Of course Maida gave the alarm and the whole company came tumbling up
the hatchway in a twinkling. The Disconsolate Lover manned the engine.
The Man with the Growly Voice took the tiller and the airship started
in pursuit of the lost chums. By this time the two realized their
plight and were just as anxious to return as their friends were to have
them back; but they could do absolutely nothing to help themselves.
Aboard the airship they could hear the voice of poor Jack, off in the
haze saying, “I shall run down, I know I shall, and then what will
happen!”
“Run down,” retorted the Candy Kid. “Why, you can’t even _fall_ down.
We’re up here to stay.”
They tried to swim through the air, and waved their arms and kicked
their legs, but couldn’t advance an inch; they were at the mercy of
the breeze. Every time the flying ship approached them, off they would
float in another direction--just like--did you ever try to drive
chickens out of a garden, and just when you thought you had them
cornered, they somehow went between your legs, or over your head, or
under your arm? Well, that’s exactly the kind of time the people on the
airship had with the two chums.
“Where do we belong anyway?” queried Jack as the two hung suspended
over a huge volcano--“are we citizens of Alaska, or Arcturia, or
Illusia?”
“I’m inclined to think,” replied the Candy Kid, “that if we’re included
in the census it will be under the head of _floating_ population.”
No doubt they’d have been soaring about yet, but Maida thought of a
splendid scheme. You will notice that whenever anything serious was the
matter, Maida hit on the remedy. And in this case, it was very simple.
Santa Claus and Billy just climbed on a reindeer each, and cantered
off across the clouds, until they came to Jack and the Candy Kid. They
picked them up and laid them across the necks of the reindeers and
galloped back with them.
“Whatever made you do it?” tearfully asked Maida, after she had petted
both of them.
“It was a duel,” said the Candy Kid darkly, and that was all they could
get out of him. But it made Maida feel very badly, for she realized the
two were fighting duels again over the mysterious somebody who was the
cause of their rivalry, and she wondered and wondered who it was.
Well, they pumped all the gas they could out of Jack and his chum,
and tied flat-irons to their feet so that there was no danger of them
floating away again, and the rest of the trip to Illusia was made
without misfortune. Maida was asleep when they arrived at the City,
and when she dressed and went on deck, she found the airship moored to
a totem pole just outside the walls, and everybody gone. She searched
the ship high and low, but there was no sign of her friends. She knew
there was danger for a mortal in the City of Illusia. If she were found
there she would be put to death; but she decided to take the chance,
thinking she could escape detection in the crowds. So she slipped off
and entered the huge gate. She was simply amazed at the beauty around
her everywhere.
Huge palaces on every hand made of gold and silver covered with
wonderful pictures and arabesques. Pointed turrets that hung overhead
roofed with polished copper. Tall towers of pearl and porcelain seemed
to reach to the very skies. The streets were paved with marble, the
fountains ran soda water, there were flowers everywhere, and no signs,
“Keep off the grass” or “Private.” But nobody was in sight. She strayed
about through the deserted squares, and among the temples and shops,
till finally she met a man hurrying as if he were late for supper. She
stopped him. “Please, sir, are you an Illusion?” she asked.
“I am a citizen of Illusia,” he answered, without stopping, “yes!”
Maida hurried along by his side. “Tell me sir,” she inquired, “what
makes Illusia so beautiful?”
The man smiled kindly. “Illusia is beautiful,” he answered, “because
it is built of the rose-tinted dreams of young maidens and the brave
hopes of youth. The dreams and the visions of the children are not
wasted. They are brought here--they are used to build our palaces and
temples. Time can never shatter them--they can never be destroyed.”
And so he went his way. Although Maida did not understand exactly, she
thought what he said was very pretty.
By and by she found out why the streets were deserted. She came to a
great Plaza, and there was the whole population of the city packed in
a dense crowd, evidently waiting for something to happen. She decided
she would wait too, and she managed to make her way to the front of the
crowd. No sooner had she found a nook somewhat sheltered, than a huge
shaft of light, pure white and almost blinding, shot up from the palace
which faced the Plaza. All the people were delighted to see the white
light and murmured with joy.
“What is it?” inquired Maida turning to the little girl next to her, “a
searchlight?”
“Huh,” replied the girl, “don’t you know? That’s the Queen, Aurora
Borealis.”
Maida realized she was in deadly danger, but it was too late to
retreat, so she simply waited.
A herald came out on the steps of the palace and blew three blasts on a
trumpet.
“Make way for Aurora Borealis, the Queen of Illusia, the most beautiful
creature in the world,” he cried. A long procession of young ladies, in
white cling-y dresses came out of the palace, and every one was more
beautiful than the one who preceded her.
“My goodness, they’re pretty!” Maida said. “If the Queen is any
prettier, she must be just grand.”
All the trumpets played, the beautiful girls sang, the crowd hurrahed
and bowed.
Then an ugly old woman waddled out of the palace door and waddled down
the steps into the Plaza. She must have been eighty at least. She had
a red face and pop eyes, her nose was like a banana, and three of her
teeth were missing. My! but she was a fright.
“Who’s that?” inquired Maida of her neighbor, “the cook?”
“The _cook_!” echoed the girl. “Why, that’s the Queen, Aurora Borealis.”
Sure enough, it was!