Picking a Proper Princess
“What shall we do first?” groaned the King, holding his head with both
hands. “Let me think!”
“Right,” said Kabumpo. “Think by all means.”
So the great hall was cleared and the King, with the mysterious scroll
spread out before him, thought and thought and _thought_. But he did not
make much headway, for, as he explained over and over to Queen Pozy,
who—with Pompadore, the Elegant Elephant and the Prime Pumper—had
remained to help him, “How is one to know where to find the Proper
Princess, and how is one to know the proper time for Pompa to wed her?”
Who was J.G.? How did the scroll get in the cake?
The more the King thought about these questions, the more wrinkled his
forehead became.
“Why! We’re liable to wake up any morning and find ourselves gone,” he
announced gloomily. “How does it feel to disappear, I wonder?”
“I suppose it would give one rather a gone feeling, but I don’t believe
it would hurt—much!” volunteered Kabumpo, glancing uneasily over his
shoulder.
“Perhaps not, but it would not get us anywhere. My idea is to marry the
Prince at once to a Proper Princess,” put in the Prime Pumper, “and
avoid all this disappearing.”
“You’re in a great hurry to marry me off, aren’t you,” said Pompadore
sulkily. “For my part, I don’t want to marry at all!”
“Well, that’s very selfish of you, Pompa,” said the King in a grieved
voice. “Do you want your poor old father to disappear?”
“Not only your poor old father,” choked the Prime Pumper, rolling up his
eyes. “How about me?”
“Oh, you—_you_ can disappear any time you want,” said the Prince
unfeelingly.
“It all started with that wretched cake,” sighed the Queen. “I am
positive the scroll flew out of the cake when it exploded.”
“Of course it did!” cried Pompus. “Let us send for the cook and question
him.”
So Hashem, very wet and blue from his dip, was brought before the King.
“A fine cook you are!” roared Pompus, “mixing gun powder and scrolls in
a birthday cake.”
“But I didn’t,” wailed Hashem, falling on his knees. “Only eggs, your
Highness—very best eggs—sugar, flour, spice and—”
“Bombshells!” cried the King angrily.
“The cake disappeared _before_ the party, your Majesty!” cried Eejabo.
Everyone jumped at the sudden interruption, and Eejabo, who had crept in
unnoticed, stepped before the throne.
“Disappeared,” continued Eejabo hoarsely, dripping blue water all over
the royal rugs. “One minute there it was on the pantry table. Next
minute—_gone!_” croaked Eejabo, flinging up his hands and shrugging his
shoulders.
“Then, before a fellow could turn around, it was back. ’Tweren’t our
fault if magic got mixed into it, and here we have been dipped for
nothing!”
“Well, why didn’t you say so before!” asked the King in exasperation.
“Fine chance I had to say anything!” sniffed Eejabo, wringing out his
lace ruffles.
“Eh—rr—you may have the day off, my good man,” said Pompus, with an
apologetic cough—“And _you_ also,” with a wave at Hashem. Very stiffly
the two walked to the door.
“It’s an off day for us, all right,” said Eejabo ungraciously, and
without so much as a bow the two disappeared.
“I fear you were a bit hasty, my love,” murmured Queen Pozy, looking
after them with a troubled little frown.
“Well, who wouldn’t be!” cried Pompus, ruffling up his hair. “Here we
are liable to disappear any minute and all you do is to stand around and
criticize me. _Begone!_” he puffed angrily, as a page stuck his head in
the door.
“No use shouting at people to begone,” said the Elegant Elephant
testily. “We’ll all begone soon enough.”
At this Queen Pozy began to weep into her silk handkerchief, which sight
so affected Prince Pompadore that he rushed forward and embraced her
tenderly.
“I’ll marry!” cried the Prince impulsively. “I’ll do anything! The
trouble is there aren’t any Fairy Princesses around here!”
“There must be,” said the King.
“There is—There are!” screamed the Prime Pumper, bouncing up suddenly.
“Oyez, Oyez! Has your Majesty forgotten Faleero, royal Princess of
Follensby forest?”
“Why, of course!” The King snapped his fingers joyfully. “Everyone says
Faleero is a Fairy Princess. She must be the proper one!”
“Fa—_leero_!” trumpeted the Elegant Elephant, sitting down with a
terrific thud. “That awful old creature! You ought to be ashamed of
yourself!”
“Silence!” thundered the King.
“Nonsense!” trumpeted Kabumpo. “She’s a thousand years old and as ugly
as a stone Lukoogoo. Don’t you marry her, Pompa.”
“I command him to marry her!” cried the King opening his eyes very wide
and bending forward.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
“Faleero?” gasped the Prince, scarcely believing his ears. No wonder
Pompadore was shocked. Faleero, although a Princess in her own right and
of royal fairy descent, was so unattractive that in all her thousand
years of life no one had wished to marry her. She lived in a small hut
in the great forest kingdom next to Pumperdink and did nothing all day
but gather faggots. Her face was long and lean, her hair thin and black
and her nose so large that it made you think of a cauliflower.
“Ugh!” groaned Prince Pompadore, falling back on Kabumpo for support.
“Well, she’s a Princess and a fairy—the only one in any Kingdom. I don’t
see why you want to be so fussy!” said the King fretfully.
“Shall I tell her Royal Highness of the great good fortune that has
befallen her?” asked the Prime Pumper, starting for the door.
“Do so at once,” snapped Pompus. Just then he gave a scream of fright
and pain, for a round shiny object had flown through the air and struck
him on the head. “What was that?”
The Prime Pumper looked suspiciously at the Elegant Elephant. Kabumpo
glared back.
“A—a warning!” stuttered the Prime Pumper, afraid to say that Kabumpo
had flung the offending missile. “A warning, your Majesty!”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” said the King angrily. “You’re getting old,
Pumper and stupid. It’s—why it’s a door knob! Who _dares_ to hit me with
a door knob?”
“It hit me once,” mumbled Kabumpo, shifting uneasily from one foot to
the other three. “How does it strike you?”
“As an outrageous piece of impertinence!” spluttered Pompus, turning as
red as a turkey cock.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the scroll,” suggested Queen Pozy,
taking it from the King. “See! It is gold and all the door knobs in the
palace are ivory. And look! Here are some initials!”
Sure enough! It was gold and in the very centre were the initials P. A.
Just at this interesting juncture the page, who had been poking his head
in the door every few minutes, gathered his courage together and rushed
up to the King.
“Pardon, Most High Highness, but General Quakes bade me say that this
mirror was found under the window,” stuttered the page, and before
Pompus had an opportunity to cry “Begone!” or “Dip him!” the little
fellow made a dash for the door and disappeared.
“It grows more puzzling every minute,” wailed the King, looking from the
door knob to the mirror and from the mirror to the scroll.
“If you take my advice you’ll have this marriage performed at once,”
said the Prime Pumper in a trembling voice.
“I believe I will!” sighed Pompus, rubbing the bump on his head. “Go and
fetch the Princess Faleero and you, Pompa, prepare for your wedding.”
“But Father!” began the Prince.
“Not another word or you’ll be dipped!” rumbled the King of Pumperdink.
“I’m not going to have my kingdom disappearing if I can help it!”
“You mean if _I_ can help it,” muttered Pompadore gloomily.
“This is ridiculous!” stormed the Elegant Elephant, as the Prime Pumper
rushed importantly out of the room. “Don’t you know that this country of
ours is only a small part of the great Kingdom of Oz? There must be
hundreds of Princesses for Pompadore to choose from. Why should he not
wed Ozma, the princess of us all? Haven’t you read any Oz history? Have
you never heard of the wonderful Emerald City? Let Pompadore start out
at once. I, myself, will accompany him, and if Ozma refuses to marry
him—well”—the Elegant Elephant drew himself up—“I will carry her
off—that’s all!”
“It’s a long way to the Emerald City,” mused Queen Pozy, “but still—”
“Yes, and what is to become of us in the meantime pray? While you are
wandering all over Oz we can disappear I suppose! No Sir! Not one step
do you go out of Pumperdink. Faleero is the Proper Princess and
Pompadore shall marry her!” said Pompus.
“You’re talking through your crown,” wheezed Kabumpo. “How about the
door knob and mirror? They came out of the cake as well as the scroll.
What are you going to do about them? Let’s have a look at that mirror.”
“Just a common gold mirror,” fumed Pompus, holding it up for the Elegant
Elephant to see.
“What’s the matter?” as Kabumpo gave a snort.
On the face of the mirror, as Kabumpo looked in, two words appeared:
Elegant Elephant.
And when Pompus snatched the mirror, above his reflection stood the
words:
Fat Old King.
Then Queen Pozy peeped into the mirror, which promptly flashed:
Lovely Queen.
“Why, it’s telling the truth!” screamed Pompa, looking over his mother’s
shoulder. At this the words “Charming Prince” formed quickly in the
glass.
The Prince grinned at his father, who was now quite beside himself with
rage.
“You think I’m fat and old, do you!” snorted the King, flinging the gold
mirror face down on the table. “This is a nice day, I must say! Scrolls,
door knobs, mirrors and insults!”
“But what can P. A. stand for?” mused Queen Pozy thoughtfully.
“Plain enough,” chuckled Kabumpo, maliciously. “It stands for perfectly
awful!”
“Who’s perfectly awful?” asked Pompus suspiciously.
“Why, Faleero,” sniffed the Elegant Elephant. “That’s plain enough to
everybody!”
“Dip him!” shrieked Pompus. “I’ve had enough of this! _Dip him_—do you
hear?”
“That,” yawned Kabumpo, straightening his silk robe, “is impossible!”
And, considering his size it was. But just that minute the Prime Pumper
returned and in his interest to hear what the Princess Faleero had said
the King forgot about dipping Kabumpo.
The courier from the Princess stepped forward.
“Her Highness,” puffed the Prime Pumper, who had run all the way, “Her
Highness accepts Prince Pompadore with pleasure and will marry him
to-morrow morning.”
Prince Pompadore gave a dismal groan.
“Fine!” cried the King, rubbing his hands together. “Let everything be
made ready for the ceremony, and in the meantime”—Pompus glared about
fiercely—“I forbid anyone’s disappearing. I am still the King! Set a
guard around the castle, Pumper, to watch for any signs of
disappearance, and if so much as a fence paling disappears”—he drew
himself up—“notify me _at once_!” Then turning to the throne Pompus gave
his arm to Queen Pozy and together they started for the garden.
“Do you mean to say you are going to pay no attention to the mirror or
door knob?” cried Kabumpo, planting himself in the King’s path.
“Go away,” said Pompus crossly.
“Oyez! Oyez! Way for their Majesties!” cried the Prime Pumper, running
ahead with his silver staff, and the royal couple swept out of the
banquet hall.
“Never mind, Kabumpo,” said the Prince, flinging his arm affectionately
around the Elegant Elephant’s trunk, “I dare say Faleero has her good
points—and we cannot let the old Kingdom disappear, you know!”
[Illustration: “Flinging his arms affectionately around the Elegant
Elephant’s trunk”]
“Fiddlesticks!” choked Kabumpo. “She’ll make a door mat of you,
Pompa—Prince Pompadormat—that’s what you’ll be! Let’s run away!” he
proposed, his little eyes twinkling anxiously.
“I couldn’t do that and let the Kingdom disappear, it wouldn’t be
right,” sighed the Prince, and sadly he followed his parents into the
royal gardens.
“The King’s a Gooch!” gulped the Elegant Elephant unhappily. Then, all
at once he flung up his trunk. “Somebody’s going to disappear around
here,” he wheezed darkly, “that’s certain!” With a mighty rustling of
his silk robe, Kabumpo hurried off to his own royal quarters in the
palace.
Left alone, Prince Pompa threw himself down at the foot of the throne,
and gazed sadly into space.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]