THE FLIGHT OF THE PARASOL
Holding the handle of the parasol, Dorothy steered it with all the
skill of an aviator, and in several minutes after their start the
party had entered the deep, black passage down which the Scarecrow
had fallen. Each one of the adventurers was fastened to the parasol
with ropes of different length so that none of them bumped together,
but even with all the care in the world it was not possible to keep
them from bumping the sides of the tube. The Comfortable Camel
grunted plaintively from time to time, and Dorothy could hear the
Doubtful Dromedary complaining bitterly in the darkness. It was pitch
dark, but by keeping one hand in touch with the bean pole, Dorothy
managed to hold the parasol in the center.
"How long will it take?" she called breathlessly to the Scarecrow,
who was dangling just below.
"Hours!" wheezed the Scarecrow, holding fast to his hat. "I hope none
of the parties on this line hear us," he added nervously, thinking of
the Middlings.
"What recks it?" blustered Sir Hokus. "Hast forgotten my trusty
sword?" But his words were completely drowned in the rattle of his
armor.
"Hush!" warned the Scarecrow, "Or we'll be pulled in." So for almost
an hour, they flew up the dark, chimney-like tube with only an
occasional groan as one or another scraped against the rough sides of
the passage. Then, before they knew what was happening, the parasol
crashed into something, half closed, and the whole party started to
fall head over heels over helmets.
"O!" gasped Dorothy, turning a complete somersault, "catch hold of
the bean pole, somebody!"
"Put up the parasol!" shrieked the Scarecrow. Just then Dorothy,
finding herself right side up, grasped the pole herself and snapped
the parasol wide open. Up, up, up they soared again, faster than
ever!
"We're flying up much faster than I fell down. We must be at the
top!" called the Scarecrow hoarsely, "and somebody has closed the
opening!"