High Times in Swing City
"As soon as we see Mogodore, I'll open the pirate's sack, no fooling!"
declared Peter, looking down at the whirling red landscape. Like tiny
toys under a Christmas tree, the villages and towns spread out below,
and some country people dancing about a May pole looked no larger than
dolls.
"Swallowing's too good for him," objected Belfaygor, stroking the sword
he had taken from the castle hall. "Let me have one good swing at
him--one good thrust, before you open that sack!"
"If we trust to a thrust, we may all be undone,
'Tis better to sack him than whack him, my son!"
Called Snif, looking over his shoulder to wink at Peter.
"Much better," approved Jack Pumpkinhead. "Let us open the sack, break
the forbidden flagon and throw the sauce box at his head."
"Yes, and bring a dire disaster on our own," said Peter, remembering
the warning on the magic flask. "We'll give the flagon to Ozma and let
the Wizard of Oz decide what is to be done with it."
"Well, I hope he can do something with my beard," groaned Belfaygor,
looking ruefully at the blisters on his thumbs. "I cannot keep on
cutting it forever. Besides it will frighten the Princess."
"He'll fix it," promised Peter confidently. "The Wizard of Oz can fix
anything. Oh boy, I can hardly wait to see them all again. Is Scraps as
funny as ever and has Kuma Party visited the Emerald City since I left?"
"He lent Ozma a hand just the other day," said Jack, throwing both
arms around Snif's neck, as he made a sudden dive through a cloud.
"She was having trouble with the Hammerheads and needed a strong hand
to subdue them." Peter had met Kuma Party on his first journey to Oz.
This singular gentleman can really send his hands, feet, head or body
wheresoever he wishes. Belfaygor listened politely, as Peter told how
Kuma's hand had guided him to the Kingdom of Patch, helped him escape,
and how it had afterward arrived at the Emerald City in time to catch
the Gnome King.
"If we had it now, we could send it down for some apples," sighed the
little boy, peering hungrily over the Iffin's wing. Snif was flying
low, to be sure not to miss Mogodore, and the orchards, laden with
rosy red fruit, looked tempting indeed.
"Why not order lunch," asked Jack, as Peter continued to gaze longingly
at the apples. "Eat as you fly!"
"Why not?" chuckled Belfaygor, slipping his shears into the pocket
of his coat. "I could make some food fly right now." As Peter was
wondering just how they would manage the trays, Jack rang and up beside
the Iffin flashed the faithful slave of the bell. But he did not carry
the tray this time. It was borne by Biggen, Mogodore's bodyguard, and
the great fellow trod clumsily through the air, his eyes rolling with
fright and fury. At a haughty gesture from the slave, he set the tray
on Peter's lap. Then raising his fist, he was about to pound Peter on
the head, when the little black seized him by the coat-tails and both
disappeared.
"Wh--ew," whistled Peter ducking his head, "what do you think of that?
Look out, here comes the other one!" As Jack rang the bell again,
Little, just as angry as Biggen, came hurling toward them with the
baron's dinner. The slave winked mischievously at Peter as the enraged
bodyguard placed the tray on Belfaygor's knees; then catching the surly
fellow by the ear, he vanished before Little could do any harm.
"Good enough," roared Snif, who had witnessed the whole proceeding over
his shoulder. "What sweet little sprites they do make.
"If Mogodore could see them skipping lightly through the sky,
He'd shiver in his great red boots, and shake like custard pie."
"That's what we have for dessert," said Peter, lifting the cover off
his tray. "Say, it's too bad you don't eat pie, Snif."
"Or roast guinea," murmured Belfaygor, between rapturous bites. "I'll
give you three horses and a couple of hunting dogs for that bell,
Peter."
Peter smiled to himself, for he could not help thinking how crowded
three horses and a dog would make the small back yard at home. But
he tactfully said nothing, for he had decided to present the magic
dinner bell to Ozma. Enjoying the Red Jinn's delicious dinner, looking
dreamily down at the lovely mountain scenery beneath, Peter concluded
that this was even more exciting and interesting than eating on the
train.
"I shall think nothing of airplane trips after this," mused the little
boy, sipping his chocolate complacently. "I don't believe anything
could ever surprise or frighten me again; not even a highwayman."
Finishing off his pie, Peter closed his eyes and was fighting an
imaginary duel with a Mexican bandit, when he was suddenly seized by
the shoulders, jerked from the Iffin's back and hurled like a ball
through the air. His first thought was that Biggen, returning for the
magic tray, had taken this means of revenge, but there was no sign of
either bodyguard. In spite of his recent boast, Peter's heart beat with
dreadful thumps as he turned over and over in the air. But just as he
gave himself up for lost, he was skillfully caught by the ankles.
"Howde-do!" called a pleasant voice, and looking up Peter saw a jolly
fellow in silk tights swinging by his heels from a high trapeze. He
wore a crown, which was held in place by ribbons tied beneath his
chin. Now hanging head down, if you are not accustomed to it, is
terribly upsetting and Peter was too upset to say a word. "Welcome to
Swing City," said this strange sovereign in his high, jolly voice. "I
am the King and the highest Swinger here. In fact, Hi-Swinger's my
name," he coughed self-consciously. "But you must meet the Queen, Tip
Toppsy the Tenth!" As he said "Meet the Queen," Hi-Swinger flung Peter
carelessly downward. Any desire Peter had ever had to do circus stunts,
he lost in that second dizzy drop through space. Fortunately, he did
meet the Queen, somewhere in mid air. Like the King she was hanging
head down from another swing, and grasping both of Peter's wrists swung
him gently to and fro.
"Isn't he perfectly precious," cooed her Highness, smiling amiably
down at the little boy. "I hope he'll stay with us always. What lovely
hair! What sweet red cheeks. He'll make a perfectly splendid swinger,
Highty." Now if there was one thing Peter detested it was being fussed
over, and the Queen's speech made him squirm with embarrassment and
rage. But before he could do more than mutter, Tip Toppsy swung him
back to her husband. "Shall we dress him in pink or blue?" she called
anxiously.
"Blue," answered the King, catching Peter and drawing him up close so
he could look into his eyes. "But, my dear, see what's coming now.
Who is this pomiferous person?" Throwing Peter carelessly aside, the
King caught Jack Pumpkinhead, who had just been tossed up by someone
below. Peter himself was seized by a smiling trapezist, some twenty
feet beneath. Before the fellow could throw him further, Peter pulled
himself desperately up on the trapeze, and holding tight to the side
rope stared dizzily around. Over his head, and under his feet, pink and
blue clad figures swooped and darted like birds. With lightning speed
they shot from swing to swing, skipped recklessly across spidery ropes
and balanced perilously on swaying cords.
"Trapleased to meet you," murmured the owner of the trapeze, swinging
up beside Peter. "Hang around a while. You'll like it. 'Tis an easy
life we lead--trapeasy," he added with a sly wink. "Have you met the
Queen?"
"Yes! Yes!" shuddered Peter, moving as far from the tumbler as he
could. "I'm looking for my friends."
"Is that one of them?" inquired the acrobat, pointing off toward the
left. "Ha! Ha! Ha! The tight rope walkers will never let that fellow
go. They are great cut-ups, you know, great cut-ups. Why, look at his
beard! It's growing longer every minute. They can cut rope after tight
rope from it. Ha! Ha! Ha! Rope after rope!"
"No they can't," shouted Peter angrily, "and you'd better be careful.
We're wizards, and will destroy you like that." Letting go of the side
rope with one hand, Peter snapped his fingers sharply.
"Will you?" said the trapezist in an interested voice. "Then that means
a battle, an acrobattle. Hello! It's begun already. Look at that old
Nibblywog down there. Come on, we're missing all the fun!"
Jerking Peter from the swing, the acrobat hurled him to the next
trapeze and the next and the next, until everything turned topsy-turvy.
Peter could no more have opened the pirate's sack than he could have
counted the somersaults he took in the air. Jack had long since lost
his head, and Peter could see the acrobats tossing it about like a
ball. Below that a troupe of tight-rope walkers were dancing merrily
on Belfaygor's beard, which had been stretched between two swings. The
baron himself was held fast by a dozen swing citizens and Snif, trying
to help first Peter then Belfaygor, was buffetted and banged with the
hard fists of the aerialists.
"How dare you hold us up in this high handed manner," roared the Iffin,
nearly beside himself with rage and indignation. There is no telling
how long Peter and his friends would have been tossed about had not
a sudden shake dislodged Mogodore's sauce box from the little boy's
pocket. Opening as it fell it immediately filled the air with such
a thunder of screams, threats and brazen screeches, several swing
citizens lost their hold upon the swings and fell trembling through
space.
"Magic," squealed Hi-Swinger, clutching his crown with both hands. "Drop
them! Drop them at once!" So Peter and his companions were dropped as
suddenly as they had been taken up by these fickle folk of the air,
and with sickening speed went whizzing downward. Peter was too dizzy
to realize he was falling again, and Snif, trying to catch all of them
at once succeeded only in rescuing Jack's head as it whirled past. But
he need not have worried, for under this strange city a great net was
suspended and into this net they all landed with a bounce that promptly
sent them skyward again.
"Score one for the sauce box," panted Peter as he fell back.
"Gee-whiz--I never want to see another swing as long as I live!"
"Neither do I," muttered Belfaygor, unwinding himself from his long
red whiskers and feeling for his shears. Snif said nothing, for he was
trying to hold Jack's body steady and place his pumpkin back on its
peg. Peter hastened to assist him and soon Jack was himself again.
"Ups and downs," he mused sadly. "Nothing but ups and downs! And how
are we to get out of this net, may I ask?"
"I'll cut a hole in the net and we'll drop through," said Belfaygor
promptly. "It's not far to the ground!"
"Another fall," groaned Jack, holding his head with both hands. "Oh,
think of something else!"
"If we stay here," said the Iffin, "the Swingers will probably come
back and if we don't hurry, we'll miss that rascally baron and he'll
capture the Emerald City before we catch him."
"I'll fall," quavered Jack, crawling toward the opening Belfaygor was
cutting in the net. "I'll do anything for Ozma!"
"We've certainly done a lot of falling for her so far," sighed Peter,
scrambling after Jack. "Let me fall first and then I can help you."
Holding for a moment to the edge of the opening, Peter dropped lightly
to the ground. Then reaching up he caught Jack under the arms and
carefully eased him down. Belfaygor quickly followed Jack and Snif
bounced through in short order.
"Well, we've lost the sauce box and a lot of time but we've met a new
and curious kind of people," said Peter, pulling down his jacket.
"And so did they," smiled the Iffin, giving himself a shake and
examining two places where he had lost some fur. A hurried search
proved that the magic bell, the sack and flagon were still in their
possession. Jack was no worse for his swinging and though Snif,
Peter and Belfaygor still felt dizzy and shaken by their unexpected
experiences in Swing City, they decided not to stop and rest but to
push straight on for the capitol.
"From now on," said Snif gravely, "we must keep a sharp look out for
trouble."
"I'll watch the air," said Jack, seating himself quickly.
"I'll watch the ground," promised Peter, springing up briskly behind
him.
"And I'll see that we're not followed," said Belfaygor, climbing on
last of all.
"Then off we go," rumbled Snif. "What a lot I shall have to tell my
grandchildren, if I ever have any grandchildren. I hope they'll be
just like you, Peter," he added with an affectionate glance over his
shoulder. Peter smiled faintly to himself, for he did not see how this
could be but he was too polite to argue the question, and fixing his
eyes upon the road below looked eagerly for some sign of Mogodore and
his men.