JACK PUMPKINHEAD of OZ
By RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON
Founded on and continuing the Famous Oz Stories
_By_
L. FRANK BAUM
"Royal Historian of Oz"
_Illustrated by_
JOHN R. NEILL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
New York
COPYRIGHT 1929
_by_
THE REILLY & LEE CO.
All Rights reserved
_This book is affectionately dedicated to my aunt Joe_
_Ruth Plumly Thompson_
Dear Boys and Girls: Did YOU ever hear of the Land of the Barons, of a
Red Jinn or the City of Scares? Well, neither did I! Neither did Jack
Pumpkinhead. But there they were all the time, and trouble brewing for
everybody. And speaking of Jack Pumpkinhead, I've always suspected
he was brighter than he appeared to be and had more in his head than
pumpkin seeds and now I'm convinced of it.
Why, even when Jack lost his head, he kept on thinking, and a chap
who can serve his country after he is beheaded and use his head after
he has been officially executed deserves a place with the greatest
celebrities of the day. So, no wonder this book is about Jack. If it
had not been for him, Ozma would be polishing the palace piano and
Dorothy and Betsy washing the dinner dishes, like as not, and all of
the other famous folk swinging mops, brooms and dusters; slaves of
Mogodore the Mighty, who descended from the Land of the Barons to
capture the Emerald City.
Even now, the mere mention of Mogodore makes Ozma shudder and the
Cowardly Lion shake. And right here, I must put in a good word for
Peter, the little boy from Philadelphia. Peter, wishing himself to Oz,
dropped into the middle of the excitement, was captured and imprisoned,
threatened and enchanted, during his efforts to save the country from
the wicked baron. But seeing his old friends again, and meeting the
Iffin made up for all the discomfort and danger and as I am anxious for
you to meet this new merry monster, I'll stop writing so you can begin
the story. A whole year of happiness and fun!
RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON
254 S. Farragut Terrace, West Philadelphia, Penn., May, 1929.
List of Chapters
1 Peter and the Pirate's Sack
2 The Chimney Villains
3 What the Green Tree Said
4 Scary Times in Scare City
5 Peter Meets the Iffin
6 The Bearded Baron Appears
7 Belfaygor's Strange Story
8 A Way to Cross the Chasm
9 The Forbidden Flagon
10 The City of Baffleburg
11 In the Castle of Mogodore
12 The Escape from Baffleburg
13 The Enchanted Cavern
14 High Times in Swing City
15 Peter Opens the Pirate's Sack
16 In the Palace of the Red Jinn
17 The Capture of the Emerald City
18 Mogodore Meets More Magic
19 The Forbidden Flagon Acts
20 The Wedding Feast
21 Peter's Return to Philadelphia
CHAPTER 1
Peter and the Pirate's Sack
The rain beat heavily on the roof, swirled down the side walks and made
tumbling torrents of the gutters. Turning from the window in disgust,
Peter dropped his baseball mitt on the library sofa and started glumly
toward the stair. No practice to-day, doggone it! Why couldn't it rain
on Mondays and be clear on Saturdays for a change? How was he to have
the team in trim for the big match if this sort of thing kept up?
Kicking crossly at each step, Peter progressed toward the attic. Not to
waste the day, he resolved to have a look at his fishing tackle. The
thought of the fishing trip he was soon to take with his grandfather
cheered him considerably and by the time he had switched on the attic
light and dragged out the old chest where he kept his treasures, he was
whistling softly to himself. On top of the chest lay two coarse sacks.
They were neatly folded in half and as Peter lifted them off he gave an
amused little chuckle.
"I wonder what's happened in Oz lately," mused Peter, sitting down in
front of the chest with the sacks on his lap. "I wonder whether Ozma
knows what I did with the pirate's gold pieces and whether the Gnome
King has got into any more mischief." And thinking of that enchanting
and enchanted Kingdom, Peter forgot all about his fishing tackle.
Now many of you may have read or heard of the marvelous Land of Oz, but
Peter had really been there; had met the Scarecrow and the wonderful
Wizard; had kept the Gnome King from conquering the Emerald City and
even discovered a pirate ship full of treasure. The pirate who owned
the ship had once been a real pirate, so when Ozma, the little girl
ruler of Oz, transported Peter and the treasure back to Philadelphia,
two of the bags of gold had been real gold and these bags had come with
him. These very sacks that Peter held across his knees had once bulged
with gold pieces. And those of Peter's friends and relations who had
sniffed at the story of his amazing journey to Oz never had been able
to explain them away.
Peter's grandfather, with whom the little boy lived, had not tried to
explain them, for Peter's grandfather was old enough to believe almost
anything. So he and Peter had spent one bag of gold very gaily on a
trip to the coast, on motorcycles for Peter and his best friends, on a
club house for the team, on canoes and some more things, too. The other
bag they had changed into United States dollars and put into the bank,
so that Peter might go to college and other important places when he
was grown. And now, with the rain drumming steadily on the roof, Peter
fell to dreaming again of Oz, of its curious Kings and castles, its
wizards and witches and magic transformations. Could it have been two
years ago that he and the Gnome King escaped from Runaway Island?
"I wish," sighed Peter, giving the top sack a little shake, "I wish I
could go back to Oz sometime. Hello! What's this?" In the corner of the
top sack he felt something hard and round and thrusting in his hand
drew out a thin shiny piece of gold. "Why, here's one we didn't find,"
chuckled Peter, holding it up to the light. "It's not so large as the
others. I believe I'll keep it for a lucky piece." Resting his head
against a small trunk, Peter sank back and was soon lost in pleasant
reveries. "Gee-whiz!" he breathed at last, flipping the pirate's
coin into the air. "It certainly would be great to go to Oz again. I
wish I were there right now!" As the gold piece dropped into Peter's
palm, Peter himself dropped out of sight. At least, he was no longer
in the attic, or in Philadelphia either, for that matter. He was, to
be perfectly truthful, standing before a small yellow cottage in the
middle of a pumpkin field, and the whole trip, reflected Peter, staring
around a bit wildly, had taken no longer than one puff and swallow. A
drop such as this was enough to make a body puff and swallow several
times, so he did. Then, having regained a little of his composure, he
looked uncertainly at the yellow house.
It was shaped like an enormous hollowed out pumpkin, but had several
windows and a front door, so Peter walked boldly up the steps and
knocked twice. He could hear footsteps running about inside and
presently a head was thrust out the second story window.
"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring down curiously.
[Illustration: _"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring
out curiously._]
"It's me, er--er it's I!" Peter, remembering his grammar corrected
himself quickly.
At this, the owner of the house, in order to have a better look at his
visitor, leaned so far out the window that Peter gave a sharp cry.
"Oh look out!" he called warningly, for the man's head seemed ready to
fall off, was falling off, in fact.
"I am looking out," it called cheerfully, as it turned over and over in
the air. "That's just the trouble! Catch my head will you?" And next
minute Peter found himself clasping a large pumpkin head in both arms.
"Did you say your name was Cy?" asked the head, staring up inquiringly.
"Well carry me indoors, Cy. You'll find my body around somewheres."
"This must be Oz," choked Peter, with an excited little gasp and,
kicking open the door, he hurried into the cottage. A tall awkward body
sprawled on the floor and there was certainly something familiar about
the hollow eyes staring so pleasantly into his own.
"My body has fallen down the stairs," observed the pumpkin head calmly.
"It should have waited for me, for nobody should be without a head."
Peter agreed heartily with this last statement and, setting the
head on the table, he pulled the awkward figure to its feet and then,
standing on a chair, pressed the head carefully on the wooden peg that
served for a neck.
"Why it's Jack Pumpkinhead!" he cried delightedly. "Didn't I meet you
in Ozma's palace two years ago? Don't you remember me?"
Jack looked doubtfully down at the little boy. "I'm afraid that I
don't," he answered seriously. "You see, I have had several new heads
since then, and am not very good at remembering."
"Never mind. I remember you!" Peter smiled kindly at the awkward fellow
and, squeezing his wooden fingers, went on. "My name is Peter and--"
"I thought you said your name was Cy," objected Jack in a puzzled voice.
"Oh no I didn't," explained Peter, a little vexed at the pumpkin head's
stupidity. "I said it's I at the door."
"Cy at the door and Peter in the house. How dreadfully confusing,"
mumbled Jack, putting one hand to his head to see if it was on
straight. "Have you a different name for every place you go?"
"Oh call me Peter!" exclaimed the little boy impatiently, "and if
you'll just tell me the way to the Emerald City I'll not bother you
any more. I'm anxious to see Ozma and Dorothy again."
"Are you a friend of Ozma's?" interrupted Jack in high excitement.
"Well, I'll do anything for a friend of Ozma's. Ozma is my father!"
Running to the door Jack clattered down the steps, beckoning for Peter
to follow him.
"Father!" cried Peter, with a little burst of laughter, and then
realizing one could not expect too much sense from a pumpkin head, he
hurried out of the cottage. The pirate's sack still hung over his arm
and, tossing it gaily over one shoulder, Peter stepped quickly after
Jack, and clapped him on his shoulder.
"By the way, how did you reach Oz?" Picking his way carefully between
the rows of pumpkins, Jack paused and turned his head with both hands
so he could look back at Peter. Briefly Peter told him of finding the
last coin in the pirate's sack, how he had wished to be in Oz and
suddenly found himself standing before the yellow cottage. "It must
have been a magic coin," muttered Jack Pumpkinhead, starting on again.
"I tell you," he gave an excited skip, "that gold coin was a piece of
change. You wished to come to Oz for a change and here you are!"
"Yes," agreed Peter slowly. "But where is the gold piece?"
"You can't have the change and the gold piece too," reproved Jack,
wagging his wooden finger, "and you'd rather have the change, now
wouldn't you?" Peter nodded and glanced sharply at Jack. His head
seemed to be working better. Jack returned Peter's look with a long,
steady stare. "Do you know," he said, stepping deliberately over a high
fence onto a gold paved highway, "You remind me more and more of my
dear father."
"Your dear father," exploded Peter, sitting down on the top rail of the
fence. "I thought a while ago you told me that Princess Ozma was your
father."
"She is," answered Jack, marching calmly along the highway.
"But Ozma's a girl," shouted Peter indignantly, catching up with Jack.
"How could a girl be your father and how could I remind you of Ozma?"
"Ozma was not always a girl," explained Jack mysteriously. "Once
Ozma was a boy like you. I see you have never heard my strange story,"
finished Jack in a hurt voice--looking reproachfully down at Peter.
Though Peter had met Jack Pumpkinhead at Ozma's palace he had to admit
that he knew nothing of his interesting history. So, as they sauntered
slowly along the highway, Jack told how Ozma, as a baby had been stolen
by Mombi, the witch, and transformed into a boy named Tip. For nearly
nine years, Tip had lived in Mombi's hut, entirely ignorant of the fact
that he was the real ruler of Oz. It was to scare Mombi that Tip had
first manufactured the Pumpkinhead Man. Jack's wooden arms and legs
had been skillfully carved from strong saplings. His body, made of a
tough piece of bark, was pinned together with wooden pegs. A larger peg
served Jack for a neck and a carved pumpkin made his head. With some
old clothes he found in Mombi's attic, Tip had dressed the queer figure
and stood him in the bend of the road to scare the old witch on her
return from a visit to the crooked wizard's.
"Well, was Mombi scared?" inquired Peter, looking admiringly at Jack's
jointed wrists and ankles and thinking what a smart boy Ozma must have
been.
"At first," admitted Jack slowly. "At first! Then, wishing to try out
some of the magic she had traded with the wizard she sprinkled me with
the powder of life and immediately I came to life and have been alive
ever since," he finished modestly.
"But what happened to Tip?" begged Peter, for he felt that the most
exciting part of the story was to come.
"Well," continued Jack with a solemn shake of his head, "as Mombi
threatened to turn Tip to a marble statue, we both ran away that night,
taking the powder of life with us. Next morning Tip found a saw-horse
standing in a wood and, sprinkling it with some of the powder, brought
it to life as Mombi had done me. On this strange steed we reached the
Emerald City and helped the Scarecrow, who was then Emperor, escape
from Jinjur's army of girls, who had captured the capitol. After many
curious adventures we reached the palace of Glinda, the Good Sorceress
of the South. We begged her to help us restore the Scarecrow to his
throne, but Glinda, by referring to her magic records, discovered that
Ozma was the rightful ruler of the Kingdom. Returning to the Emerald
City, Glinda forced Mombi to disenchant Tip, Tip became Ozma and Ozma,
as you well know, has been our gracious little sovereign ever since."
"What a shame," breathed Peter kicking at a stone, "I should think
she'd much rather have stayed a boy."
"So should I," agreed Jack, "but as I am only a pumpkin head my opinion
is probably of no value. I certainly have no reason to complain," he
went on cheerfully. "Ozma gave me the fine cottage which you saw this
morning and I spend all my time growing new heads. Before one pumpkin
spoils, I quickly carve myself another and have had dozens of heads
in my day, which makes me a personage, even in Oz. This head I'm now
wearing will last quite a long time for it's still a bit green."
"Well, it looks all right," said Peter, smiling up at Jack.
"Do you think so?" Jack's carved grin seemed to grow even broader at
Peter's polite remark. "If it were not for my joints, I'd be as good as
anyone," he confided, tapping his chest proudly. "But walking wears out
my joints so I never walk far at a time."
"Is it far to the Emerald City?" Shading his eyes Peter blinked down
the gay gold highway and then turned rather anxiously to his cheerful
companion. He certainly did not want good natured Jack to wear out any
joints on his account.
"No distance at all," retorted Jack, with a stiff wave ahead. "Around
that bend the houses and trees will be green, for we will be on the
outskirts of the capitol, and from there it is but a step to the
palace." At Jack's word Peter gave a satisfied little sigh. It was all
coming back--his geozify. Oz! How well he remembered that great oblong
Kingdom, divided into four smaller kingdoms, with the Emerald City in
the exact center. In the Eastern Winkie Country of Oz, the houses,
fences, fruit and flowers were all yellow; in the Southern Quadling
Country they were red. In the Northlands of the Gillikens they were
purple and in the Western Kingdom of the Munchkins they were blue. From
the daffodils in all the fields and the round yellow farm houses, Peter
knew they were in the Winkie Country, but at the next turning they
should find the green trees and parks surrounding the loveliest city in
Oz.
Thinking of this enchanting spot, its gay and jolly inhabitants and
the welcome he was sure to find in the palace, Peter quickened his
steps, reaching the bend of the road far ahead of Jack. But instead of
flowering gardens and green parkways the highway ended abruptly in a
high red brick wall. There was a small black door in the wall. In red
letters on this door were two words--"Enter Here." Peter was staring
uncertainly at these directions when Jack caught up with him.
"Well Cy! What now?" he demanded merrily. "See, I remembered you were
Cy, at the door. Ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Oh do try to be sensible," begged Peter in an annoyed voice. "Can't
you see that this wall is red? We must be in the Quadling Country,
Jack. You've come the wrong way and we're lost! Now, the question is
whether to go back the way we came or go through this door and try to
find a short cut to the Emerald City."
"I was afraid this head was not quite ripe enough," mumbled Jack in a
worried voice. "Perhaps if we go through this door and turn straight
North we'll find the Emerald City just as quickly as if we turn back."
"Perhaps," echoed Peter doubtfully. Then, as he was beginning to feel
an overpowering curiosity as to what might be on the other side of the
wall, he opened the black door and stepped through.