DOWN THE MAGIC BEAN POLE
Hugging the bean pole for dear life, the Scarecrow slid rapidly
downward, Everything was dark, but at times a confused roaring
sounded in his ears.
"Father, I hear something falling past!" shouted a gruff voice all at
once.
"Then reach out and pull it in," growled a still deeper voice. There
was a flash of light, a door opened suddenly, and a giant hand
snatched the air just above the Scarecrow's head.
"It's a good thing I haven't a heart to fail me," murmured the
Scarecrow, glancing up fearfully and clinging more tightly to the
pole. "Though I fall, I shall not falter. But where under the earth
am I falling to?" At that minute, a door opened far below, and
someone called up:
"Who are you? Have out your toll and be ready to salute the Royal
Ruler of the Middlings!"
The Scarecrow had learned in the course of his many and strange
adventures that it was best to accede to every request that was
reasonable or possible. Realizing that unless he answered at once he
would fall past his strange questioners, he shouted amiably:
"I am the Scarecrow of Oz, sliding down my family tree!" The words
echoed oddly in the narrow passageway, and by the time he reached the
word "tree" the Scarecrow could make out two large brown men leaning
from a door somewhere below. Next minute he came to a sharp stop. A
board had shot out and closed off the passageway. So sudden was the
stop that the Scarecrow was tossed violently upward. While he
endeavored to regain his balance, the two Middlings eyed him
curiously.
"So this is the kind of thing they grow on top," said one, holding a
lantern close to the Scarecrow's head.
"Toll, Toll!" droned the other, holding out a horribly twisted hand.
"One moment, your Royal Middleness!" cried the Scarecrow, backing as
far away from the lantern as he could, for with a straw stuffing one
cannot be too careful of fire. He felt in his pocket for an emerald
he had picked up in the Emerald City a few days before and handed it
gingerly to the Muddy monarch.
"Why do you call me Middleness?" the King demanded angrily, taking
the emerald.
"Is your kingdom not in the middle of the earth, and are you not
royalty? What could be more proper than Royal Middleness?" asked the
Scarecrow, flecking the dust from his hat.
Now that he had a better view, he saw that _the two were entirely men
of mud,_ and very roughly put together. Dried grass hair stood erect
upon each head, and their faces were large and lumpy and had a
disconcerting way of changing shape. Indeed, when the King leaned
over to examine the Scarecrow, his features were so soft they seemed
to run into his cheek, which hung down alarmingly, while his nose
turned sideways and lengthened at least an inch!
Muddle pushed the King's nose back and began spreading his cheek into
place. Instead of hands and feet, the Middlings had gnarled and
twisted roots which curled up in a perfectly terrifying manner. Their
teeth were gold, and their eyes shone like small electric lights.
They wore stiff coats of dried mud, buttoned clumsily with lumps of
coal, and the King had a tall mud crown. Altogether, the Scarecrow
thought he had never seen more disagreeable looking creatures.
"What he needs," spluttered the King, fingering the jewel greedily,
"is a coat of mud! Shall we pull him in, Muddle?"
"He's very poorly made, your Mudjesty. Can you work, Carescrow?"
asked Muddle, thumping him rudely in the chest.
"Scarecrow, if you please!" The Scarecrow drew himself up and spoke
with great difficulty. "I can work with my head!" he added proudly.
"Your head!" roared the King. "Did you hear that, Muddle? He works
with his head. What's the matter with your hands?" Again the King
lunged forward, and this time his face fell on the other side and had
bulged enormously before Muddle could pat it into shape. They began
whispering excitedly together, but the Scarecrow made no reply, for
looking over their shoulder he glimpsed a dark, forbidding cavern
lighted only by the flashing red eyes of thousands of Middlings. They
appeared to be digging, and above the rattle of the shovels and picks
came the hoarse voice of one of them singing the Middling National
Air. Or so the Scarecrow gathered from the words:
"Oh, chop the brown clods as they fall with a thud!
Three croaks for the Middlings, who stick in the Mud.
Oh, mud, rich and wormy! Oh, mud, sweet and squirmy!
Oh what is so lovely as Mud! Oh what is so lovely as Mud!
Three croaks for the Middlings, who delve all the day
In their beautiful Kingdom of soft mud and clay!"
The croaks that came at the end of the song were so terrifying that
the Scarecrow shivered in spite of himself.
"Ugh! Hardly a place for a pleasant visit!" he gasped, flattening
himself against the wall of the passage. Feeling that matters had
gone far enough, he repeated in a loud voice:
"I am the Scarecrow of Oz and desire to continue my fall. I have paid
my toll and unless your Royal Middleness release me--"
"Might as well drop him--a useless creature!" whispered Muddle, and
before the King had time to object, he jerked the board back. "Fall
on!" he screeched maliciously, and the Scarecrow shot down into the
darkness, the hoarse screams of the two Middlings echoing after him
through the gloom.
No use trying to think! The poor Scarecrow bumped and banged from
side to side of the passage. It was all he could do to keep hold of
the bean pole, so swiftly was he falling.
"A good thing I'm not made of meat like little Dorothy," he wheezed
breathlessly. His gloves were getting worn through from friction with
the pole, and the rush of air past his ears was so confusing that he
gave up all idea of thinking. Even magic brains refuse to work under
such conditions. Down--down--down he plunged till he lost all count
of time. Down--down--down--hours and hours! Would he never stop?
Then suddenly it grew quite light, and he flashed through what
appeared to be a hole in the roof of a huge silver palace, whirled
down several stories and landed in a heap on the floor of a great
hall. In one hand he clutched a small fan, and in the other a parasol
that had snapped off the beanstalk just before he reached the palace
roof.
Shaken and bent over double though he was, the Scarecrow could see
that he had fallen into a company of great magnificence. He had a
confused glimpse of silken clad courtiers, embroidered screens,
inlaid floors, and flashing silver lanterns, when there was a
thundering bang that hurled him halfway to the roof again. Falling to
a sitting position and still clinging to the bean pole, he saw two
giant kettle drums nearby, still vibrating from the terrible blows
they had received.
The company were staring at him solemnly, and as he attempted to
rise, they fell prostrate on their faces. Up flew the poor flimsy
Scarecrow again, such was the draught, and this time landed on his
face. He was beginning to feel terribly annoyed, but before he could
open his mouth or stand up, a deep voice boomed:
"He has come!"
"He has come!" shrilled the rest of the company, thumping their heads
on the stone floor. The language seemed strange to the Scarecrow, but
oddly enough, he could understand it perfectly. Keeping a tight grasp
on the bean pole, he gazed at the prostrate assemblage, too
astonished to speak. They looked exactly like the pictures of some
Chinamen he had seen in one of Dorothy's picture books back in Oz,
but instead of being yellow, their skin was a curious gray, and the
hair of old and young alike was silver and worn in long, stiff
queues. Before he had time to observe any more, an old, old courtier
hobbled forward and beckoned imperiously to a page at the door. The
page immediately unfurled a huge silk umbrella and, running forward,
held it over the Scarecrow's head.
"Welcome home, sublime and noble Ancestor! Welcome, honorable and
exalted Sir." The old gentleman made several deep salaams.
"Welcome, immortal and illustrious Ancestor! Welcome, ancient and
serene Father!" cried the others, banging their heads hard on the
floor--so hard that their queues flew into the air.
"Ancestor! Father!" mumbled the Scarecrow in a puzzled voice. Then,
collecting himself somewhat, he made a deep bow, and sweeping off his
hat with a truly royal gesture began: "I am indeed honored--" But he
got no farther. The silken clad courtiers sprang to their feet in a
frenzy of joy. A dozen seized him bodily and carried him to a great
silver throne room.
"The same beautiful voice!" cried the ancient gentleman, clasping his
hands in an ecstasy of feeling.
"It is he! The Emperor! The Emperor has returned! Long live the
Emperor!" shouted everyone at once. The confusion grew worse and
worse.
"Ancestor! Father! Emperor!" The Scarecrow could scarcely believe his
ears. "For a fallen man, I am rising like yeast!" he murmured to
himself. Half a dozen courtiers had run outdoors to spread the
wonderful news, and soon silver gongs and bells began ringing all
over the kingdom, and cries of "The Emperor! The Emperor!" added to
the general excitement. Holding fast to the sides of the throne and
still grasping the little fan and parasol, the Scarecrow sat blinking
with embarrassment.
"If they would just stop emperoring, I could ask them who I am,"
thought the poor Scarecrow. As if in answer to his thoughts, the
tottery old nobleman raised his long arm, and at once the hall became
absolutely silent.
"Now!" sighed the Scarecrow, leaning forward. "Now I shall hear
something of interest."