The Curious Cottabus Appears
“Ouch!” Prince Pompadore stirred uneasily and rolled over. “Ouch!” he
groaned again, giving his pillow a fretful thump. “Ouch!” This time his
eyes flew wide open, for his knuckles were tingling with pain.
“A rock!” gasped the Prince, sitting up indignantly. “A rock under my
head! No wonder it aches! Great Gillikens! Where am I?” He stared about
wildly. There was not a familiar object in sight. Indeed he was in a
dim, deep forest, and from the distance came the sound of someone sawing
wood.
“Oh! Oh! I know!” muttered the Prince, rubbing his head miserably. “It’s
that wretched scroll. I’ve disappeared and this is the place I’ve
disappeared to.” Stiffly he got to his feet and started to walk in the
direction of the sawing, but had only gone a few steps before he gave a
cry of joy, for there, leaning up against a tree, snoring like twenty
wood-cutters at work, was Kabumpo.
“Wake up!” cried Pompadore, pounding him with all his might. “Wake up,
Kabumpo. We’ve disappeared!”
“Have we?” yawned the Elegant Elephant, opening one eye. “You don’t say?
Hah, Hoh, Hum!” With a tremendous yawn he opened the other eye and began
to chuckle and shake all over.
“We stole a march on ’em, Pompa. I’d like to see the King’s face when he
finds us gone. Old Pumper will be Oyezing all over the palace. He’ll
think we’ve disappeared by magic.”
“Well, didn’t we?” asked Pompadore in amazement.
“Not unless you call _me_ magic. I carried you off in the night. Did you
suppose old Kabumpo was going to stand quietly by while they married you
to a faggotty old fairy like Faleero? Not much,” wheezed the Elegant
Elephant. “I have other plans for you, little one!”
“But this is terrible!” cried the Prince, catching hold of a tree. “Here
you have left my poor old father, my lovely mother, and the whole
Kingdom of Pumperdink to disappear. We’ll have to go right straight
back—right straight back to Pumperdink. Do you hear?”
“Do have a little sense!” Kabumpo shook himself crossly. “You can’t save
them by going back. The thing to do is to go forward, find the Proper
Princess and marry her. No scroll magic takes effect for seven days,
anyway!”
“How do you know?” asked Pompa anxiously.
“Read it in a witch book,” answered Kabumpo promptly. “Now, that gives
us plenty of time to go to the Emerald City and present ourselves to the
lovely ruler of Oz. There’s a Proper Princess for you, Pompa!”
“But suppose she refuses me,” said the Prince uncertainly.
“You’re very handsome, Pompa, my boy.” The Elegant Elephant gave the
Prince a playful poke with his trunk. “I’ve brought all my jewels as
gifts and the magic mirror and door knob as well. If she refuses you and
the worst comes to the worst”—Kabumpo cleared his throat
gravely—“well—just leave it to me!”
After a bit more coaxing and after eating the breakfast Kabumpo had
thoughtfully brought along, Pompa allowed the Elegant Elephant to lift
him on his head and off they set at Kabumpo’s best speed for the Emerald
City of Oz.
Neither the Prince nor the Elegant Elephant had ever been out of
Pumperdink, but Kabumpo had found an old map of Oz in the palace
library. According to this map, the Emerald City lay directly to the
South of their own country. “So all we have to do is to keep going
South,” chuckled Kabumpo softly. Pompadore nodded, but he was trying to
recall the exact words of the mysterious scroll:
“Know Ye, that unless ye Prince of ye ancient and honorable Kingdom of
Pumperdink shall wed ye Proper Fairy Princess in ye proper span of time
ye Kingdom of Pumperdink shall disappear forever and even longer from ye
Gilliken Country of Oz. _J. G._”
Pompadore repeated the words solemnly; then fell a-thinking of all he
had heard of Ozma of Oz, the loveliest little fairy imaginable.
“She wouldn’t want one of her Kingdom to disappear,” reflected Pompadore
sagely. Now, as it happened, Ozma did not even know of the existence of
Pumperdink. Oz is so large and inhabited by so many strange and singular
peoples that although fourteen books of history have been written about
it, only half the story has been told. There are no Oz railway or
steamship lines and traveling is tedious and slow, owing to the magic
nature of the land itself, its many mountains and fairy forests, so that
Pumperdink, like many of the small Kingdoms on the outskirts of Oz, has
never been explored by Ozma.
Oz itself is a huge oblong country divided into four parts, the North
being the purple Gilliken country, the East the blue Munchkin country,
the South the red lands of the Quadlings, and the West the pleasant
yellow country of the Winkies. In the very center of Oz, as almost every
boy and girl knows, is the wonderful Emerald City, and in its gorgeous
green palace lives Ozma, the lovely little Fairy Princess, whom Kabumpo
wanted Pompadore to marry.
“Do you know,” mused the Prince, after they had traveled some time
through the dim forest, “I believe that gold mirror has a lot to do with
all this. I believe it was put in the cake to help me find the Proper
Princess.”
“Where would you find a more Proper Princess than Ozma?” puffed Kabumpo
indignantly. “Ozma is the one—depend upon it!”
“Just the same,” said Pompa firmly, “I’m going to try every Princess we
meet!”
“Do you expect to find ’em running wild in the woods?” snorted Kabumpo,
who didn’t like to be contradicted.
“You never can tell.” The Prince of Pumperdink settled back comfortably.
Now that they were really started, he was finding traveling extremely
interesting. “I should have done this long ago,” murmured the Prince to
himself. “Every Prince should go on a journey of adventure.”
“How long will it take us to reach the Emerald City?” he asked
presently.
“Two days, if nothing happens,” answered Kabumpo. “Say—what’s that?” He
stopped short and spread his ears till they looked like sails. The
underbrush at the right was crackling from the springs of some large
animal, and next minute a hoarse voice roared:
“I want to know
The which and what,
The where and how and why?
A curious, luxurious
Old Cottabus am I!
I want to know the
When and who,
The whatfor and whyso, Sir!
So please attend, there is no end
To things I want to know, Sir!”
“Aha!” exulted the voice triumphantly. “There you are!” And a great
round head was thrust out, almost in Kabumpo’s face. “Oh! I’m going to
enjoy this. Don’t move!”
Kabumpo was too astonished to move, and the next instant the Cottabus
had flounced out of the bushes and settled itself directly in front of
the two travelers. It was large as a pony, but shaped like a great
overfed cat. Its eyes bulged unpleasantly and the end of its tail ended
in a large fan.
[Illustration: The Cottabus was as large as a pony, but shaped like a
great overfed cat]
“Well,” grunted Kabumpo after the strange creature had regarded them for
a full minute without blinking.
“Well, what?” it asked, beginning to fan itself sulkily. “You act as if
you had never seen a Cottabus before.”
“We never have,” admitted Pompa, peering over Kabumpo’s head and
secretly wishing he had brought along his jeweled sword.
“Why haven’t you?” asked the Cottabus, rolling up its eyes. “How
frightfully ignorant!” It closed its fan tail with a snap and looked up
at them disapprovingly. “Will you kindly tell me who you are, where you
came from, when you came, what you are going for, how you are going to
get it, why you are going and what you are going to do when you do get
it!”
“I don’t see why we should tell you all that,” grumbled Kabumpo. “It's
none of your affair.”
“Wrong!” shrieked the creature hysterically. “It is the business of a
Cottabus to find out everything. I live on other people’s affairs, and
unless”—here it paused, took a large handkerchief out of a pocket in its
fur and began to wipe its eyes—“unless a Cottabus asks fifty questions a
day it curls up in its porch rocker and d-d-dies, and this is my fifth
questionless day.”
“Curl up and die, then,” said Kabumpo gruffly. But the kind-hearted
Prince felt sorry for the foolish creature.
“If we answer your questions, will you answer ours?”
“I’ll try,” sniffed the Curious Cottabus, and leaning over it dragged a
rocking chair out of the bushes and seated itself comfortably.
“Well, then,” began Pompa, “this is the Elegant Elephant and I am a
Prince. We came from Pumperdink because our Kingdom was threatened with
disappearance unless I marry a Proper Princess.”
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
“Yes,” murmured the Cottabus, rocking violently. “Yes, yes!”
“And we are going to the Emerald City to ask Princess Ozma for her
hand,” continued the Prince.
“How do you know she is the one? When did this happen? Who brought the
message? What are you going to do if Ozma refuses you?” asked the
Cottabus, leaning forward breathlessly.
“Are you going to stand talking to this ridiculous creature all day?”
grumbled Kabumpo. But Pompadore, perhaps because he was so young, felt
flattered that even a curious old Cottabus should take such an interest
in his affairs. So beginning at the very beginning he told the whole
story of his birthday party.
“Yes, yes,” gulped the Cottabus wildly each time the Prince paused for
breath. “Yes, yes,” fluttering its fan excitedly. When Pompadore had
finished the Cottabus leaned back, closed its eyes and put both paws on
the arms of the rocker. “I never heard anything more curious in my
life,” said the curious one. “This will keep me amused for three days!”
“Of course—that’s what we’re here for—to amuse you!” said Kabumpo
scornfully. “Let's be going, Pompa!”
“Perhaps the Curious Cottabus can tell us something of the country
ahead. Are there any Princesses living ’round here?” the Prince asked
eagerly.
“Never heard of any,” said the Cottabus, opening its eyes. “Can you
multiply—add—divide and subtract? Are you good at fractions, Prince?”
“Not very,” admitted Pompadore, looking mystified.
“Then you won’t make much headway,” sighed the Cottabus, shaking its
head solemnly. “Now, don’t ask me why,” it added lugubriously, dragging
its rocker back into the brush, and while Kabumpo and Pompa stared in
amazement it wriggled away into the bushes.
“Come on,” cried Kabumpo with a contemptuous grunt, but he had only gone
a few steps when the Curious Cottabus stuck its head out of an opening
in the trees just ahead. “When are you coming back?” it asked, twitching
its nose anxiously.
“Never!” trumpeted Kabumpo, increasing his speed. Again the Cottabus
disappeared, only to reappear at the first turn in the road.
“Did you say the door knob hit you on the head?” it asked pleadingly.
Kabumpo gave a snort of anger and rushed along so fast that Pompa had to
hang on for dear life.
“Guess we’ve left him behind this time,” spluttered the Elegant
Elephant, after he had run almost a mile.
But at that minute there was a wheeze from the underbrush and the head
of the Cottabus was thrust out. Its tongue was hanging out and it was
panting with exhaustion. “How old are you?” it gasped rolling its eyes
pitifully. “Who was your grandfather on your father’s side, and was he
bald?”
“Kerumberty Bumpus!” raged the Elegant Elephant, flouncing to the other
side of the road.
“But why was the door knob in the cake?” gulped the Cottabus, two tears
trickling off its nose.
“How should we know,” said Pompa coldly.
“Then just tell me the date of your birth,” wailed the Cottabus, two
tears trickling off its nose.
“No! No!” screamed Kabumpo, and this time he ran so fast that the
tearful voice of the Cottabus became fainter and fainter and finally
died away altogether.
“Provokingest creature I’ve ever met,” grumbled the Elegant Elephant,
and this time Pompa agreed with him.
“Isn’t it almost lunch time?” asked the Prince. He was beginning to feel
terribly hungry.
“And aren’t there any villages or cities between here and the Emerald
City?” Pompa spoke again.
“Don’t know,” wheezed Kabumpo, swinging ahead.
“Oh! There’s a flag!” cried Pompa suddenly. “It’s flying above the tree
tops just ahead.”
And so it was—a huge, flapping black flag covered with hundreds of
figures and signs.
“Hurry up, Kabumpo,” urged the Prince. “This looks interesting.”
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]