The King of The Illumi Nation
While Ruggedo was working all this mischief in the Emerald City,
Pompadore and the Elegant Elephant had fallen into strange company.
After the Prince’s disappearance, Kabumpo stared long and anxiously at
the white marble stone with its mysterious inscription, “Knock before
you fall in.”
What would happen if he knocked, as the sign directed? Something
upsetting, the Elegant Elephant was sure, else why had Pompa called for
help?
Kabumpo groaned, for he was a luxurious beast and hated discomfort of
any sort. As for falling _in_—the very thought of it made him shudder in
every pound. But selfish and luxurious though he was, the Elegant
Elephant loved Pompa with all his heart. After all, he had run off with
the Prince and was responsible for his safety. If Pompa had fallen in he
must fall in too. With a resigned sigh, Kabumpo felt in his pocket to
see that his treasures were safe, straightened his robe and, taking one
last long breath, rapped sharply on the marble stone with his trunk.
Without a sound, the stone swung inward, and as Kabumpo was standing on
it he shot headlong into a great black opening. There was a terrific
rush of air and the slab swung back, catching as it did so the
fluttering edge of the Elegant Elephant’s robe of state. This halted his
fall for about a second and then with a spluttering tear the silk fringe
ripped loose and down plunged the Elegant Elephant, trunk over heels.
After the third somersault, Kabumpo, right side up, fortunately, struck
a soft inclined slide, down which he shot like a scenic railway train.
“Great Grump!” coughed Kabumpo, holding his jeweled headpiece with his
trunk. “Great—” Before he reached the second grump, his head struck the
top of the passage with terrific force, and that was the last he
remembered about his fall. How long he lay in an unconscious state the
Elegant Elephant never knew. After what seemed several ages he became
aware of a confused murmur. Footsteps seemed to be pattering all around
him, but he was still too stunned to be curious.
“Nothing will make me get up,” thought Kabumpo dully. “I’m going to lie
here forever and—ever—and ever—and—” Just as he reached this drowsy
conclusion, something red hot fell down his neck and a voice louder than
all the rest shouted in his ear. “_What are you?_”
“Ouch!” screamed Kabumpo, now thoroughly aroused. He opened one eye and
rolled over on his side. A tall, curious creature was bending over him.
Its head was on fire and as Kabumpo blinked angrily another red hot
shower spattered into his ear. With a trumpet of rage Kabumpo lunged to
his feet. The hot-headed person fell over backwards and a crowd of
similar creatures pattered off into the corner and regarded Kabumpo
uneasily. They were as tall as Pompa but very thin and tube-like in
shape and their heads appeared to be a mass of flickering flames.
“Like giant candles,” reflected the Elegant Elephant, his curiosity
getting the better of his anger. He glanced about hurriedly. He was in a
huge white tiled chamber and the only lights came from the heads of its
singular occupants. A little distance away Prince Pompadore sat rubbing
first his knees and then his head.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
“It’s another faller,” said one of the giant Candlemen to the other.
“Two fallers in one day! This is exciting—an ‘Ouch’ it calls itself!”
“I don’t care what it calls itself,” answered the second Candleman
crossly. “I call it mighty rude. How dare you blow out our king?”
shouted the hot-headed fellow, shaking his fist at the Elegant Elephant.
“Here, some of you, light him up!”
“Blow out your King?” gasped Kabumpo in amazement. Sure enough, he had.
There at his feet lay the King of the Candles, stiff and lifeless and
with never a head to bless himself with. While the Elegant Elephant
stared at the long candlestick figure a fat little Candleman rushed
forward and lit with his own head the small black wick sticking out of
the King’s collar.
Instantly the ruddy flame face of the King appeared, his eyes snapping
dangerously. Jumping to his feet he advanced toward Pompadore. “Is this
your Ouch?” spluttered the King, jerking his thumb at Kabumpo. “You must
take him away at once. I never was so put out in my life. Me, the
hand-dipped King of the whole Illumi Nation, to be blown out by a bumpy
creature without any headlight. Where’s _your_ headlight?” he demanded
fiercely, leaning over the Prince and dropping hot tallow down his neck.
Pompa jumped up in a hurry and backed toward Kabumpo. “Be careful how
you talk to him,” roared the Elegant Elephant, swaying backwards and
forward like a big ship. “He’s a Prince—the Prince of Pumperdink!”
Kabumpo tossed his trunk threateningly.
“A Prince?” spluttered the King, changing his tone instantly. “Well,
that’s different. A Prince can fall in on us any time and welcome but an
Ouch! Why bring this great clumsy Ouch along?” He rolled his eyes
mournfully at Kabumpo.
“He’s not an Ouch,” explained Pompa, who was gradually recovering from
the shock of his fall. “He is Kabumpo, an Elegant Elephant, and he blew
you out by mistake. Didn’t you, Kabumpo?”
“Purely an accident—nothing intentional, I assure you,” chuckled
Kabumpo. He was beginning to enjoy himself. “If there’s any more trouble
I’ll blow ’em all out,” he reflected comfortably, “for they’re nothing
but great big candles.”
Seeing their King in friendly conversation with the strangers, the other
Candlemen came closer—too close for comfort, in fact. They were always
leaning over and dropping hot tallow on a body and the heat from their
flaming heads was simply suffocating.
“Sing the National Air for them,” said the Candle King carelessly and
the Candlemen, in their queer crackling voices, sang the following song,
swaying rhythmically to the tune:
“Flicker, flicker, Candlemen,
Cheer our King and cheer again!
Neat as wax and always bright,
Cheer’s the King of candle light!
Kindle lightly—dwindle slightly,
Here we burn both day and nightly,
Here we have good times to burn
Till each one goes out in turn.”
“Thank you,” said Pompa, mopping his head with his silk handkerchief.
“Thank you very much,” Kabumpo groaned plaintively, for the great
elephant was nearly stifled.
“How is it you are so tall and thin?” asked Pompa after an awkward
pause.
“How is it you are so short and lumpy and unevenly dipped?” responded
King Cheer promptly. “If I were in your place,” he gave Kabumpo a
contemptuous glance, “I’d have myself redipped. Where are your wicks?
And how can you walk about without being lighted?”
“We’re not fireworks,” puffed Kabumpo indignantly and then he gave a
shrill scream. Ten Candlemen tottered and went out, falling to the
ground with a great clatter. Then Pompa leaped several feet in the air
and his scream put out five more.
“Stop!” cried King Cheer angrily. “Stand where you are!” But Kabumpo and
Pompa neither stopped nor stood where they were. The Elegant Elephant
rushed over to the Prince and threw his heavy robe over his head. And
just in time, for Pompa’s golden locks were a mass of flames. Then the
Prince tore off his velvet jacket and clapped it to Kabumpo’s tail,
which also was blazing merrily.
“Great Grump!” rumbled the Elegant Elephant furiously, when he had
extinguished Pompa and Pompa had extinguished him. “I’ll put you all out
for this!” He raised his trunk and pointed it straight at the Candlemen,
who cowered in the far corner.
“I was only trying to light you up,” wailed a little fellow, holding out
his hands pleadingly. “I thought that was your wick.” He pointed a
trembling finger at Kabumpo’s tail and another at Pompa’s head.
[Illustration: “I was only trying to light you up,” wailed the
Candleman]
“Wick!” snorted Kabumpo in a rage—while the Prince ran his hand
sorrowfully through his one luxuriant pompadour, of which nothing but a
short stubble remained—“Wick! What would we be doing with wicks?”
“I don’t think he meant any harm,” put in Pompadore, whose kind heart
was touched by the little Candleman’s terror. “And it wouldn’t help us
any.”
“Thought it was my Wick,” shrilled Kabumpo, glaring over his shoulder at
his poor scorched tail. “He’s a wick-ed little wretch. He’s ruined your
looks.”
“I know!” Pompa sighed dismally. “No one will want to marry me now. It’s
all coming true, Kabumpo, just as Count It Up said. Remember? ‘If a thin
Prince sets out on a fat elephant to find a Proper Princess, how many
yards of fringe will the elephant lose from his robe and how bald will
the Prince be at the end of the journey?’ And we’ve scarcely begun!”
“Great hay stacks!” whistled Kabumpo, his little eyes twinkling. “So I
have lost every bit of fringe from my robe and my tail and half the back
of my robe besides. This is nice, I must say.”
“We only tried to give you a warm welcome,” said the King timidly.
“Warm welcome! Well I should think you did,” sniffed Kabumpo. “How do we
get out of here?”
“Oh, that’s very simple,” said the King, cheering up. “Tommy, go for the
Snuffer.”
Before Kabumpo or Pompa realized what this would mean a little Candleman
named Tommy Tallow had returned with a tall black candle person. He
stepped to the side wall, quickly jerked a rope and down over Kabumpo
dropped a great brass snuffer and over the Prince another.
“That ought to put the cross old things out,” Pompa heard the King say
just before his snuffer reached the floor.
“This is terrible,” fumed the poor Prince, thumping on the sides of the
huge brass dome. “I might as well have stayed at home and disappeared
comfortably. My poor old father and my mother! I wonder where they are
now?”
Sunk in gloomy reflection, Pompadore leaned against the side of the
snuffer. And one cannot blame him for feeling dismal. The fall down the
deep passage, the shock of losing his hair and now imprisonment under a
stifling brass dome were enough to extinguish the hopes of the stoutest
hearted adventurer.
“I shall never find a Proper Princess!” wailed Pompa, tying and untying
his handkerchief. But just then there was a creak from without and the
great dome lifted as suddenly as it had fallen—so suddenly in fact that
Pompa fell flat on his back. There stood Kabumpo winding up the long
rope with his trunk and grumbling furiously all the while.
“Takes more than a snuffer to keep me down,” wheezed the Elegant
Elephant, hurrying over and jerking the Prince to his feet. “Three humps
of my shoulders and off she goes! What makes it so dark?”
“The Candlemen have all gone,” sighed Pompa, brushing his hand wearily
across his forehead. “All except that one.”
In a distant corner sat Tommy Tallow and the light from his head was the
only light in the great chamber. He was reading a book with tin leaves
and looked up in surprise when he saw the Elegant Elephant and Pompadore
approaching. Then he started to sputter and ran toward a bell rope at
the side of the chamber.
“Stop!” shouted Kabumpo, “or I’ll blow off your head!” At that the
little Candleman trembled so violently that his flame head almost went
out.
“Now suppose you show us the way out,” snapped the Elegant Elephant,
stamping one big foot until the floor trembled.
“You could burn out!” gasped Tommy faintly. “That’s what we do!”
“Don’t say out,” whispered Pompa anxiously. “We want to go away from
here,” he explained earnestly. “Back on the top of the ground, you
know.”
“Oh!” whistled Tommy Tallow, his face lighting up. “That’s easy—this
way, please!” He almost ran to a big door at one side of the room and
tugging it open, waved them through.
“Good-bye!” he called, slamming the door quickly behind them.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
Kabumpo and the Prince found themselves in a wide dim hallway. It
slanted up gradually and there were tall candle guards stationed about a
hundred yards apart all of the way.
“Are you going to a birthday party or a wedding?” asked the first guard,
as they passed him.
“Wedding,” sniffed Kabumpo. “Why?”
“Well, hardly any of the candles go out of here unless they’re needed
for a birthday or a wedding,” explained the guard, shifting his big
feet. “You’re mighty poorly made though. What kind of candles do you
call yourselves?”
“Roman,” chuckled Kabumpo with a wink. “We roam around,” he added
ponderously.
“Do all the candles used above ground come from here?” asked Pompa
curiously.
“Certainly,” replied the guard. “All candles come from Illumi—and they
don’t like to leave either because as soon as they strike the upper air
they shrink down to ordinary cake and candlestick size. Distressing,
isn’t it?”
“I suppose it must be,” smiled Pompadore. “Good-bye!” The guard touched
his flame hat and Kabumpo quickened his pace.
“I want air,” rumbled the great elephant, panting along as fast as he
could go. “I’ve seen and felt about all I care to see and feel of the
Illumi Nation.”
“So have I!” The Prince of Pumperdink touched his scorched locks and
sighed deeply. “I’m afraid Ozma will never marry me now, and Pumperdink
will disappear forever!”
“Don’t be a Gooch!” snapped the Elegant Elephant shortly. “Our
adventures have only begun.”
They passed the rest of the guards without further conversation, and
after about two hours came to the end of the long tiled passageway and
stepped upon firm ground again.
Kabumpo was terribly out of breath, for the whole way had been up hill.
For a full minute he stood sniffing the fresh night air. Then, turning
around, he looked for the opening through which they had come. Not a
sign of the passage anywhere!
“That’s curious,” puffed the Elegant Elephant. “But never mind. We don’t
want to go back anyway.”
“I should say not,” gasped the Prince wearily. “Where are we now,
Kabumpo?”
“Still in the Gilliken country, I think, but headed in the right
direction. All we have to do is to keep going South,” said the Elegant
Elephant cheerfully.
“But we’ve had nothing to eat since morning,” objected Pompadore.
“That’s so,” agreed Kabumpo, scratching his head thoughtfully, “and not
a house in sight!”
“But I smell something cooking,” insisted the Prince, sniffing hungrily.
“So do I,” said the Elegant Elephant, lifting his trunk, “and it smells
like soup. Let’s follow our noses, Pompa, my boy.”
“Yours is the longest,” laughed the Prince, as Kabumpo swung him upon
the elephant’s back. So, guided by the fragrant whiffs that came
floating toward them, Kabumpo set out through the trees.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]