The Hungry Tiger of Oz
BY RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON
_Founded on and continuing the Famous Oz Stories_
BY L. FRANK BAUM
"Royal Historian of Oz"
Illustrated by
JOHN R. NEILL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
_Printed in the United States of America_
Copyright 1926
_by_
The Reilly & Lee Co.
_All Rights Reserved_
_The Hungry Tiger of Oz_
Well, My Dears: Here I am again to say, How do you do and how do you do
it? How _do_ you manage to write such jolly letters about Oz? From
every state and Canada they have come pouring in to make me happy and,
as Ozma remarked to the Scarecrow, when I showed them all to her, "Why
we have as many loyal subjects outside of Oz as we have here in the
country."
"So we have!" chuckled the Scarecrow, "and more patriozic, too. Three
cheers for the boys and girls! I wish we could invite them all to the
Emerald City."
I wish so, too, but I am afraid if we all did march upon the capitol
of Oz we would crowd out the celebrities. But it _is_ nice to be
invited. And what do you s'pose has been happening there now? "Another
war?" you ask. Well, not exactly, but the most surprising lot of
adventures in which Betsy Bobbin and the Hungry Tiger have the most
exciting parts.
There is a new Prince in this story. He is shaking hands with Betsy,
right at the top of this page and I am leaning 'way out of this letter
to shake hands with you!
RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON.
254 S. Farragut Terrace,
West Philadelphia, Penna.
July, 1926.
Dedicated to the Memory of
WILLIAM F. LEE
Who Gave Me the Key to The
Fairyland of Oz
RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON.
_List of Chapters_
1 The Pasha of Rash
2 Betsy's Birthday
3 The Hungry Tiger in Rash
4 The Vegetable Man of Oz
5 Prisoners in Rash
6 The Scarlet Prince
7 Escape from Rash
8 In Down Town
9 The Indus Tree
10 The Magic Spectacles
11 The Second Rash Ruby
12 Immense City
13 Beside the Wall
14 The Airman of Oz
15 Rusty Ore to the Rescue
16 Reddy and the Giants
17 The Big Wig's Secret
18 The Third Rash Ruby
19 Reddy Restored to the Throne
20 Safe in the Emerald City
CHAPTER 1
The Pasha of Rash
"Burnt again!" roared the Pasha of Rash, flinging his bowl of pudding
across the table. "Vassals! Varlets! Villains! Fetch forth the cook!"
At the Pasha's furious words the two Rash Footmen who stood behind
his chair, took a running slide down the long dining hall and leaped
through the door into the pantry. Several cups crashed against the door
as it closed, so it is just as well that they hurried.
As the Pasha reached for a large sauce dish, Ippty, the Chief Scribe of
the realm, slipped quietly under the table, where he began jotting down
in a little note book each shocking remark about the pudding, making
a huge blot whenever a plate broke or a cup splintered to fragments.
He had to write pretty fast to keep up with the peppery little Pasha
and covered three pages with notes and blots by the time the footmen
returned with Hasha, the cook, shivering between them.
"So!" wheezed the Ruler of all the Rashes, puffing out his cheeks and
glaring at the frightened little man, "Here you are!"
"Am!" choked the poor cook, falling upon his knees. "And may your
Excellency live forever!"
"Live forever!" sputtered the Pasha, thumping the table with his fist,
"On burnt puddings and raw roasts? It's a wonder I'm alive at all. Do
you take me for an ostrich that you serve me lumps of charcoal and call
it pudding? Are you a cook or a donkey?"
At this, Ippty lifted a corner of the table cloth and peered out to
see what Hasha would say. Then, as the cook made no remark he calmly
wrote "donkey," closed the little book and crept cautiously out from
his hiding place. There were only three spoons left on the table and
he felt pretty sure that these would be flung at Hasha and not at him.
He was perfectly right about this and as the last one clattered down
upon the head of the luckless cook, Hasha rose, and extending both arms
began tremulously:
"I did not burn the pudding, Excellency, it was the fire."
"The fire?" raged the Pasha, his eyes fairly popping with indignation.
"Do you hear that Ippty, he blames it on the fire. And who tends the
fire, pray? Put him out! Fire him! Fizzenpop! Fizzenpop, you old
rascal, where are you?"
"The fire shall be put out and the cook shall be fired," muttered
Ippty, flipping his book open and scribbling away industriously. This,
he could readily do, for the first finger of the Scribe's right hand
was a fountain pen, his second finger a long yellow pencil, his third
finger an eraser, his little finger a stick of sealing wax and his
thumb a fat candle. Ippty's left hand was quite usual, except for the
pen knife that served him for a thumb. Blotting the last entry in the
book with his cuff, which was neatly cut from blotting paper, he turned
expectantly toward the door, just as Fizzenpop, the Grand Vizier,
came hurtling through. Being Grand Vizier of Rash was no easy task and
Fizzenpop had grown thin and bald in the service of his country.
"What now?" he gasped, pulling on his slipper and looking anxiously
from one to the other.
"Punish this pudding burner!" commanded the Pasha angrily. "Put him--"
"In jail!" chuckled Ippty. "In other words you are to incarcerate the
cook." The Chief Scribe loved long words and knew almost as many as the
crossword puzzle makers.
"But your Highness," objected the Grand Vizier, pointing his long
finger, "the prison is already overcrowded. Could we not, could we not
cut off his--" Hasha looked imploringly at Fizzenpop, and the Grand
Vizier, clearing his throat, finished hastily, "cut off his allowance
instead?"
"No!" thundered Irasha furiously, "I'll be peppered if I will.
Prison is the place for him! Out of my sight, scullion!" He waved
contemptously at the cook.
"All right," sighed Fizzenpop, "I'll put him in the cell with your
grand uncle." (The Pasha's grand uncle had been flung into prison for
beating the Rash sovereign at chess.) "But remember," warned the Grand
Vizier, as Hasha was led disconsolately away by the guards, "remember
there is not room for another person. Your Highness will have to find
some other way to dispose of prisoners."
"What can _I_ do?" mumbled the Pasha, leaning sulkily on his elbow.
"If you'd take my advice, you'd set them all free," said Fizzenpop
calmly. "With half the population in prison, how do you expect to get
any work done?"
"Well, why don't they behave themselves then?" demanded the Pasha
fretfully. Fizzenpop sighed again, but made no further answer. What use
to ask this wicked little ruler why he did not behave himself? Half
the arrests in Rash were for no reason at all, and as you are probably
puzzling about the location of this singular country, I must tell
you that Rash is a small pink Kingdom, in the southwestern country of
Ev and directly across the Deadly Desert from the Fairyland of Oz.
The Rashes, it is true, are a hasty and hot-tempered race and always
breaking out in spots, but they are warm-hearted and generous as well,
and with just treatment and proper handling, as loyal subjects as a
sovereign could ask for. But Irasha, the present Pasha, was neither
just nor wise. He had seized the throne by treachery and was feared
and hated by the entire Rash nation, so that one revolution followed
another and the realm was in a constant state of uproar. Again and
again poor old Fizzenpop would make up his mind to retire, but feeling
that he could serve his countrymen better by remaining, had stayed on,
enduring the terrible tempers of the Pasha and living for the day when
the rightful ruler should be restored to the throne.
"Well, why don't you say something?" growled Irasha, growing irritable
at the long silence. "What do other countries do with their prisoners?"
"Why not destroy them?" proposed Ippty cheerfully, before Fizzenpop had
a chance to answer. The Chief Scribe was as cruel and merciless as his
Master. Irasha had discovered him in a Rash book shop, where he was
employed as clerk, and fascinated by his strange hands had raised him
to his present important position. "In ancient countries," continued
Ippty, sharpening the second finger of his right hand with the thumb
of his left, "in ancient countries prisoners were thrown to the wild
beasts. Now I call that very neat. No fuss or worry, and practically
no expense." Ippty closed his thumb with a pleased smile and looked
brightly at the Pasha.
"What!" shrieked Fizzenpop, stamping his foot furiously at the Scribe,
"Who ever would think of such a thing?"
"I would," answered the Pasha calmly. "I think it's a very good plan
Ippty. But the trouble is," he paused and pushed back his spotted
turban, "the trouble is, we have no wild animals. I wish I had a wild
animal," sighed Irasha gloomily. With the exception of a few speckled
bears, there are no animals of any kind in Rash, and Fizzenpop had just
drawn a long breath of relief when Ippty began again.
"But there are plenty of wild animals in Oz, your Highness!" suggested
Ippty. "Why not send across the Deadly Desert and get a wild animal
from Oz?"
"Why not?" The Pasha straightened up in his chair and looked almost
pleasant. "I believe I will," he mused thoughtfully. "An excellent
notion, Ippty, for in that case we should not need a prison at all and
the expense of feeding the monster would be practically nothing."
"And what's to prevent it from eating us?" demanded Fizzenpop
explosively. Up to now he had been able to soften the lot of the Rash
prisoners very considerably. He shuddered to think what would happen
if Ippty's dreadful plan really were carried out. But Fizzenpop was
too wise to openly oppose this rash pair, so he merely shrugged his
shoulders. "Well," he sighed folding his arms resignedly, "I hope
it works out. I, myself, am too thin to worry, but this beast will
probably consider you and Ippty choice morsels!" He rolled his eyes
sideways at the fat little Pasha and the still fatter Scribe. "How will
a wild animal know the difference between Pashas and prisoners?" he
inquired sarcastically. Irasha looked rather uncomfortable.
"We'll have to get a civilized wild animal," he muttered uneasily, "an
educated fellow who will eat whom we tell him to and obey the laws of
the country."
"And who ever heard of a civilized wild animal?" sniffed the Grand
Vizier, with a sour smile.
"I have," declared Ippty, elevating his nose disagreeably. "There are
any number of educated wild animals in the Emerald City of Oz. There's
the Cowardly Lion, for instance, there's the Comfortable Camel and the
Doubtful Dromedary, and there's the Hungry Tiger. How about the Hungry
Tiger?" asked Ippty triumphantly.
"Hungry Tiger!" Fizzenpop gave a gasp of dismay, for he had never even
heard of such a creature.
"Let's get the Hungry Tiger," yawned the Pasha, who was growing rather
sleepy. "He'll be just the one for us. But are you sure he's tame and
harmless, Ippty, and safe to have about?"
"Oh quite!" Ippty assured him quickly. "Why, he wouldn't hurt a baby,
his conscience is so tender. That's why he's hungry you know."
"Then what makes you think he will eat the prisoners?" asked the Grand
Vizier nervously.
"Well," observed Ippty, scratching his ear with his fountain pen,
"when this tiger realizes that it is perfectly legal and lawful to eat
prisoners I daresay he will jump at the chance, for in that way he can
satisfy his appetite and his conscience at the same time. There are no
criminals in the Emerald City, for Ozma, the Queen, is a silly, soft
hearted little fairy and never arrests anyone, so the Hungry Tiger will
be glad enough to come here and eat our prisoners."
"Ippty is right," puffed the Pasha, rising stiffly from his chair.
"Just take a hurry-cane from the stand there, and fetch back this
Hungry Tiger, old fellow, and if he won't come fetch him anyway."
"Certainly your Highness," murmured the Scribe, bowing low. "I will
start for Oz at once."
"You'll be sorry for this," panted Fizzenpop as the Pasha's pudgy
figure disappeared down the pink passageway, and between anger and
anxiety the Grand Vizier of Rash began to hop up and down like a
jumping-jack.
"What are you dancing," yawned Ippty, "a pepper jig?" And brushing
insolently past Fizzenpop, he lifted a hurry-cane from the stand and
prepared to depart. First, he lit his right thumb, for it was growing
dark; then he tore a page from his note book and wrote, "Carry me to
the Emerald City." Unscrewing the top, he thrust this paper carefully
down into the head of the cane and screwed the head on again. He had
just time to straighten his turban before the hurry-cane, with a
whistle and crash, carried him clear out of the castle. Rushing to the
window Fizzenpop saw him straddling like some strange bird over Too
Much Mountain. The flight of Ippty was not surprising to Fizzenpop for
hurry-canes are one of the chief products of Rash and are nearly always
used for long journeys. No, it was not Ippty's departure that worried
the old statesman. It was the thought of Ippty's return with the Hungry
Tiger of Oz. How was he to save his poor prisoners from this dreadful
beast?
Pale with anxiety, he rushed into the Rash library and after some
searching found what he was looking for--Professor Wogglebug's
Encyclopedia of Oz. All his life, Fizzenpop had been so busy
straightening out affairs in Rash he had had no time to study adjacent
Kingdoms at all and knew little or nothing of the great fairyland that
lay across the desert. Flipping over the pages of the encyclopedia to
the T's the Grand Vizier ran his finger down the list till he came to
the Hungry Tiger.
"This great and beautiful beast," stated the book shortly, "came to
the Emerald City during the first year of Ozma's reign. He has been in
all important processions and adventures since then, and is a great
favorite with the celebrities of Oz. Because of his sociable nature he
prefers life in the capitol to life in the jungle and because of his
tender conscience has never been known to devour a live man, fairy, or
person."
"Never been known to devour a live person?" shrilled Fizzenpop,
dropping the encyclopedia with a bang. "Merciful Mustard! What shall I
do now?"