Kabumpo in Oz - Ruth Plumly Thompson (ebook reader android .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ruth Plumly Thompson
- Performer: -
Book online «Kabumpo in Oz - Ruth Plumly Thompson (ebook reader android .TXT) 📗». Author Ruth Plumly Thompson
Oz itself is a huge oblong country divided into four parts, the North being the purple Gilliken country, the East the blue Munchkins country, the South the red lands of the Quadlings, and the West the pleasant yellow country of the Winkies. In the very center of Oz, as almost every boy and girl knows, is the wonderfulEmeraldCity, and in its gorgeous green palace lives Ozma, the lovely little Fairy Princess, whom Kabumpo wanted Pompadore to marry.
“Do you know,” mused the Prince, after they had traveled some time through the dim forest, “I believe that gold mirror has a lot to do with all this. I believe it was put in the cake to help me find the Proper Princess.”
“Where would you find a more Proper Princess than Ozma?” puffed Kabumpo Indignantly. “Ozma is the one—depend upon it!”
“Just the same,” said Pompa firmly, “I’m going to try every Princess we meet!”
“Do you expect to find ‘em running wild in the woods?” snorted Kabumpo, who didn’t like to be contradicted.
“You never can tell.” The Prince of Pumperdink settled back comfortably. Now that they were really started, he was finding traveling extremely interesting. “I should have done this long ago,” murmured the Prince to himself. “Every Prince should go on a journey of
adventure.”
“How long will it take us to reach the Emerald City?” he asked presently.
“Two days, if nothing happens,” answered Kabumpo. “Say—what’s that?” He stopped short and spread his ears till they looked like sails. The underbrush at the right was crackling from the springs of some large animal, and next minute a hoarse voice roared:
“I want to know
The which and what,
The where and how and why?
A curious, luxurious
Old Cottabus am I!
I want to know the
When and who,
The whatfor and whyso, Sir!
So please attend, there is no end
To things I want to know, Sir!”
“Aha!” exulted the voice triumphantly. “There you are!” And a great round head was thrust out, almost in Kabumpo’s face. “Oh! I’m going to enjoy this. Don’t move!”
Kabumpo was too astonished to move, and the next instant the Cottabus had flounced out of the bushes and settled itself directly in front of the two travelers. It was large as a pony, but shaped like a great overfed cat. Its eyes bulged unpleasantly and the end of its
tail ended in a large fan.
“Well,” grunted Kabumpo after the strange creature had regarded them for a full minute without blinking.
“Well,” what?” it asked, beginning to fan itself sulkily. “You act as if you had never seen a Cottabus before.”
“We never have,” admitted Pompa, peering over Kabumpo’s head and secretly wishing he had brought along his jeweled sword.
“Why haven’t you?” asked the Cottabus, rolling up its eyes. “How frightfully ignorant!” It closed its fan tail with a snap and looked up at them disapprovingly. “Will you kindly tell me who you are, where you came from, when you came, what you are going for, how you are going to get it, why you are going and what you are going to do when you do get it!”
“I don’t see why we should tell you all that,” grumbled Kabumpo. “It’s none of your affair.”
“Wrong!” shrieked the creature hysterically. “It is the business of a Cottabus to find out everything. I live on other people’s affairs, and unless”—here it paused, took a large handkerchief out of a pocket in its fur and began to wipe its eyes—“unless a Cottabus asks fifty questions a day it curls up in its porch rocker and d-d-dies, and this is my fifth questionless day.”
“Curl up and die, then,” said Kabumpo gruffly. But the kind-hearted Prince felt sorry for the foolish creature.
“If we answer your questions, will you answer ours?”
“I’ll try,” sniffed the Curious Cottabus, and leaning over it dragged a rocking chair out of the bushes and seated itself comfortably.
“Well, then,” began Pompa, “this is the Elegant Elephant and I am a Prince. We came from Pumperdink because our Kingdom was threatened with disappearance unless I marry a Proper Princess.”
“Yes,” murmured the Cottabus, rocking violently. “Yes, yes!”
“And we are going to the Emerald Cityto ask princess Ozma for her hand,” continued the Prince.
“How do you know she is the one? When did this happen? Who brought the message? What are you going to do if Ozma refuses you?” asked the Cottabus, leaning forward breathlessly.
“Are you going to stand talking to this ridiculous creature all day?” grumbled Kabumpo. But Pompadore, perhaps because he was so young, felt flattered that even a curious old Cottabus should take such an interest in his affairs. So beginning at the very beginning he told the whole story of his birthday party.
“Yes, yes,” gulped the Cottabus wildly each time the Prince paused for breath. “Yes, yes,” fluttering its fan excitedly. When Pompadore had finished the Cottabus leaned back, closed its eyes and put both paws on the arms of the rocker. “I never heard anything more curious in my life,” said the curious one. “This will keep me amused for three days!”
“Of course—that’s what we’re here for—to amuse you!” said Kabumpo scornfully. “Let’s be going, Pompa!”
“Perhaps the Curious Cottabus can tell us something of the country ahead. Are there any Princesses living ‘round here?” the Prince asked eagerly.
“Never heard of any,” said the Cottabus, opening its eyes. “Can you multiply—add—divide and subtract? Are you good at fractions, Prince?”
“Not very,” admitted Pompadore, looking mystified.
“Then you won’t make much headway,” sighed the Cottabus, shaking its head solemnly.
“Now, don’t ask me why,” it added lugubriously, dragging its rocker back into the brush, and while Kabumpo and Pompa stared in amazement it wriggled away into the bushes.
“Come on,” cried Kabumpo with a contemptuous grunt, but he had only gone a few steps when the Curious Cottabus stuck its head out of an opening in the trees just ahead. “When are you coming back?” it asked, twitching its nose anxiously.
“Never!” trumpeted Kabumpo, increasing his speed. Again the Cottabus disappeared, only to reappear at the first turn in the road.
“Did you say the door knob hit you on the head?” it asked pleadingly.
Kabumpo gave a snort of anger and rushed along so fast that Pompa had to hang on for dear life.
“Guess we’ve left him behind this time,” spluttered the Elegant Elephant, after he had run almost a mile.
But at that minute there was a wheeze from the underbrush and the head of the Cottabus was thrust out. Its tongue was hanging out and it was panting with exhaustion. “How old are you?” it gasped, rolling its eyes pitifully. “Who was your grandfather on your father’s side, and was he bald?”
“Kerumberty Bumpus!” raged the Elegant Elephant, flouncing to the other side of the road.
“But why was the door knob in the cake?” gulped the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.
“How should we know,” said Pompa coldly.
“Then just tell me the date of your birth,” wailed the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.
“No! No!” screamed Kabumpo, and this time he ran so fast that the tearful voice of the Cottabus became fainter and fainter and finally died away altogether.
“Provokingest creature I’ve ever met,” grumbled the Elegant Elephant, and this time Pompa agreed with him.
“Isn’t it almost lunch time?” asked the Prince. He was beginning to feel terribly hungry.
“And aren’t there any villages or cities between here and the Emerald City?” Pompa spoke again.
“Don’t know,” wheezed Kabumpo, swinging ahead.
“Oh! There’s a flag!” cried Pompa suddenly. “It’s flying above the tree tops just ahead.”
And so it was— a huge, flapping black flag covered with hundreds of figures and signs.
“Hurry up, Kabumpo,” urged the Prince. “This looks interesting.”
“It reminds me of something disagreeable,” answered Kabumpo, as he eyed the flag. Nevertheless he quickened his steps and in a moment they came to a clearing in the forest, surrounded by a tall black picket fence. The only thing visible above the fence was the strange black flag, and as the forest on either side was too dense to penetrate and there seemed to be no way around, Kabumpo thumped loudly on the center gate.
It was flung open at once, so suddenly that Kabumpo, who had his head pressed against the bars fell on his knees and shot Pompadore clear over his head. Altogether it was a very undignified entrance.
“Oh! Oh! Now we shall have some fun!” screamed a high, thin voice, and immediately the cry was taken up by hundreds of other voices. A perfect swarm of strange creatures surrounded the two travelers. The Elegant Elephant took one look, put back his ears and snatched Pompa from the paving stones.
“Stop that!” he rumbled threateningly. “Who are you anyway?” The crowd paid no attention to the elegant Elephant’s question, but continued to dance up and down and scream with glee. Clutching Kabumpo’s ear, Pompa peered down with many misgivings. They were entirely surrounded by thin, spry little people, who had figures instead of heads, and the fours, eighths, sevens and ciphers hobbling up and down made it terribly confusing.
“Let’s go!” said Pompa, who was growing dizzier every minute. But the Figure heads were wedged so closely around them Kabumpo could not move and they were shouting so lustily that the Elegant Elephant’s voice was drowned in the hubbub. finally, Kabumpo’s eyes began to snap angrily and, taking a deep breath, he threw up his trunk and trumpeted like fifty ferryboat whistles. The effect was immediate and astonishing. Half of the Figure Heads fell on their faces, and the other half fell on their backs and stared vacantly up at the sky.
“Conduct us to your Ruler!” roared Kabumpo in the dead silence that followed. “How’d you know we had a Ruler?” asked a Seven, getting cautiously to its feet. “Most countries have,” said the Elegant Elephant shortly. “He’s got no right to order us around,” said a Six, sitting up and jerking its thumb at Kabumpo.
“Yes—but!” Seven frowned at Six and put his hands over his ears. “This way,” he said gruffly, and Kabumpo, stepping carefully, for many of the Figure Heads were still on their backs, followed Seven.
If the inhabitants of this strange city were queer, their city was even more so. The air was dry and choky and the houses were dull, oblong affairs, set in rows and rows with never a garden in sight. Each street had a large signpost on the corner, but they were not at all like the signs one usually sees in cities. For these were plus and minus signs with here and there a long division sign.
“I suppose everything in this street’s divided up,” mumbled Pompadore, looking up at a division sign curiously.
“Hope they don’t subtract any of our belongings,” whispered Kabumpo, as they turned into Minus Alley. “Look, Pompa, at the houses. Ever see anything like ‘em before?”
“They remind me of something disagreeable,” mused the Prince. “Why, they’re books, Kabumpo, great big arithmetic books!” Pompa pointed at one.
“You mean they are shaped like books,” said the Elegant Elephant. “I never saw books with windows
Comments (0)