The Chimney Villains
"Now I'm Santy Claus," mumbled Jack, feeling around for his head. Both
he and Peter had stepped off into space and tumbled together down a
long dark passageway. "We've fallen down a chimney," continued Jack,
finding his head and settling it firmly on his shoulders. "I must say
this is a great way to enter a city."
"It is a grate," said Peter, with a little groan, for he was sitting
astride a pair of iron fire dogs, "but how do you know it's a city?"
Fortunately there was no fire burning in the grate and, picking up the
pirate's sack, Peter stepped out into a large red square. Jack had to
bend almost double to get out at all and as he straightened up a sign
hanging on the outside of the chimney caught his attention.
"Please shut the grate after you," directed the sign. Being an obliging
fellow, Jack pulled the handle at the right and a sliding black screen
completely closed off the opening. Dusting the soot from his frayed
coat, Jack joined Peter.
"Nothing but chimneys," marvelled the little boy with a low whistle.
"I've often seen houses without chimneys but never chimneys without
houses." The square was simply bristling with chimneys, all red and of
every shape, size and description. They seemed to sprout like queer
flowers from the red flags that paved the square. Chimneys! Chimneys!
Chimneys! So close together there was scarcely space to walk. "Who
could possibly live here?" said Peter, with a scornful sniff.
"Whee! Whee--ee! We do!" A hundred high voices answered his question.
They seemed to issue from the chimneys themselves, and as Jack and
Peter peered anxiously upward strange smoky figures began to spiral out
of the chimney tops and float in a dark mass over their heads. They
looked like evil genii or goblins who had long been imprisoned in magic
bottles. Their shapes and faces changed constantly and as a whole horde
of them dropped downward, Peter stepped closer to Jack. "They're only
smoke," he explained reassuringly.
"Yes, dear Peter," quavered Jack, "but smoke is most injurious to
pumpkins! Oh my head! My poor poor head!" Peter had no time to
sympathize with Jack, for at that moment a crowd of Smokies surrounded
them. Their eyes were spite-red sparks and, snatching at Peter and Jack
with their long shadowy arms, they began to hiss and puff threateningly.
"Can you curl?" demanded one, snapping his eyes close to Peter. "Can
you curl, and do a double spiral? Can you make soot and smoulder?"
"No! No! No!" coughed Peter, snatching out his handkerchief and waving
it wildly about his head. "Go away! Go away. You're making me all
black."
"Ha, Ha, Ha!" shrieked a great smoky giant. "That's the color you
should be. This is Chimneyville, but wait till you see our Soot Sooty
down below. Come to our Sooty and see how black and beautiful you will
become."
"We won't," cried Jack Pumpkinhead defiantly, "we won't come or become.
If this is Chimneyville, then you are Chimney-villains. Go away you
black monsters. We refuse to visit your old Sooty. Go away, go away.
You're smoking my beautiful head." Trying to cover his head with his
arms, Jack backed against a chimney, but his words only seemed to
infuriate the Smokies. Swelling with rage, they surged forward.
"Smoke 'em up! Smoke 'em out! Throw 'em down the chimneys!" they
sputtered. "Now then, boys, all together!" While Peter and Jack struck
out left and right, the grim gray specters tried to lift them into the
air. But there was no strength in their vapory arms and with little
shrieks and hisses they pressed closer and closer.
"Run!" panted Peter, who was almost suffocated. The smoke did not
affect Jack and, taking Peter's hand, he tried to pull the little boy
along. But the air was now so thick with their pursuers they could
hardly see at all and bumped and crashed into chimneys at every turn.
The last bump flung them headlong, and for a moment they lay perfectly
still, while the Chimney-villains swept screaming overhead. It was
dark as midnight, for the Smokies had all run together into a great
suffocating cloud. Even the tiny sparks that were their eyes had
gone out, and in utter and awful darkness Peter finally stumbled to
his feet. Coughing and sputtering and with tears pouring down both
cheeks, he felt in his pocket for another handkerchief, and as he did
his fingers closed over a small candle end. Immediately a bright idea
struck Peter, and with a gasp he felt around for Jack's head. Pulling
the stout stem in the top he lifted out the piece Jack had cut when
he hollowed out the pumpkin. Striking a match he lit the candle end,
spilled in a few drops of candle grease and set the candle erect. Then
replacing the top of Jack's head he jerked him to his feet.
"What have you done?" faltered the Pumpkinhead in a faint voice. "My
head feels very light, dear Peter, but I seem to see much better."
"So do I," choked the little boy, muffling his nose in his coat sleeve,
"we can both see better. Come on, you're lit up and my Jack o' Lantern
now!" The bobbing light in the pumpkin's head seemed to puzzle their
enemies, but Peter, guided by the cheery glow, pushed bravely through
the clouds and crowds of them. The smoke still stung his eyes and
throat, but he kept dodging chimney after chimney, and finally pausing
to rest against an especially broad one, discovered a slide like the
one they had come thru in the first place. Jerking it open Peter pulled
Jack into the grate and closed the slide. There was another slide at
the back of the chimney place and as the Smokies poured against the
first slide Peter opened the second and stepped out into a quiet little
wood.
"A great way in and a great way out," observed Jack, following Peter
quickly and slamming the slide after him.
"And a great way from everywhere," puffed Peter, dropping down on the
nearest tree stump and staring resentfully up at the red wall. It
looked the same from this side as from the other. Not a chimney showed,
nor one puff of smoke, to warn luckless travellers of the disagreeable
citizens of Soot City. It was so great a relief to breathe pure air
again and find himself in real daylight that Peter sat for several
minutes drinking in the fresh forest breezes and freeing his lungs
from the bitter smoke. Then, standing up on the stump, he called Jack
and blew out the candle in his pumpkin head. "You certainly saved my
life that time," said Peter feelingly. "If you had not lighted me out
of there I'd have been a smoked herring by this time. How do you feel
yourself, dear Jack?"
"A little light headed," confessed Jack earnestly, "but on the whole, I
rather liked it. It seems to me I felt brighter."
"You mean you could think better?" asked Peter, staring hard at Jack,
and trying not to laugh.
"Yes," Jack nodded gravely, "so please light me up again dear Peter."
"It might not be good for you," said the little boy doubtfully. "It
might make you light headed and giddy. Besides, pumpkins are only lit
at night or in the dark and it's quite light out here."
"Oh are they?" Jack looked terribly disappointed. "Well any time you
need a lantern, just light me up. Shall we go on to the Emerald City
now?"
"Well, we might try to," answered Peter looking around with lively
interest. "Can you walk a little farther? Do your joints feel all
right?" Although Jack was much taller than he, Peter felt somehow
responsible for the flimsy fellow. It rather flattered him to have
Jack so obedient to his wishes and so dependent upon his advice.
After examining his joints carefully, Jack decided he might go a bit
further, so Peter washed his face in a little stream and at the same
time removed the soot from Jack's, and they prepared to continue
their journey to the capitol. Taking his direction from the sun, Peter
started North through the little wood. From the cardinals and robins,
from the red beech and holly trees, he knew he must still be in the
Quadling Country and when he saw a small red cottage in a clearing just
ahead, he was sure of it.
Goody Shop, announced a sign, swinging from the crooked roof. "Hurrah!"
shouted Peter, breaking into a run. "Maybe I can buy something to eat
here. It must be nearly lunch time and I'm starved."
"Oh do be careful," warned Jack, holding on to his head with both
hands as he dashed hurriedly after Peter, "they may not be the kind
of goodies you expect." The shop was dim and dark and behind the red
counter sat a prim little old lady in a ruffled gown.
"Good morning!" puffed Peter with a polite bow.
"Our good morning is all gone," said the old lady, rising stiffly from
her tall stool, "but we have a very good afternoon, would you care for
that?" She squinted anxiously at Peter. "And will you take it with you
or have it sent?"
"Have it sent," advised Jack in a hollow voice for he did not relish
the old lady's expression.
"I wanted to buy something good," explained Peter hastily.
"Well why didn't you say so in the beginning," snapped the shop keeper
testily. "One minute it's good morning and now it's goodbye. What kind
of a goodbye do you want, long, short, fond or sorrowful?" At this
strange question, Jack turned his head with both hands and simply
stared at the old lady, and Peter himself began to feel terribly
confused.
"What kind of goods do you sell here?" he demanded anxiously.
"All the goods," answered the old lady proudly, "but dry goods mostly.
Waving toward the shelves, she folded her arms and looked suspiciously
at her two customers, while Jack and Peter curiously surveyed her wares.
"Good news! Good advice! Good Intentions! Good Days! Good Night! Good
Excuses! Good Riddance!" cried Peter, reading out the labels on the
bottles and boxes. "How odd! Good Ideas! Good Tempers! Good Notions!
Good Times!"
"Come, come," muttered the old lady, tapping her foot impatiently on
the floor, "make up your minds. You may each choose one," she decided
finally, as neither Peter nor Jack seemed able to decide. "Why don't
you take a good excuse?" she suggested, turning to Peter. "Boys are
always needing good excuses, and a fresh batch has just come in--good
ones too!"
"I think I'll take some good advice," announced Jack in a timid voice.
"I'm not very bright and it might be useful."
"But haven't you anything good to eat?" sighed Peter. "A good lunch or
dinner, even a breakfast would do." With an impatient flounce the old
lady reached up on a top shelf and handed Peter a small red box. Then
giving Jack a red envelope, she shooed them out of her goody shop.
"I wish I'd taken some good excuses," murmured Peter, as they walked
slowly down the crooked path. "This box is too small to hold a good
meal of any kind."
"What does it say?" asked Jack inquisitively.
"A good breakfast," answered Peter reading the red label. "Well, even
if it's only a biscuit or just one sausage, I'll eat it." Eagerly Peter
raised the lid. "Why it's bird seed," he exclaimed angrily, flinging
the box with all his force into a red-berry bush. "What a cheat! I've a
good notion to go right back and tell her what I think of her."
"But she didn't charge you anything," observed Jack mildly, "and you'll
have to admit it is a good breakfast!"
"A good breakfast," roared Peter, glaring indignantly at his
loose-jointed companion.
"Well, it is a good breakfast," finished Jack Pumpkinhead
apologetically, "for a bird." Peter looked closely at Jack to see
whether he was poking fun at him, but quite soberly, Jack was opening
his good advice.
"What does yours say?" Crowding closer, Peter read the words on the
thin slip of paper and then began to hop up and down with glee.
"Keep your mouth shut," advised the red paper briefly.
"Call that good advice?" sputtered Jack Pumpkinhead, tearing the paper
into tiny pieces. "How can I keep my mouth shut when it's carved open?
Of all the silly nonsense!"
"But you'll have to admit that keeping your mouth shut is good advice,"
teased Peter, completely restored to good humor by this joke on Jack.
"Then why don't you take it?" asked Jack stalking stiffly ahead. "Take
it and welcome!" Smothering another chuckle, Peter hurried after Jack,
reflecting to himself that this Pumpkinhead Man was not nearly so
foolish as he appeared to be.