The tropical climate did its work well. There wasn’t an iceberg left or
a snowflake anywhere in sight. And when the Man with the Growly Voice
took a nice swim in the warm water of the Polar Sea, the admiration
and enthusiasm of the Eskimos was unbounded. They realized they had
been told the truth about the Southland. Kokomo lost her fear of trees,
helped Maida weave garlands of flowers, and found the grass nice to
tumble about on. Everybody took off their heavy fur coats, with the
exception of Fido; of course he couldn’t take _his_ off--and really
the heat did distress him terribly. Poor fellow, he wandered about
from place to place, seeking a cool spot. Jack-in-the-Box watched his
restless movements curiously, then turned to the Candy Kid.
“Fido is a fine piece of handicraft,” he said. “I’ve never seen him
wound, yet I don’t believe he ever runs down. Do you know, I think he’s
an eight-day bear.”
They had a lovely supper of cocoanuts and breadfruit, with bananas and
oranges for dessert; but when they prepared to resume their journey to
Illusia they were confronted by a new difficulty,--Kankakee could no
longer guide them. He knew the way across the Forbidden Land of course,
after leaving Arcturia you go to the third iceberg, and turn to the
left, then straight ahead, six hundred miles--so forth and so on. He
knew all that, but all his landmarks had been swept away; he could not
guide them through a tropical jungle. Then Maida had a brilliant idea.
For such a little girl Maida was always thinking lots and lots of
clever things. She called Santa Claus who came over, took her on his
knee, and chucked her under the chin.
“When you go about at Christmas time,” she said, “how do you get up on
the roofs?”
“My reindeers are marvels,” chuckled Santa Claus. “They can run on the
snow, in the water, or in the air.”
“Splendid, splendid!” shouted Maida in great glee. “Now I’ll tell you
what to do. Take the Man with the Growly Voice in your sledge, and go
back to where our flying machine fell. It’s big enough to hold all of
us, and we’ll be in Illusia in no time.”
“But my flying ship is broken,” objected the Man with the Growly
Voice. “The starboard wing is smashed, and there is a hole in the
taffrail.”
“I thought of that, too,” Maida answered. “Santa Claus, you just
imagine it’s a great big toy and think it mended. Then it will fly.”
Whereupon everybody shouted for joy. Santa Claus sat back laughing till
he shook like a jelly.
“I can do better than that,” he said. “I’ll think it mended, then I’ll
think it here, and we won’t have to go after it at all.” So he did.
He stood up and put his hands in front of his eyes, and _thought_,
oh very, very hard indeed. Then presently he said smiling, “It’s all
right, it’s mended.” Then he thought and thought again (and let me tell
you it takes a good hard think to make an airship fly seven hundred
miles), and the first thing they knew the flying ship came sailing
through the air and plumped down at their feet, just as good as ever.
Of course everyone was delighted--that is, everyone except the Eskimos.
_They_ were frightened and climbed trees, crying out the airship was
an evil spirit; and it was hard work to coax them down. But at last
everybody got aboard, and the reindeers were hitched behind because
there wasn’t room on the ship for them. And as everybody was tired and
sleepy except Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid, who couldn’t tire,
and who never slept, the two were appointed by the Man with the Growly
Voice, who was captain, to stand the first watch. They were very proud
to be entrusted with the care of the airship. They assumed a knowing
air, and cheerily sang the chorus of “Sailing, Sailing!” But the Man
with the Growly Voice stopped them (for while they were cunning, they
were _not_ good singers--neglecting to sing the same thing at the same
time, and absolutely refusing to stay on the same key).
“Jack, you take the wheel,” he said.
“Aye, aye, sir!” said Jack, touching his forelock. “Where’ll I take
it?” The Man with the Growly Voice showed him how to guide the ship,
and said: “Now steer N. W. by S. E.”
“Oh no,” said Jack, “let’s steer C. O. D. by O. K.,” and he twisted
the wheel till the flying ship was waltzing in circles. It took some
time to make him behave. Then the Candy Kid was given charge of the
engine. “Be very careful not to desert your post”; he was cautioned,
“don’t go too high, for we might not get down again, and whatever you
do, don’t swallow any of the gas, it’s fatal. Now I’m going below.
You’ll be relieved at eight bells.” And the Man with the Growly Voice
turned in. The Candy Kid meditated a moment, then said to Jack, “Now
we can have our duel.” “I don’t see how,” Jack answered. “You ninny,”
retorted the Candy Kid, “didn’t you hear him say the gas was fatal?”
“Fatal? Is it really?” inquired Jack. “Bring me a handful, I’ll try
it.” Well, of course, the Candy Kid was disgusted. Jack was so silly.
“Do you think gas is like cheese?” he snapped. “I can’t carry it around
in my hands.” “Oh, I see,” observed Jack, “it’s too heavy.” “By the
way,” reflectively, “what is cheese?” “Cheese,” said the Candy Kid,
“is the mother of welsh rabbit, grandmother of indigestion--related
to nightmare, on the father’s side.” “Very interesting,” murmured
Jack, “why can’t we have a duel with cheese?” There was a silence for
a moment. Jack had nothing more to say. The Candy Kid had lots, but
he was too angry to say it. An idea struck Jack presently. “Kid,” he
called. “Kid.” The Candy Kid angrily turned and listened. Jack went on.
“We can’t have a duel with gas, without a meter. I never saw a meter,
but I’m told they’re terrible things. You run the gas through, then you
look at the meter, and drop dead.” The Candy Kid pointed to a rubber
tube that hung from the bag overhead. “We’ll eat the gas through this
tube,” he said. “I see,” Jack replied, “and who wins the duel--the one
who eats the most?” “Oh, no,” said the Candy Kid, “the one wins who
dies the quickest.” So they left the flying machine to steer herself
and run herself and swallowed all the gas they would hold. If Maida
hadn’t happened to come up on deck no one would ever have known what
became of them, and there’s no telling what would have happened to the
flying machine, for both Jack and the Candy Kid were turned into little
balloons by the gas they had swallowed, and they bounced about on the
deck, unable to get a foothold--until finally a little breeze swept
them gently off, and the last Maida saw of them they were floating away
to leeward holding each other’s hand and singing, “Up in a balloon,
boys, up in a balloon.”