The Airman of Oz
Betsy had been perfectly right in supposing Princess Ozma would soon
discover her absence from the castle. Dorothy had gone home with the
Tin Woodman, so, of course, knew nothing about it, but when Betsy did
not appear for breakfast Ozma immediately sent Jellia Jamb, her small
maid-in-waiting, upstairs to search for her. Ozma, herself, hurried
out into the garden, thinking Betsy might be gathering a breakfast
bouquet. Shading her eyes, Ozma looked in every direction, but there
was no sign of Betsy anywhere. She was about to return to the castle
when a loud bump sounded just behind her. Spinning about, Ozma saw the
strangest sort of figure, sprawled over her favorite rose bush. It
was four times the size of a regular man, the body something like a
tremendous sausage, with a round, balloon-shaped head and pudgy arms
and legs. While Ozma was trying to determine what kind of being it was,
the huge creature rose with a bounce and came clumping toward her.
"I told Zeph there were people at the bottom of the air!" puffed the
stranger gleefully. "Here is one now. I'll take it straight back to the
sky for proof."
Ozma had just time to notice that he wore heavy iron boots, when he
bent over and, tucking her under his arm as if she had been a package
of sugar plums, kicked off one boot and then the other and soared, like
a balloon released from its string, straight up toward the sky. It
was all so unexpected and breath-taking for several minutes Ozma was
perfectly paralyzed. Then, glancing down and seeing her lovely castle
fading to a mere speck below, she began to squirm and struggle and
pound with both hands upon the arm of her captor.
"Take me back! Put me down!" commanded Ozma, imperiously. "How dare
you carry me off like this?" But her tiny fists made no impression on
the great fellow. He seemed to be constructed of some tough silken
substance, and from the way he dented in when she poked him, Ozma
concluded he was filled with air. "Like a balloon," thought the
Princess. "Oh, please! Please stop!" she called despairingly.
The voice of the little fairy came wafting faintly up to the airman
and, with an interested sniff, he took Ozma from beneath his arm
and held her on a level with his nose. The quick change made her
exceedingly dizzy, and while she recovered herself he examined her most
attentively. He was swimming in the air all the time, with his feet
in a strange climbing motion, and their flight upward never slackened
during the conversation that followed.
"What a pretty little creature it is," mused the airman half aloud. His
voice was so kind and his face so round and jolly that Ozma took heart
and began begging him to return her to the earth.
"I am a Princess," she explained earnestly, "and anything may happen to
my Kingdom while I am away. Something _has_ happened already."
Breathlessly she began to tell of the disappearance of Betsy Bobbin and
of the perils that might overtake her in a magic country like Oz. But
the airman seemed more interested in Ozma's voice and appearance than
in her story.
"Why it's talking airish," he chuckled with a pleased grin. "And what
splendid proof a Princess will be when I deliver my lecture next month
before the Cloud Country Gentlemen. Fellow Airmen! I shall say, It
has long been a matter of dispute as to whether any life exists in
the lower levels of the air, but now the question is settled for all
time. The earth is undoubtedly populated by small fragile Princesses
like this." Here he paused and held Ozma up as if displaying her to an
imaginary audience.
"Oh! Oh! Please stop and listen to me!" entreated Ozma. Then she gave
a great gasp, for without warning the sky darkened and in their swift
flight they barely escaped the gleaming point of a star.
"Don't be alarmed," murmured the airman, feeling the little fairy
tremble in his grasp. "Night has fallen. The higher we go, the faster
time flies. It will be daylight in a few moments. That's one of the
advantages of high living," he continued comfortably. "One grows up so
quickly and time flies so fast we never are bored. See, it is to-morrow
already!"
"To-morrow!" wailed Ozma, blinking in the sudden sunlight that came
flooding through the clouds. "How dreadful! Oh dear, Mr. Balloon Man,
do take me back to my castle."
"Atmos is my name," announced the airman a bit stiffly, "Atmos Fere.
I am a skyman, and I could not take you back even I wanted to, for
I have left my diving boots on the earth. You'll grow used to it up
here," he assured her, and turning on his back began to float lazily
toward a long purple cloud, still holding Ozma aloft so he could more
easily observe her.
"A most interesting specimen," he muttered over and over, squinting at
the little fairy approvingly.
"I'm not a specimen, I'm a Princess!" declared Ozma indignantly. "I do
not wish to live in the sky. Oh, dear! Oh, my! What will become of Oz
while I am away?"
"Now you're unreasonable," sighed Atmos reproachfully. "What will
become of my lecture if I let you go? Do you think for one instant any
air body would believe me when I told them there were living creatures
at the bottom of the air? I must have proof and you are my proof,
little Princess. You should feel honored to have been discovered by a
well-known explorer. You shall have an air castle all to yourself and
the lecture will only take a few years of your time. Hello, it's night
again!"
And sure enough it was. Shivering in the darkness, Ozma began to fully
realize the awful perils of her position. It might be years before she
saw her old friends and the lovely Emerald City again.
Being a fairy, Ozma knew that she herself would not grow older, but
what might not happen in Oz during her long absence? Clasping her
hands desperately, the little Princess tried to think of some way to
help herself, and as the sun came flashing through the clouds again a
dreadful plan popped into her head.
Atmos was still talking. "After the lecture, there will be a dinner,"
droned the airman sleepily, "that will take about seven years, I should
say, though I've known sky banquets to last as long as ten."
"Ten?" moaned Ozma, with a little shudder, and steeled by the thought
of a ten-year banquet, she drew an emerald pin from her dress and
thrust it quickly into the airman's side. Then covering her face with
both hands, she began to cry softly, for this tender-hearted little
fairy had never hurt anyone in her whole gentle life and could not bear
to even think of what she had done. For several seconds the airman's
calm conversation continued. Then all at once he gave a great gulp.
"Princess!" gasped the airman in a faint voice, "I seem to be losing my
breath!"
Ozma felt a rush of cold air past her ears, and next instant they were
tumbling earthward, over and over, and over, down through clouds and
mists and great blue stretches of empty air. How she managed, during
that long, dizzy fall, to keep hold of the airman's limp arm, she
never knew, herself. But hold on she did and after what seemed to be
hours and hours, they landed together in a feathery field of wheat.
The sudden plunge downward had kept all the air from escaping from the
airman, but as Ozma rolled over and saw his pitiable condition, she
began to weep anew. His legs and body were perfectly limp and the air
was issuing from his right arm with a shrill whistling sound.
"Save me!" panted Atmos, rolling his eyes wildly from side to side.
"Save me! Can't you see I'm expiring?"
"But what can I do?" sobbed Ozma, in a panic.
"Tie something round my neck," directed the airman desperately. "Keep
the air in my head."
Snatching the ribbon from her curls, Ozma hastened to do as he
suggested, shivering a little as she pulled the ribbon tight.
"I'd like to know how this happened," moaned Atmos, as the little fairy
tied the ribbon in a neat bow under his poor, wrinkled chin.
"It was my fault," confessed Ozma, covering her face so she could not
see him. "I stuck you with a pin. You wouldn't let me go and I couldn't
leave Oz for all those years. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm so sorry!" and
remorseful tears began to trickle through her fingers and drop on the
airman's nose.
"Punctured--by--a--Princess!" puffed Atmos, as if he could not get the
idea through his head at all. "Well, who would have thought it? She
looked so harmless, and sweet, too. I think _I_ should be the
one to cry," he observed presently, and as the little fairy's sobs
grew more and more violent, he lifted his head and regarded her with
positive alarm.
"Don't cry like that," begged Atmos uncomfortably. "It didn't hurt,
you know, and I have expired in the cause of high skyence. That's a
great honor, besides I should not have carried you off. Don't cry," he
begged, trying frantically to rise. But the more he coaxed and blamed
himself, the harder Ozma wept, so that neither of them heard the
approaching steps of a stranger.
"Hello!" cried a bluff voice suddenly. "What's the matter here? Did
you bust your balloon, little girl, or what?" Glancing up, Ozma saw a
tall red-faced fellow in a leather apron just behind her. The head of
the airman did look like a great balloon, and while Ozma quickly dried
her tears, Atmos simply stared at the newcomer, almost forgetting his
misfortune in his curiosity.
"What is this?" he whispered huskily. "I thought earth was inhabited by
Princesses like yourself. Is this a Princess, too?"
"Hah, hah, hah!" roared the stranger, slapping his great thigh. "Do
I look like a Princess?" Then, as the curiousness of a balloon's
conversing struck him, his eyes grew rounder and rounder and his mouth
hung open with astonishment.
"It's an airman," explained Ozma with dignity, "and I am the Princess
of Oz."
"Airman!" muttered the big fellow under his breath. "Oz? Well, I've
heard of Oz, but you're a long way from home, little lady, and where on
earth did you pick up this fellow?"
"He's from the sky," Ozma hastened to inform him.
"And I've had a serious accident," added Atmos, to save the little
fairy from telling her part in the affair.
"You look like an accident," observed the stranger, kneeling down
beside the collapsed form of the airman. "Was it a puncture or an
explosion?"
"A--a puncture," sighed Atmos, with a sidelong glance at Ozma, "but
what manner of earth creature are you?"
"I'm an ornamental iron worker," announced the stranger proudly.
"There's my shack over yonder. Rusty Ore is my name, and say!" He rose
and looked triumphantly at the little fairy. "I believe I could blow
this fellow up again. I've a bellows in the shop. Shall I try?"
"Oh, could you? Would you?" begged the little Princess, clasping her
hands eagerly. The more Rusty looked at lovely little Ozma, the surer
he became that he could. Everyone who saw Ozma had an immediate desire
to serve her, and the ornamental iron worker was no exception. Rolling
the airman into a neat bundle, he slung him over his shoulder. Then,
taking Ozma's hand, strode briskly across the fields.
"Have you anything to eat in your house?" asked the little Princess,
skipping to keep up with Rusty's long strides. "I haven't had anything
to eat for two days!"
"Two days!" bellowed the iron worker indignantly, and sweeping Ozma up
into his arms, he broke into a run, so that almost before they knew it,
they had reached his queer little shop.