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[Illustration: Waiting for the Queen. (_Page 131._)]
TOP O’ THE WORLD
A Once upon a Time Tale
By
Mark E. Swan
Pictures by Hy. Mayer
[Illustration]
New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
31 West Twenty-Third Street
COPYRIGHT
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
1908
All Rights Reserved
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
THE TOP O’ THE WORLD was made into a story by permission of Mr. J. M.
Allison from the fanciful extravaganza, THE TOP O’ THE WORLD. Book by
Mark E. Swan, Lyrics by James O’Dea, Music by Anna Caldwell and Manuel
Klein.
TO MY LITTLE NIECE
MARION
WHO _LOVES_ ICE-CREAM
FOREWORD
Oh, little ones, with your pink cheeks and shining eyes, come clamber
on my knee, put your arms about my neck, and listen with all your ears
while I tell you a tale of
ONCE UPON A TIME.
Illustrations in Color
PAGE
Waiting for the Queen _Frontispiece_
She Could See Castles in the Coals 4
When One is Sailing a Flying Machine 24
He Walked Deliberately into the Wall 76
In the Cake of Ice 114
They Laughed and Laughed 190
Illustrations in Black and White
PAGE
Aunt Mary Wore Fluffy Dresses 5
Growly Voice Eats Snowballs 11
Aunt Mary Gets a Sealskin Coat 12
Maida Crept out of Bed 16
The Letter 20
The Birds Came to the Rescue 28
The Wolf Swallows a Tablet of Climate 36
Maida Meets Santa Claus 44
Out Popped Jack-in-the-Box 49
A Duel with Icicles 71
The Walrus Mends the Street 76
“How Do You Do?” in Eskimo 101
The Explorer Turns on the Tropical Climate 115
Maida was Carted away in a Box 139
Fido Flew 142
The Queen Sees Her Face 145
The Gates of the Prison Flew Open 161
Maida 194
THE TOP O’ THE WORLD
Chapter I
[Illustration]
The Wishing Post grows right out of the ground at the Top of the World.
Some very wise men with bald heads and long white beards say it isn’t
a Wishing Post at all, and call it the North Pole, but Maida knows
more about it than they do for she has been there and they haven’t.
She really and truly went there in a flying ship, and I can’t begin
to tell you all that she saw and all that she did, but I will try and
remember as much as I can.
If you doubt my story ask Maida herself. She is a dear little girl,
just nine, with curly brown hair and deep blue eyes, and she lives in a
big house with papa and mama and Aunt Mary. If you want to find her go
to Central Park and turn to the left. Maida’s house is the third from
the corner. I don’t just remember the number, and I’ve forgotten the
street, but as she nearly always wears a red dress and you know how she
looks, you can easily find her.
All the trouble began because Maida was such a little girl. She was
just big enough to know how little she was, and she didn’t like being
a little girl at all. She wanted to be grown up. She told me so
herself. She had reasons, too, oh so many. To begin with, there was
ICE-CREAM. Maida loved ICE-CREAM. She could never get
enough. (Perhaps you can never get enough, so you know just how she
felt.) And she could eat and eat and eat, and ICE-CREAM never
hurt her. On this point she differed with papa and mama.
Once she awoke in the night with a most burning feeling right in her
tummy, and had to drink all sorts of horrid medicine before she felt
better. But she could not convince mama and papa it was the brown bread
and baked beans she had eaten two days before. They insisted it was
three plates of ice-cream for supper. Grown-ups are so silly sometimes.
Then there was bedtime. Maida hated to go off to bed as soon as
supper was over and leave everyone else up having a good time. Just
at dusk when the flames in the fireplace began to dance and glitter
and flash--and she could see castles and trees and mountains in the
coals--SOMEBODY with a white cap and apron would snatch her up
and carry her off to a little pink and white room and plump her into a
pink and white bed--when she wasn’t a bit sleepy. Maida often meant to
rebel at such treatment, but somehow when she cuddled up in the pink
and white bed and finished yawning, she overlooked it, and the next
thing--it would be morning.
Still this ruffled her dignity every time it happened--as if she were
sleepy, and didn’t know it, and she realized--just as you do--that it
was because she was a little girl; for grown-ups can stay awake as long
as they like.
[Illustration: “She could see castles ... in the coals”]
Then there were the clothes. Maida wore dresses which reached only
to her knees, and plain little petticoats, while her shoes were so
strong and tough--oh, you’ll never believe what tough shoes they
were unless you wear the same kind. It was almost impossible to kick
holes in them. Then her hair was done in a braid and she had to wear
a pinafore--oh, I can’t tell you how badly Maida felt about her
clothes--especially when she looked at Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary wore
fluffy dresses all hangy and traily, and the sweetest slippers with
great high heels, and her hair was puffed out all over her head--oh,
it was simply beautiful.
[Illustration: Aunt Mary Wore Fluffy Dresses]
And Aunt Mary read lovely books too, all about lords and ladies, while
all of Maida’s books were about, Where is Peru? and, How many is six
times eight? Poor Maida, she had so many troubles--but you understand,
don’t you? So she wished and wished with all her heart that she were a
really grown-up; that she could read those lovely books and have her
hair fuzzed all over her head--that she could wear those traily, hangy
gowns, and stay up nights, and never, _never_, NEVER have to
eat anything but ICE-CREAM.