Peter, dropping lightly on the Camel's hump. "I keep thinking I'm a
vine," he murmured dreamily, winding both arms around the Comfortable
Camel's neck and hugging him vigorously. "And how I do dote on you,
old potato!"
"There! There!" cautioned the Camel. "Don't choke me to death." In
spite of his sauciness, there was something so lovable about the
little jester that Camy did not mind the embrace nearly as much as he
pretended. "Get back in the saddle," he grunted gruffly, "and see if
you can't keep quiet for five minutes. It's so much more comfortable
keeping quiet."
"Who wants to be comfortable?" sniffed Peter, standing on his head in
the middle of the high seat. "Who wants to be comfortable? I'd rather
be gay! Say:
"A company of four tried to walk through a door,
But the door slammed them all on the nose.
Can you tell me just why? Or at least have a try?
It's easier than you'd suppose!"
"Was it a true door?" asked the Knight, who was foolishly fond of
riddles.
"As true a door as you'd find anywhere in your travels," admitted
Peter, settling down cozily in the seat on the Camel's hump.
"I don't see how it could slam anyone on the nose unless there was
someone back of it," put in the Comfortable Camel, pulling a long wisp
from an overhanging vine and munching it thoughtfully.
"Nor do I," agreed the Knight. "Come now, what kind of door was it,
Peter?"
"A troubadour!" sang out the jester, kicking up his heels. "And if you
were a troubadour, and four tried to walk through you, would you not
slam them on the nose?"
"Humph!" grunted Sir Hokus, striding ahead to hide his grin. "One more
pun and there'll be a slam on your own nose, odds buttons! A slam and
some more things, too!"
"Best save your slams for the monster," yawned Peter, curling up
comfortably and pretending to snore. "Heigho, what's that?" Leaping
to his feet, he held his hand to his ear. "Methinks I hear a monster
now!" Sir Hokus had already stopped and was listening intently. The dip
and splash of some great creature churning its way through the water
came to them quite distinctly, and as they all peered curiously ahead,
it swept round a bend in the stream and bore straight down upon them.
Sir Hokus, who had expected to see a ferocious river beast, let his
sword fall in bitter disappointment. It was no monster after all, but a
boat, a boat rowed by twenty strong slaves, its yellow sails flapping
jauntily in the breeze. As the Knight continued to gaze gloomily at
the curious craft, a huge fat person heaved himself out of a chair on
deck, and after one long look at the Comfortable Camel began barking
out orders and directions so fast that the three watchers on the bank
could understand nothing of what he said. But the slaves apparently
did, for dropping their oars they seized a long, thick rope, and
before Sir Hokus had time even to blink, it whirled through the air
and settled with a vicious hiss around Camy's long neck. With a choked
gurgle the poor Camel slid forward into the water so quickly that Peter
circled into the air and fell flat upon the mossy river bank.
[Illustration: THE CAMEL SLID FORWARD INTO THE WATER.]
"Halt! Yield! What dost thou there?" Brandishing his battle-axe, Sir
Hokus scrambled to the edge of the stream in a vain effort to seize
hold of the Comfortable Camel or slash the rope that was hauling
him away, before it was too late. But it was already too late, and
the Knight, slipping into deep water, was forced to watch his old
friend dragged ignominiously off by the neck. The slaves, urged on by
Tuzzle--for of course it was the very Grand Vizier--were rowing like
mad, and Sir Hokus in his heavy armor had no chance at all to swim
after them. Indeed, had not Peter jumped up in the nick of time and
held out a stout branch, Sir Hokus would have sunk like a stone to
the bottom of the stream. Peter, somewhat sobered by the unexpected
capture of the Camel, helped the Knight to a nearby tree stump.
Hurriedly emptying the water from his helmet and boots, Sir Hokus made
ready to pursue the yellow boat.
"Had this been a land battle 'twould not have gone so easy with them,"
rumbled the Knight, snatching the long slippery stem of a water lily
from around his neck.
"Well, they'll land sooner or later and then we can give them what for
and what ho! Come on!" cried the jester, dancing with impatience. "If
we follow this river we're bound to catch them. Are we going to let
those old camelnappers steal our good steed?"
"No, odds thumpeny! A thousand times, no!" roared Sir Hokus, and
catching up his battle-axe he began running along the edge of the
yellow river. But twenty pair of arms are stronger than two pair of
legs, and in less than three minutes the royal barge of the Sultan
was out of sight. As the Knight and Peter raced along, the river grew
broader and more turbulent. The forest, too, thinned out, and after a
stiff twenty minute sprint the two rescuers found themselves in open
country. Pausing a moment to catch his breath, Sir Hokus squinted
inquiringly around. A luxurious orange grove lay ahead of them, but the
river branched sharply in two directions. Refreshing himself with an
orange and throwing one to Peter, the Knight paused to reflect.
"Toss up your sword," advised the jester. "If the hilt comes down
first, we'll follow the left branch; if it comes down point first,
we'll take the right!" It seemed as good a way as any to choose, and
when the gleaming sword fell point first at the Knight's feet, they
both felt relieved.
"When the sword point points the way,
Truly one can't go astray!"
chanted Peter Pun.
"And that fat rascal shall have the sword point where it will do him no
good," promised Sir Hokus, striding fiercely along the right bank of
the stream. "Dost see a sail, Peter?"
"Neither a sail nor a camel's tail," admitted the jester, shaking his
head regretfully:
"But round that turn ahead, who knows?
We'll find alike our friend and foes!"
"Then come on!" breathed the Knight, breaking into a run. "Come along
with you!"
"Coming!" piped Peter, his mouth full of oranges.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAMY AT THE SULTAN'S COURT
Now the Comfortable Camel, though nearly choked and almost drowned, had
instantly recognized Tuzzle. Like a bad and half remembered dream, his
former life in Samandra came back to him. The long, tiresome journeys
across the desert, the bad temper of the Sultan, the heavy loads he was
forced to carry in order that his peppery little master might travel
in comfort and luxury. He opened his mouth to cry out, but found to his
horror that he could not speak a word. Instead of indignant protests
against his captors, he was uttering only camelish grunts and gurgles,
and when three minnows swam down his throat he gave up in despair, and
closing his eyes and his mouth allowed himself to be towed along in
silence. In Samandra, he recalled bitterly, he had not been able to
converse at all. How dreadful to be but a dumb beast of burden after
his interesting and cozy existence in the Emerald City of Oz. It was
not to be thought of or endured.
"I'll run away first chance I have, and let them try to stop me if
they dare," he decided grimly, beginning to work his feet to keep the
rope round his neck from strangling him. Tuzzle, meanwhile, leaning
proudly over the rail, was already counting up the rewards he might
claim for his cleverness in capturing the Camel. Rubbing his hands with
anticipation, he bade the slaves row faster. This they did, and in less
than an hour the Royal Sampan drew alongside the golden dock in the
Sultan's city. The Sultan, warned of their arrival by watchers he had
stationed along the bank, came hurrying down from the palace, followed
closely by the Grand Bozzywoz and other dignitaries.
"Am I a good Seer, or am I not?" queried Chinda, waving complacently
at the Camel swimming feebly after the yellow barge. "Behold your
Majesty's Comfortable Camel!"
"It certainly does not appear to be very comfortable at the
present moment," observed the Keeper of the Royal Records. "A most
uncomfortable camel I should call it."
"Hold your tongue," advised the Sultan disagreeably, and after a quick
glance to assure himself that the Camel's saddle sacks were in place,
he called impatiently to the slaves to bring the half drowned creature
ashore. The Camel's first action was to shake himself violently,
drenching everyone on the dock. Then with an angry snort he trod
heavily on the toes of Tuzzle and as many more as he could manage to
get near.
"Patience! Patience, my precious little parsnip," wheezed the Sultan,
wiping the water out of his eyes with his sleeve and motioning for the
Keeper of the Camels to approach. "Let him be given a triple portion
of dried peas and rice, and with my own hands I will remove his heavy
trappings." At this, Camy, remembering the ill-natured kicks and prods
given by his former master, let out such a squeal of defiance that
the courtiers tumbled in every direction to get out of his way. But
the Camel Driver, slipping a stout noose over his head, forced him
unwillingly up the bank and toward the Royal Camel Quarters behind the
castle. The Sultan, fairly bubbling over with relief and excitement,
pattered after him, for he, for very good reasons of his own, did not
want the Camel out of his sight for an instant.
"Has your Highness no word of welcome or commendation for me?"
complained Tuzzle, limping aggrievedly beside the Sultan. "Do you not
desire to hear of my reception at Ozma's court and of the masterful
manner in which I was finally able to restore this long missing
miscreant to your Majesty's stable? Have I sought out and captured this
capricious Camel by main strength only to be ignored and stepped upon?"
"Posh! Bosh! And a pound of tea!" sputtered the Sultan, waving him
carelessly aside, and bidding all of his advisors return to the palace
he proceeded joyfully to the stall set aside for the most important
member of his herd. There, tied fast to an iron ring in the side of
the wall and facing a heaping measure of dried peas and rice, the
Comfortable Camel's usual good judgment and temper returned to him.
Sir Hokus and Peter, he felt sure, would soon come to his assistance.
Meanwhile, he might as well make the best of things and enjoy what he
could of the experience. Nibbling daintily at the peas and rice, he
paid scant attention to the Sultan, who had dismissed the attendant
and was standing on a small ladder at his side. Tossing everything
out of the left hand saddle sack, the Sultan suddenly gave such an
exclamation of fury that the Comfortable Camel turned his head. The fat
little ruler, coming to the bottom of the sack, had found the secret
compartment open and the precious package he had been so long seeking
and so anxiously waiting for--gone!
[Illustration: THE COMFORTABLE CAMEL'S GOOD TEMPER RETURNED.]
"Great, lazy, stupid son of a cow!" bellowed the Sultan, dancing up and
down like a dervish on top of the ladder. "What have you done with my
dates? Who has taken the dates?"
"Aha!" mused the Camel to himself. "So he is at the bottom of this date
magic. It's the dates he wants, and not me at all." And as the enraged
Sovereign continued to dance and scream, he went calmly on with his
lunch.
"Son of a scorpion," hissed the Sultan vindictively. "Cousin to a
cougar and uncle of a goat, how dare you come back without those
dates?" Hammering the Camel with both fists, he nearly cried with rage.
"Why, he's even better at calling me names than he used to be,"
marveled the Camel, paying no heed to the thumps, which hurt him hardly
at all. "I must remember all this to tell Hokus--that is, if I can ever
talk as I used to do, I'll tell him. Heigho, there goes the fat pest,
and good riddance." For the Sultan, seeing nothing was to be got out
of the Camel, had finally stopped hammering him and gone away. Racing
back to the palace he sought out Chinda and started to shake the Grand
Bozzywoz with all his strength.
"What now?" groaned the astonished Seer, clutching his turban, which
was tossing like a ship in a hurricane. "Have you not got your precious
Camel back again? Is this gratitude? Is this thanks--or----"
"That silly Camel is of no use to me," screamed the Sultan angrily,
almost, in his excitement, revealing the secret of the magic dates.
"There was a package of great value in his left hand saddle sack. It
has been lost--or stolen!" he panted desperately. "And I must have that
package at once, at once, do you hear me?"
"Package?" repeated Chinda dully. "Well, why did your Excellency not
say so in the first place? All these years I have been seeking a Camel,
and now you tell me it is a package and not a Camel you desire."
"Silence!" shrieked the Sultan, beginning to shake him again, and in
the next breath, "Speak, fellow, have you nothing in your head at all?"
"The telescope!" puffed Chinda, jerking away from his tempery little
master. "Let us consult the magic telescope and see what it can tell us
of this strange matter." For ten minutes in his tall, glass enclosed
tower, the Chief Seer and Grand Bozzywoz of Samandra gazed through the
magic lens of his huge telescope; then, turning to the Sultan, who was
stamping anxiously up and down the laboratory, he spoke:
"You will find part of what you seek in the middle of the night," he
announced solemnly.
[Illustration: CHINDA STARED THROUGH HIS MAGIC TELESCOPE.]
"In the middle of the night?" gasped the Sultan. "But where, how, and
what night?"
"More I cannot tell you now, but if your Highness will depart and leave
me, I will go into a great silence and endeavor to discover the exact
location of the missing package." Far from satisfied, but not knowing
what else to do, the Sultan returned reluctantly to his throne room.
There, clutching Confido to his breast, he whispered long and anxiously
to the Imperial Peke and waited impatiently for nightfall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KING OF THE QUIX!
And now, leaving the Sultan and the Comfortable Camel to their own
devices, let us see what has been happening to Marygolden and Speedy.
Fortunately for its two passengers, the parashuter struck a dry and
sandy section of earth so that they were neither crushed by falling
rock nor scalded by boiling lava. Whistling like a roman candle and
forced upward by the rocket set off when Speedy touched the button in
the handle, Uncle Billy's strange invention shot upward so fast that
the boy lost all sense of time, space, and distance. And just as he was
deciding they would never reach the upper regions at all, the steel
umbrella burst through the top crust of earth, fluttered a few feet in
the air and then dropped heavily to the ground.
"Are--we--still--alive?" inquired Marygolden in a faint voice.
"I--I think so," mumbled Speedy, who had bumped his head pretty hard on
the handle of the parashuter.
"Sometimes it hurts to be alive," sighed Marygolden, looking
reproachfully over at him, for the little Princess had come down hard
in the middle of a rocky path. Both adventurers were covered with dirt
and grime, and had their umbrella-like contrivance not travelled with
such lightning speed they would probably have been suffocated as well.
As it was, they were perfectly exhausted and lay for several minutes
where they had fallen. Then, rolling over, Speedy unfastened the straps
that bound him to the handle, and giving himself a little shake, stood
up.
"Well, I hope this time we're in America," he breathed anxiously,
leaning down to untie Marygolden. The golden Princess winced a bit as
Speedy helped her to her feet, and afraid that she might cry, he patted
her reassuringly on the shoulder. But Marygolden straightened up like
a soldier and the boy could not help feeling proud of the way she was
taking their strange experiences. "Anyway, we're out of Subterranea and
we've escaped from that awful old Shah!" he exclaimed, beating the dust
from his leather jacket.
"Yes," agreed Marygolden gravely. "We're away from the Shah, but who
are these?"
"These?" cried Speedy, whirling round. "Well, curses macorangejuice!"
This was a favorite expression of the boy's, but even this did not seem
surprising enough for the strange figures racing toward them. There
were twelve, and their long, thin legs, long, thin arms, long, thin
bodies, long, thin faces, and long, thin hair gave them an unreal and
comical appearance. They were dressed in silver cloth jackets and hose
and pointed hoods, and when they reached Speedy and the Princess they
took hands and danced round and round them so fast that the two could
do nothing but blink and gasp and draw in their toes to keep from being
stepped on. The twinkle of the sun on their silver hoods was making
Speedy dreadfully giddy, when all twelve suddenly stopped, and the
tallest of the company, drawing a long scroll from his coat, cried
loudly:
"The prophecy has been fulfilled. Behold our King!"
"Nonsense!" blustered Speedy, trying to push his way out of the ring,
"Nonsense, I'm a Republican!" Then, as the holder of the scroll began
to read the strange document, his curiosity got the better of him.
"I, Hurreewurree the Worst, Chief Counsellor of the Quix, do hereby
pronounce you King," boomed the silver-clad leader impressively. "Our
humble sovereign having run away, it has been prophesied by the Book of
Stars that our next ruler would burst from the earth, as you must admit
you have done, that our next ruler would be young and exceeding quick,
quick to fight, quick to run, and quick to lose his temper--" ("Well,
all that's true enough," thought Speedy, with an amused chuckle, as the
Chief Counsellor looked at him over his specs.) "And his name shall
mean Swift," continued Hurreewurree. "What _is_ your name?" he inquired
solemnly, holding his finger on the scroll to keep his place.
"Speedy!" answered the boy, without giving himself time to think.
"Speedy!" exulted the Chief Counsellor, waving the prophecy over his
head. "Do you hear that? Three cheers for Speedy, King of the Quix!"
With three hilarious cheers, the long-legged strangers closed in.
Speedy had just time to grasp Marygolden's hand before they were seized
on all sides and hustled forward. Soon they were flying along so fast
he had not breath enough to ask even one question.
"To keep things running here you must keep moving," puffed
Hurreewurree, "and as soon as we catch the castle you'll be crowned."
"Catch the castle?" panted Speedy. "Does that run, too?" Nobody
bothered to answer his question, but when they came to Quick City he
saw what Hurreewurree meant, for all the houses and buildings rolled
about like taxis. "Why, this is worse than New York!" marvelled Speedy,
as they were almost knocked down by a barber shop. "Why, instead of
running down to the bank, the bank runs down to you. Gosh!" gasped the
boy, as a teller leaned out of the window of a passing bank building
and took a roll of quicksilver from Hurreewurree. All the inhabitants
of this curious city dashed by as if they were running races, and when
one of Speedy's guards tried to stop a Quick and introduce him to the
new King, the fellow burst into tears.
[Illustration: BUILDINGS ROLLED BY LIKE TAXIS.]
"Don't stop me!" he cried fretfully. "Can't you let me eat this piece
of taffy before I'm too old to enjoy it?" And now Speedy noticed
another queer thing about the Quix. Even while he was looking at them
they changed and grew older. Hurreewurree, who had been quite young
and handsome when he read his proclamation, was becoming more bent
and feeble at every step and when they finally did catch up with a
tidy silver castle, the Chief Counsellor had hardly enough strength
to stagger up the steps. The other Quix were old men, too, and with
a great effort tugged Speedy and Marygolden into the royal dwelling.
Speedy was so weary from the long run, and so astonished by the change
in his companions that he sank thankfully down upon the silver throne
and tried to smile encouragingly at Marygolden, who had been placed in
a silver chair at his side.
"We don't have to stay unless we want to," he whispered, as
Hurreewurree, taking a silver hood from an ancient servitor, tottered
uncertainly toward him.
"With this Lively Hood, I crown you King of the Quix!" quavered
Hurreewurree, snatching the leather helmet from Speedy's head and
dropping the Hood in its place. "What are your Right Royal Commands?"
"Nothing right now," panted Speedy, in as imperious a pant as he
could manage. "As soon as they go, I'll leave," he decided quickly to
himself. "They needn't think I'm going to spend the rest of my life
running like a jack rabbit, dodging barber shops and telegraph poles.
Why, it's ridiculous--everything's ridiculous!" he concluded with a
slight shudder, as the castle coasted down a steep street and just
missed a stone wall at the bottom. Still another shock awaited him
when he turned his gaze from the windows back into the throne room.
Hurreewurree and his companions were growing young again, and as
Speedy and Marygolden simply stared at them, their long silver whiskers
fell away, their crooked legs straightened and presently they were
young men. But Speedy had no sooner grown used to this than they grew
younger still, and pretty soon they were all sitting on the floor in
silver rompers playing with blocks. Much to his surprise he wanted to
play, too, but when he tried to step down from his throne he fell off
and bumped his head so hard he began to cry bitterly. Marygolden it
was who picked him up, and he could only stare at her with round eyes
for she seemed like a giantess now, for he was only ten months old.
But this lasted scarcely ten minutes or so, and then he found he could
walk, and scrambling down from her lap he got into an exciting game
of tag with his subjects. Speedy could not imagine why Marygolden was
crying. He stopped to comfort her and was soon tall enough to get back
on his throne. But it was terribly confusing, for in ten minutes the
little Princess was crying again.
"Look! Look!" she wailed, pointing to his chin; and putting up his
hand fearfully, Speedy discovered that he had a long silver beard. His
voice, when he tried to speak, was so high and shrill that it startled
him; his knees felt stiff, and his head ached!
[Illustration: HE HAD A LONG SILVER BEARD.]
"Why, I'm a Quick," groaned poor old Speedy, looking anxiously at his
thin hands. "I'm a Quick, and I'll have to spend the rest of my days
shooting up and down like an elevator. Gosh, what'll I do?" As he
started to grow younger, his thoughts became clearer. "It's the Hood,"
he decided frantically. "If I take off this Hood I'll be all right, but
then suppose I take it off when I'm old, then I'll be all wrong. Gosh!
Golly, what a fix to be in!" By this time he was a little boy again,
and before he could explain to Marygolden, he was a baby. And not until
he had shot up to young manhood could he make the little Princess
understand what to do.
"As soon as I look the way I did when you first saw me, pull off this
Hood," he begged eagerly, "and do be careful, Mary dear, not to make me
any older than I am. I don't want to miss half my life and all the fun
of college." Marygolden nodded and watched Speedy solemnly as he grew
older and older, and still more solemnly as he grew younger, and as the
boy reached the exact age he had been when he plunged into Subterranea,
the clever little Princess pulled the Lively Hood from his head and
threw it as far as she could. With one bounce Speedy was off the throne.