The Delicious Sea of Soup
“Strange that we don’t see any houses,” puffed Kabumpo, swinging along
rapidly.
“I hear water,” answered Pompa, peering out over Kabumpo’s head, “and
there it is!”
Rippling silver under the rays of the moon, which shone brightly, lay a
great inland sea. The trees had thinned out, and a smooth, sandy beach
stretched down to the shore. A slight mist hung in the air and all
around was the delicious fragrance of vegetable soup.
“Somebody’s making soup,” sighed the Prince, “but who, and where?”
“Never mind, Pompa,” wheezed the Elegant Elephant, walking down to the
water’s edge, “perhaps you can catch some fish, and while you cook them
I’ll go back and eat some leaves.”
With a jerk of his trunk, Kabumpo pulled a length of the heavy silver
thread from his torn robe and handed it up to Pompa. Fastening a jeweled
pin to one end, the Prince cast his line far out into the waves. At the
first tug he drew it in.
“What is it?” asked the Elegant Elephant, as Pompa pulled the dripping
line over his trunk.
“Oh, how delicious! How wonderful!” exclaimed the once fastidious Prince
of Pumperdink.
Kabumpo could hear him munching away with relish.
“What is it?” he asked again.
“A carrot! A lovely, red, delightful, tender carrot!”
“Carrot! Who ever heard of a sea carrot?” grunted Kabumpo. “I’m afraid
you’re not yourself, my boy. Let me see it.”
Snaps and crunches, as Pompa consumed his strange catch, were the only
answer, and in real alarm the Elegant Elephant moved away from the
shore, and in doing so bumped against a white sign, stuck in the sand.
“Please Don’t Fall In,” directed the sign politely, “_It Spoils The
Soup_.”
“Soup!” sputtered Kabumpo. Then another sign caught his eye: “_Soup
Sea—Salted To Taste—Help Yourself_.”
“Come down—come down here directly!” cried the Elegant Elephant,
snatching the Prince from his back. “Here’s the soup—a whole sea full.
Now all you need is a bowl.”
Swallowing convulsively the last bit of carrot, Pompa stood staring out
over the tossing, smoking soup sea. Every now and then a bone or a
vegetable would bob out of the waves, and the poor hungry Prince of
Pumperdink thought he had never seen a more lovely sight in his life.
“We’ll probably be awarded a china medal for this,” chuckled the Elegant
Elephant. “Won’t old Pumper’s eyes stick out when we tell him about it?
But now for a bowl!”
Swinging his trunk gently, Kabumpo walked up the white beach, and had
not gone more than a dozen steps before he came to a cluster of huge
shells. He turned one over curiously. “Why, it’s a soup bowl,” whistled
the Elegant Elephant. He rushed back with it to Pompadore, who still
stood dreamily surveying the soup.
“I never thought I’d be so thrilled by a common soup bowl,” thought
Kabumpo, staring at the Prince in amusement. He stepped out on a rock
and dipped up a bowl of the hot liquid.
“Here! Drink!” commanded the Elegant Elephant, handing the bowl to the
Prince. “Drink to the Proper Princess and the future Queen of
Pumperdink.”
“Don’t go,” begged the Prince between gulps, “I shall want
two—three—several!”
Kabumpo laughed good naturedly. “This is the pleasantest thing that has
happened to us. Here! Have another!”
Then both Pompa and the Elegant Elephant gasped, for out of the bubbling
waves arose the most curious figure that they had ever seen—the most
curious and the jolliest. He was made entirely of soup bones, and his
head was a monster cabbage, with a soup bowl set jauntily on the side
for a cap. For a cabbage head he sang very well and this was the song to
which he kept time by waving a silver ladle:
“Ho! I am the King of the Soup Sea,
Yes, I am the King of the Deep;
My crown is a bowl and my sceptre a ladle,
I fell in the soup when I fell from the cradle,
And find it exceedingly cheap!
I stir it up nightly, and pepper it rightly—
A liquid perfection you’ll find.
And here is a roll, sirs,
So fill up your bowl, sirs,
And think of me after you’ve dined.”
When he came to “dined,” the Soup King gave a playful leap and
disappeared backward into the waves.
Pompa rubbed his eyes and looked at Kabumpo to see whether he had been
dreaming.
“Oh!” cried Kabumpo, his eyes as round as little saucers. Floating
gently toward them were two large, crisp, buttered rolls.
“The most charming King I’ve ever met,” chuckled Kabumpo, scooping up
the rolls and handing them to Pompa.
Pompa, staring dreamily ahead, first took a drink of soup, then a nibble
of roll, too happy for speech. Four times the Elegant Elephant refilled
the bowl. Then, his stomach full for the first time since they had left
Pumperdink, the Prince stretched himself out on the sands.
“Now,” puffed the Elegant Elephant ceremoniously, “if you think you’ve
had quite enough, I’ll snatch a few bites myself.” Chuckling softly he
made his way back to some young trees, and dined luxuriously off their
tops.
When he returned to the beach, Pompa was fast asleep, and for a few
moments Kabumpo was inclined to sleep himself. “But then,” he reflected,
“Ozma may require a lot of coaxing before she consents to marry Pompa,
and two of our precious seven days are gone. It is plainly my duty to
save Pumperdink. Besides, when Pompa is married he will be King of Oz!
Then I, the Elegant Elephant, will be the biggest figure at Court.”
Kabumpo threw up his trunk and trumpeted softly to the stars. Then,
giving himself a big shake and a little stretch, he lifted the sleeping
Prince to his back and started on again. In about two hours he had
circled the Soup Sea and, guiding himself by a particularly bright and
twinkling star, ran swiftly and steadily toward the South.
As the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, Kabumpo passed through
a quaint little Gilliken village. He snatched a bag of rolls from a
doorstep and stuck them into his pocket, but he did not stop, and so
fast asleep was the little village that except for a few wideawake
roosters, no one knew how important a person had passed through.
The sky grew pinker and pinker. You have no idea how pink the morning
skies in Oz can be. Just as the sun got out of bed, the Elegant Elephant
came to the wonderful Emerald City itself, shining and fairylike as a
dream under the lovely colors of sunrise. Kabumpo paused and took a deep
breath. Even he was impressed, and it took a good bit to impress him. He
reached back and touched Pompa with his trunk.
“Wake up, my boy,” whispered Kabumpo in a trembling voice. “Wake up and
put on your crown, for we have come to the city of your Proper
Princess.”
Pompa sat up and rubbed his eyes in amazement. Without a word, he took
the crown Kabumpo handed up to him, and set it on his scorched, golden
head. Accustomed as Pompa was to grandeur, for Pumperdink is very
magnificent in its funny old-fashioned way, he could not help but gasp
at Ozma’s fair city. The lovely green parks, the houses studded with
countless emeralds, the shining marble streets, filled the Prince with
wonder.
“I don’t believe she’ll ever marry me,” he stuttered, beginning to feel
quite frightened at his boldness.
“Nonsense,” wheezed Kabumpo faintly. He was beginning to have misgivings
himself. “Sit up now! Look your best, and I’ll carry you straight into
the palace gardens.”
No one was awake. Even the Soldier with the Green Whiskers lay snoring
against a tree, so that Kabumpo stole unobserved into the Royal Gardens.
“I don’t see the palace,” whispered Pompa anxiously. “Wouldn’t it show
above the trees?”
“It ought to,” said Kabumpo, wrinkling up his forehead. “But look! Who
is that?”
Pompa’s heart almost stopped, and even Kabumpo’s gave a queer jump. On a
golden bench, just ahead, sat the loveliest person either had seen in
all of their eighteenth birthdays.
“Ozma,” gasped the Elegant Elephant, as soon as he had breath enough to
whisper. “What luck! You must ask her at once.”
“Not now,” begged the Prince of Pumperdink, as Kabumpo unceremoniously
helped him to the ground. His knees shook, his tongue stuck to the roof
of his mouth. He had never proposed to a Fairy Princess before in his
whole life. Then all at once he had an idea. Slipping his hand into the
Elegant Elephant’s pocket, he drew out the magic mirror. “I’ll see if
she’s a princess,” stuttered Pompa.
The elephant shook his head angrily but was afraid to speak again lest
he disturb the quiet figure on the bench.
“And I’ll not propose unless she is the one,” said Pompa, tip-toeing
toward the bench. Without making a sound he suddenly held the mirror
before the startled and lovely lady.
“Glinda, good Sorceress of Oz,” flashed the mirror promptly.
“Great gooseberries!” cried Glinda, springing to her feet in alarm and
swinging around on Pompa. “Where did you come from?” After studying a
whole day and night in her magic books, Glinda had returned to the
Emerald City to try to perfect her plan for rescuing Ozma.
“From Pumperdink, your Highness,” puffed Kabumpo, lunging forward
anxiously. He, too, had seen the words in the mirror and the fear of
offending a Sorceress made him quake in his skin—which was loose enough
to quake in, dear knows!
“A thousand pardons!” cried the Prince, dropping on one knee and taking
off his crown. “We were seeking Princess Ozma, the Fairy Ruler of Oz.”
Glinda looked from Kabumpo to the Prince and controlled a desire to
laugh. The Elegant Elephant’s torn and scorched robe hung in rags from
his shoulders and his jeweled headpiece was dangling over one ear.
Pompa’s clothes were equally shabby and his almost bald head with a lock
sticking up here and there gave him a singular and comical appearance.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
“Pumperdink?” mused Glinda, tapping her foot thoughtfully. Then, like a
flash she remembered the entry in the Book of Records—“The Prince of
Pumperdink is journeying toward the Emerald City.”
“Why did you want to see Ozma?” asked Glinda anxiously. Perhaps these
two strangers could throw some light on the mysterious disappearance of
the Royal Palace.
“Our country was threatened with disappearance and I thought—”
“He thought Ozma might help us,” finished the Elegant Elephant
breathlessly. He did not believe in telling strange Sorceresses about
everything. Now if Glinda had not been so occupied with the
disappearance of the palace and all the dearest people in Oz, she might
have been more curious about the disappearance of Pumperdink. As it was
she just shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid Ozma cannot help you,” she
said, “for Ozma herself has disappeared—Ozma and everyone in the
palace.”
“Disappeared!” trumpeted the Elegant Elephant, sitting down with a thud.
“Great Grump! The thing’s getting to be a habit!”
What was to become of Pompa now? Would he never be King, nor he,
Kabumpo, ever be known as the most Elegant Elephant in Oz? Had they made
the long journey in vain?
“Where? When?” gasped Prince Pompadore.
“Night before last,” explained Glinda. “I’ve been consulting my magic
books ever since but have only been able to discover one fact.”
“What is that?” asked Kabumpo faintly.
“That they are in Ev,” said Glinda, “and that a giant carried them off.
I came here early this morning to see whether I could discover anything
new. Would you care to see where the castle stood?”
“Did he carry the castle off, too?” shuddered Pompa. Glinda nodded
gloomily and led them over to the great hole in the center of the
gardens.
For a minute she stood watching them. Then, glancing at a golden sun
dial set in the center of a lovely flower bed, she murmured half to
herself, “I must be off!” Next instant she clapped her hands and down
swept a shining chariot drawn by white swans.
“Good-bye!” called Glinda, springing in lightly. “I’m off to Ev to try
my magic against the giant’s. Wait here and when I’ve helped Ozma
perhaps I can help you!”
“Can’t we help? Can’t we go?” cried Pompa, running a few steps after the
chariot, but Glinda, already high in the air, did not hear him and in
the wink of an eye the chariot and its lovely occupant had melted into
the pink morning clouds.
“Now what shall we do?” groaned the Prince, letting his arms drop
heavily at his sides.
“Do!” snorted Kabumpo. “The thing for you to do is to act like a Prince
instead of a Gooch! There are other ways of getting to Ev than by
chariot.”
The thought of Kabumpo in Glinda’s chariot made Pompa smile in spite of
himself.
“There! That’s better,” said the Elegant Elephant more pleasantly.
“Now, what’s to hinder us from going to Ev and rescuing Princess Ozma?
She couldn’t help marrying you if you saved her from a giant, could
she?”
“But could I save her—that’s the question,” muttered the Prince, looking
uneasily at the yawning cavity where the castle had stood. “This giant
must be a terrible fellow!”
“Pooh!” said Kabumpo airily. “Who’s afraid of giants? I’ll wind my trunk
around his leg and pull him to earth. Then you can dispatch the villain.
We must get you a sword, though,” he added softly.
“All right! I’ll do it!” cried the Prince, throwing out his chest. The
very thought of killing a giant made him feel about ten feet high. “Do
you know the way to Ev, Kabumpo? We’ll have to hurry, because unless I
marry Ozma before the seven days are up my poor old father and mother
and all of Pumperdink will disappear forever.”
You see, even Pompa had now got it into his head that Ozma was the
Proper Princess mentioned in the scroll.
“We’ll start at once,” sighed the Elegant Elephant a bit ruefully. “I’ve
had no sleep and precious little to eat but when you are King of Oz you
can reward old Kabumpo as he deserves.”
“Everything I have will be yours,” cried the Prince, giving the
elephant, or as much of him as he could grasp, a sudden hug. Then each
took a long drink from one of the bubbling fountains and, munching the
rolls Kabumpo had picked up in the Gilliken village, the two adventurers
stole out of the gardens.
As they reached the gates, Kabumpo paused and his little eyes twinkled
with delight. There lay the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, snoring
tremendously and beside him was a long, sharp sword with an emerald
handle. “Just what we need,” chuckled Kabumpo, snatching it up in his
trunk. Then out through the gates and swiftly through the still sleeping
city swept the Elegant Elephant and the Prince of Pumperdink, off to
rescue Princess Ozma, a prisoner in Ev!
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]