and the minute
Floo turned him into a lemon he began to turn himself into something
else. Of course what he would have liked to do best would have been to
turn himself back into a hermit, but when you have been transformed
into something, you cannot turn yourself back into what you were first
unless you have attended a college of magic. And as luck would have it,
the Hermit of Hong had never been to college, and what little magic he
knew he had picked up himself. Therefore, the only thing he could do
was to turn himself into something worse than what he was. And as long
as he could not be the Hermit of Hong and have the Dancing Pearl dance
for him, he decided he might as well get even by being transformed
into something that would stand in the way of Floo having the Dancing
Pearl, so he turned himself into a monstrous Grammarsaurus or ancient
Iff, for he knew if anything could stand in the way of a person doing
something he wanted to, an Iff could, because an Iff not only stood in
the way but it had the most disconcerting eyes. Yes, indeed, its eyes
made you so dizzy after you had gazed into them a moment you fell down
in a heap, whereupon the Grammarsaurus devoured you eagerly. But if
you did not look into the creature's eyes you were all right, for the
Grammarsaurus could not eat anything unless it was perfectly still.
You see he had to keep his eyes shut while he was eating, because if
he looked at what he was eating it went around and around, and it is
awfully hard to make a meal of anything that is going around and around.
But of course Floo and the Dancing Pearl knew nothing about ancient
Iffs and their habits. All they knew was that they adored each other
and wanted to get married, and when the Hermit turned himself from a
lemon into an immense creature that half filled the cavern, you may be
sure they were very much startled.
"Oh," cried the Dancing Pearl, as the Grammarsaurus gave a snort that
made the cave tremble, "what's that?"
"What's what?" asked Floo, turning about. And then when _he_ saw the
ancient Iff you can well believe he said "oh" also.
"My gracious," he gasped, "how did that thing get in here? And--and
where is the lemon I made out of the Hermit?"
"That," said the Grammarsaurus, icily, "is a mystery that I can easily
solve. I am the hermit, likewise the lemon, and also something else
beside as you may observe."
"I should say you were," said the Dancing Pearl. "I never saw such a
monster."
And then as she looked into the creature's eyes she felt a slight
dizziness coming over her and found herself swaying, but as she was a
dancer and accustomed to whirling about, the feeling passed off in a
moment and she was as well as ever.
"Huh!" said the ancient Iff disgustedly, "why don't you turn giddy and
fall down in a heap so I can eat you? Everybody does that when they
look into my eyes."
"Maybe they do," replied the Dancing Pearl, "but I don't. I'm too
accustomed to whirling about to get dizzy so easy, so you'll have to
make a meal of something else."
"All right," growled the monster, glaring at Floo, "then I'll eat your
gentleman friend."
"Well, I guess not," said Floo. "_I_ don't intend to look into your
ugly old eyes, no sir-ee."
"Oh, don't you?" said the ancient Iff. "Indeed!" And with that he began
to sing in a voice like a dozen bass drums:
In days of old when knights were bold
And dragons held their sway,
The knights all fought as warriors ought
To end the dragons' day.
And though the dragons spouted flame
The knights they whipped 'em just the same.
But in the days before the craze
For killing dragons flourished,
There were no tiffs with ancient Iffs
For Iffs were too well nourished.
And though some might ignore their size,
None could ignore their goo-goo eyes.
So have a care--likewise beware,
And look at me just so--
You have no chance! My flashing glance
Will follow where you go.
Gaze in my eyes--get busy,
And let yourself grow dizzy.
As the Grammarsaurus sang the last verse, Floo, to his horror, found
himself looking into the monster's glaring eyes, and the minute he did
that he began to feel giddier and giddier.
"Phew!" he cried, "I--I--I feel so wobbly I can hardly keep my feet."
"Ha, ha," chuckled the ancient Iff, "of course you do. And presently
you'll feel even more wobbly, and then--"
He turned to the Dancing Pearl. "Here," he remarked, "is where I eat
your gentleman friend as I said I would. I guess you wish now he hadn't
tried to take you from me when I was a hermit, don't you?"
"Indeed I do not," retorted the Dancing Pearl, "for I am not going
to let you eat my gentleman friend. Your eyes may make him dizzy but
unless he falls in a heap you cannot eat him. And as I never get giddy
I shall hold him up."
And with that she put her arm about Floo's neck and drew his arm about
her waist, and though his legs were very, very unsteady she managed to
keep him from falling while the Grammarsaurus walked about smacking his
lips enviously.
"Now look here," he said to the Dancing Pearl, "you seem to forget this
is a private matter between your gentleman friend and myself, and I
cannot see why you mix in it, I really cannot."
"Well, maybe you can't," replied the Dancing Pearl, "but I can. So you
might as well shoo yourself away."
Then because the ancient Iff's song had so enchanted Floo he could not
even close his eyes but simply _had_ to keep on looking at the monster,
she threw her beautiful hand-embroidered handkerchief over his face,
and presently the effect of the Grammarsaurus's stare passed away and
Floo felt much better.
"Now," said the Dancing Pearl, "if I were you I'd look in my book
of instructions and turn this nasty old thing into something less
dangerous."
Floo groaned. "I can't," he replied. "This book only tells how to
transform a person or a thing _once_. You see, Hoo Hoo did not think I
would have to do it more than once."
"But," said the Dancing Pearl, "I don't see why you cannot transform
this Grammarsaurus. You never transformed him before."
"Yes, I did," responded Floo. "I turned the Hermit into a lemon, and
this monster is only a continuation of the lemon. In other words, the
Hermit was first a lemon and now he's a Grammarsaurus, and the book
doesn't tell how to transform him again."
Well, you may be sure this tickled the ancient Iff very much. As Floo
and the Dancing Pearl conversed he had been listening with all his
might, and when he heard Floo confess that he did not know how to
transform the monster into anything else the ancient Iff gave a loud
cheer and capered about gleefully.
"My, my," he exclaimed, "but I have got you two in a fix. I may not be
able to make you so dizzy you'll fall down and I can eat you, but that
is no reason why I cannot scrouge you so I'll be able to gobble you up
after a while."
And with that he began to crowd them against the walls of the cave
something awful. It was just like having a house trying to walk over
you, and Floo and the Dancing Pearl had to step lively to keep out of
the monster's way.
"If we can only get outside," panted Floo, "I believe I can fix him,
for I've thought of a plan."
"All right," said the Dancing Pearl, "I'll run to the back of the cave
and when he comes after me you run outside and before he can squash me
I'll join you."
"But," said Floo, "are you quite sure you can do it?"
"Yes, indeed," replied the girl. "I'm as light as a feather on my
feet. I haven't been a dancer for nothing."
And sure enough, when the Grammarsaurus, puffing and snorting, tried
to scrouge her to nothing at the rear of the cave, she sprang swiftly
aside, and in a moment was beside Floo outside the entrance. And then,
just as the furious creature was galloping toward the door of the
cavern to try to crush them outside, Floo, looking in his book, wiggled
his fingers and repeated hastily:
Cave, bar the monster's rage--
Four, three, two, one.
Cave, turn into a cage--
Do, do it, doing, done.
Then he stamped his foot, and bing--instead of a rocky cave there stood
before them a fine, big, iron cage, strong enough to hold anything, and
inside of it was the Grammarsaurus.
"Oh," cried the Dancing Pearl, "what a delightful idea!"
"Yes," said Floo, "I just happened to think that even if I couldn't
transform the Grammarsaurus there was no reason why I could not
transform the cave. So I did."
"Yes," put in the Grammarsaurus, "I see you did." And after that he
would not say another word, but sat and sat, and chewed his tail in
vexation.
"Now," said Floo, "let's start for the Viceroy's palace."
So off they went, and when they got there the Viceroy of Chow Chow was
beside himself with joy.
"Welcome, poetry of motion and soul of ecstasy!" he cried, swinging the
Dancing Pearl high in the air.
And then when he learned how Floo had rescued her and how he wanted to
marry her, the Viceroy said he had no objection whatever, provided Floo
would let his wife dance at the palace whenever the Viceroy wanted her
to. And as for the Grammarsaurus, he would be glad to buy the creature,
cage and all, to put in the private zoo he had.
So the Grammarsaurus was brought to Chow Chow and placed on
exhibition, and Floo and the Dancing Pearl lived happily ever
afterwards on the generous sum that the Viceroy paid for him.
THE INHERITED PRINCESS
Once there was a little boy named Ting who, as this story opens, was
just celebrating his eighth birthday. And you may be sure it was a
pretty fine birthday celebration because Ting was the Crown Prince of
Pouf and heir to the throne.
"Now, Ting," said his father the King, as they stood at the palace
window watching the magnificent parade given in the Prince's honor,
"I have another surprise for you. I am going to give you a chance to
prove your princely courage by rescuing the Inherited Princess from the
enchanted castle."
Then he told Ting that hundreds and hundreds of years ago, this
Princess, who was just about Ting's age and quite beautiful, had
been carried off by her uncle, a celebrated scoundrel with a magical
education, and shut up in an enchanted castle with a twenty-headed
Gallopus to guard her.
"My," said the Prince, "she must be quite an old lady by this time."
"No, indeed," said the King, "she is just as young as ever. One never
grows old in an enchanted castle. But if _she_ didn't grow old the
wicked uncle did, so much so that he finally died of it. Then as no
one had ever found a way to rescue the Princess, and as her uncle
had stated in his will that she was not to be set free until she
was rescued, the heirs of the wicked uncle had to let things go on
as they were, so the Princess still remains in the castle with the
twenty-headed Gallopus on guard."
"But," said Ting, "doesn't a Gallopus ever grow old?"
"Not that I ever heard of," replied the King, "or at least this one
does not, for he still sits in the same spot in the castle yard as he
did before I was born."
"Phew!" exclaimed Ting, "he must be a terrible creature."
"Well," said the monarch, "he isn't a thing to be trifled with. And
that is the reason I think it would be fine for you to celebrate your
birthday by fighting him and setting the Princess free. Don't you?"
"H'mm," murmured the Prince, "I don't know. I can think of other things
I would much rather do."
"Why, I am surprised," said the King. "I should think you'd be _glad_
of the chance. I only wish some one had suggested the idea on _my_
eighth birthday. Just think how famous you'll be if you conquer the
twenty-headed Gallopus."
"Yes," said Ting, "but just think how I'll be if I don't."
"Pooh! Pooh!" remarked the Prime Minister, who sat on the other side
of Ting, "that's no way for a prince to talk, especially as we've
announced to the public that you are about to rescue the Inherited
Princess from the enchanted castle."
"Yes," said the King, "and every one is talking about it, so you can't
back out unless you wish to disgrace me."
[Illustration: The minute the parade was over he started off.]
And of course, as Ting had no desire to bring disgrace upon his family,
he saw he would have to fight the twenty-headed Gallopus whether he
liked it or not, though how he was ever going to do it, he could not
imagine. However, as the longer he thought about the matter the more
discouraged he became, he finally decided to go and have a look at the
monster and see what his chances were. So the minute the parade was
over, he started off.
Now a twenty-headed Gallopus is shaped like a star with twenty points,
and on each point is a head. And each head has two pop eyes, two big
ears, a wide mouth with a complete collection of long, sharp teeth, and
a turned up nose. And when a twenty-headed Gallopus wishes to show a
person that he does _not_ care for his society, he turns slowly about
and stares at him fixedly with his forty eyes, which makes a person
feel _very_ uncomfortable. So you can easily imagine how Ting felt
when he reached the enchanted castle and confronted the twenty-headed
Gallopus in the courtyard.
"Well," cried the twenty-headed Gallopus, speaking with about ten of
his heads and making a fearful racket, "what do you want around here?"
Whereupon the Prince told him how he was expected to rescue the
Inherited Princess, and had come to see what the Gallopus looked like
before he started to work.
"Oh, you did, did you?" roared the monster. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think," said Ting, "that you're the most awful thing I ever saw.
You're enough to guard a dozen princesses and it isn't fair to ask a
little boy of eight to fight you."
"It's not only not fair," said the Gallopus, "but it's downright mean,
not to say ridiculous." Then he laughed with all his heads at once
until the ground actually trembled. "Don't you know," he went on, "that
I'd have to lose every one of my heads before the Princess could be
freed? Even if you chopped off one or two it would be no use. I must
lose _all_ of them before the spell is broken."
And with that he burst into a rollicking ditty--
Three rousing cheers for a job like mine,
For I must confess it is simply fine
To sit all day and take your ease
And just do nothing as long as you please.
For who would dare to brave my wrath?
And who would dare to cross my path
To try and win this princess fair?
Oh, can you tell me who would dare?
"Well," said the twenty-headed Gallopus, when he had finished, "can you
tell me who _would_ dare?"
"No," said Ting, "I can't. I thought maybe _I_ would, but I've changed
my mind."
"And quite right, too," said the monster, "you show good sense, for it
is certainly foolish to attempt what is impossible. And besides, the
Princess is very happy in the castle anyway."
"How do you know?" asked the Prince.
"Well," said the Gallopus, "she has never complained, and even if she
did I would be too bashful to listen to her. I don't know what it is,
but it makes me dreadfully nervous to talk to girls. I get so confused
and everything. Do you?"
"Oh, no," said Ting, "I like to talk to girls."
The twenty-headed Gallopus looked at him admiringly. "Hum," he said,
"you're much braver than I thought you were. No wonder you thought you
could fight me. And now I think you had better run along back home for
I want to take a little nap."
But Ting had no intention of running back home just then, no indeed,
for chancing to look up at the castle windows he had seen the Princess
peeping out at him. And one sight of her was enough to make him want to
stay there forever. So he told the twenty-headed Gallopus not to mind
him but to go ahead and take his nap.
"I won't disturb you," he said. "I'll be just as quiet as a mouse."
"Very well," replied the Gallopus, "if you'll promise solemnly not to
make any noise or chop off any of my heads, I'll do it, for I need the
sleep. One of my heads had a headache last night and it kept all the
others awake."
And with that he wobbled into his cave and began to snore like twenty
locomotives all starting from the station at once.
"My gracious!" gasped the Prince, "he needn't worry about the noise _I_
make."
Then he hurried across the courtyard until he came to the window where
the Princess was sitting.
"Hello," he shouted at the top of his lungs. "How do you do?"
"Very well, thank you," screamed the Princess, leaning out of the
window. "Isn't it dreadful the noise that old Gallopus makes?"
"Terrible," yelled Ting, thinking how lovely she was, all pink in the
face from shouting so. "I've come to rescue you."
"Oh, isn't that splendid!" shrieked the Princess, smiling at him. "Do
you think you can do it?"
"Sure," bawled Ting, "I'll find out some way. I didn't think I could at
first, but since I've _seen_ you, I've simply _got_ to."
And when he said that the Inherited Princess grew pinker than ever and
did not seem to know what to say. But even if she had known what to
say she probably would not have said it for all of a sudden the snoring
stopped and the twenty-headed Gallopus came hurrying out of his cave as
mad as could be.
"Didn't you tell me you wouldn't make any noise?" he demanded of Ting,
angrily. "You said if I took a nap you'd be as quiet as a mouse, and
yet you've made such a rumpus it woke me up. Such a hooting and tooting
I never heard."
"That wasn't me," said Ting. "That was you--snoring."
"I--snoring?" howled the monster, furiously. "Oh, that's--that's the
worst insult yet. I never snore, sir, never. I--I wouldn't know a snore
if I heard one. And even if I _did_ snore it would sound like a harp or
something like that, and not like a roll of musketry. The idea, telling
me I snore!"