The Marvelous Land of Oz
“Slow him up! Slow him up!” shouted the Scarecrow. “My straw is all
shaking down into my legs.”
But Tip had no breath to speak, so the Saw-Horse continued his wild
career unchecked and with unabated speed.
Presently they came to the banks of a wide river, and without a pause
the wooden steed gave one final leap and launched them all in mid-air.
A second later they were rolling, splashing and bobbing about in the
water, the horse struggling frantically to find a rest for its feet and
its riders being first plunged beneath the rapid current and then
floating upon the surface like corks.
The Journey to the Tin Woodman
Tip was well soaked and dripping water from every angle of his body.
But he managed to lean forward and shout in the ear of the Saw-Horse:
“Keep still, you fool! Keep still!”
The horse at once ceased struggling and floated calmly upon the
surface, its wooden body being as buoyant as a raft.
“What does that word ‘fool’ mean?” enquired the horse.
“It is a term of reproach,” answered Tip, somewhat ashamed of the
expression. “I only use it when I am angry.”
“Then it pleases me to be able to call you a fool, in return,” said the
horse. “For I did not make the river, nor put it in our way; so only a
term of, reproach is fit for one who becomes angry with me for falling
into the water.”
“That is quite evident,” replied Tip; “so I will acknowledge myself in
the wrong.” Then he called out to the Pumpkinhead: “are you all right,
Jack?”
There was no reply. So the boy called to the King “are you all right,
your majesty?”
The Scarecrow groaned.
“I’m all wrong, somehow,” he said, in a weak voice. “How very wet this
water is!”
Tip was bound so tightly by the cord that he could not turn his head to
look at his companions; so he said to the Saw-Horse:
“Paddle with your legs toward the shore.”
The horse obeyed, and although their progress was slow they finally
reached the opposite river bank at a place where it was low enough to
enable the creature to scramble upon dry land.
With some difficulty the boy managed to get his knife out of his pocket
and cut the cords that bound the riders to one another and to the
wooden horse. He heard the Scarecrow fall to the ground with a mushy
sound, and then he himself quickly dismounted and looked at his friend
Jack.
The wooden body, with its gorgeous clothing, still sat upright upon the
horse’s back; but the pumpkin head was gone, and only the sharpened
stick that served for a neck was visible. As for the Scarecrow, the
straw in his body had shaken down with the jolting and packed itself
into his legs and the lower part of his body—which appeared very plump
and round while his upper half seemed like an empty sack. Upon his head
the Scarecrow still wore the heavy crown, which had been sewed on to
prevent his losing it; but the head was now so damp and limp that the
weight of the gold and jewels sagged forward and crushed the painted
face into a mass of wrinkles that made him look exactly like a Japanese
pug dog.
Tip would have laughed—had he not been so anxious about his man Jack.
But the Scarecrow, however damaged, was all there, while the pumpkin
head that was so necessary to Jack’s existence was missing; so the boy
seized a long pole that fortunately lay near at hand and anxiously
turned again toward the river.
Far out upon the waters he sighted the golden hue of the pumpkin, which
gently bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves. At that moment
it was quite out of Tip’s reach, but after a time it floated nearer and
still nearer until the boy was able to reach it with his pole and draw
it to the shore. Then he brought it to the top of the bank, carefully
wiped the water from its pumpkin face with his handkerchief, and ran
with it to Jack and replaced the head upon the man’s neck.
“Dear me!” were Jack’s first words. “What a dreadful experience! I
wonder if water is liable to spoil pumpkins?”
Tip did not think a reply was necessary, for he knew that the Scarecrow
also stood in need of his help. So he carefully removed the straw from
the King’s body and legs, and spread it out in the sun to dry. The wet
clothing he hung over the body of the Saw-Horse.
“If water spoils pumpkins,” observed Jack, with a deep sigh, “then my
days are numbered.”
“I’ve never noticed that water spoils pumpkins,” returned Tip; “unless
the water happens to be boiling. If your head isn’t cracked, my friend,
you must be in fairly good condition.”
“Oh, my head isn’t cracked in the least,” declared Jack, more
cheerfully.
“Then don’t worry,” retorted the boy. “Care once killed a cat.”
“Then,” said Jack, seriously, “I am very glad indeed that I am not a
cat.”
The sun was fast drying their clothing, and Tip stirred up his
Majesty’s straw so that the warm rays might absorb the moisture and
make it as crisp and dry as ever. When this had been accomplished he
stuffed the Scarecrow into symmetrical shape and smoothed out his face
so that he wore his usual gay and charming expression.
“Thank you very much,” said the monarch, brightly, as he walked about
and found himself to be well balanced. “There are several distinct
advantages in being a Scarecrow. For if one has friends near at hand to
repair damages, nothing very serious can happen to you.”
“I wonder if hot sunshine is liable to crack pumpkins,” said Jack, with
an anxious ring in his voice.
“Not at all—not at all!” replied the Scarecrow, gaily. “All you need
fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall
quickly part company—but you needn’t look forward to it; we’ll discover
the fact ourselves, and notify you. But come! Let us resume our
journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin Woodman.”
So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the
Pumpkinhead clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around
the wooden form of Jack.
“Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit,” said Tip to his
steed.
“All right!” responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.
“Aren’t you a little hoarse?” asked the Pumpkinhead politely.
The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward
toward Tip.
“See here,” he growled, “can’t you protect me from insult?”
“To be sure!” answered Tip, soothingly. “I am sure Jack meant no harm.
And it will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good
friends.”
“I’ll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead,” declared the
Saw-Horse, viciously. “he loses his head too easily to suit me.”
There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode
along in silence.
After a while the Scarecrow remarked:
“This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I
once saved Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the
West.”
“Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?” asked Jack, glancing around
fearfully.
“They are all dead, so it doesn’t matter,” replied the Scarecrow. “And
here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch’s Grey Wolves.”
“Who was Nick Chopper?” asked Tip.
“That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman, answered his Majesty.
And here is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew
away with little Dorothy,” he continued, after they had traveled a
little way farther.
“Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?” asked Jack, with a shiver of
fear.
“I do not know; but you have little cause to, worry, for the Winged
Monkeys are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap
that commands their services,” said the Scarecrow, reflectively.
Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought recalling the days of
past adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the
flower-strewn fields and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.
Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night. So Tip
stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.
“I’m tired out,” said the boy, yawning wearily; “and the grass is soft
and cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning.”
“I can’t sleep,” said Jack.
“I never do,” said the Scarecrow.
“I do not even know what sleep is,” said the Saw-Horse.
“Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of
flesh and blood and bone, and gets tired,” suggested the Scarecrow, in
his usual thoughtful manner. “I remember it was the same way with
little Dorothy. We always had to sit through the night while she
slept.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tip, meekly, “but I can’t help it. And I’m dreadfully
hungry, too!”
“Here is a new danger!” remarked Jack, gloomily. “I hope you are not
fond of eating pumpkins.”
“Not unless they’re stewed and made into pies,” answered the boy,
laughing. “So have no fears of me, friend Jack.”
“What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!” said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.
“You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!”
retorted Jack, angrily.
“There!—there!” interrupted the Scarecrow; “don’t let us quarrel. We
all have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be
considerate of one another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has
nothing whatever to eat, let us all remain quiet and allow him to
sleep; for it is said that in sleep a mortal may forget even hunger.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Tip, gratefully. “Your Majesty is fully as good
as you are wise—and that is saying a good deal!”
He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of
the Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.
A Nickel-Plated Emperor
Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and
plucked, with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from
some bushes near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample
breakfast, and afterward the little party resumed its Journey.
After an hour’s ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they
espied the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the
Emperor’s palace rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.
The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:
“How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I
hope that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled
mine!”
“Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?” asked the horse.
“Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over them soon after the Wicked
Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the
world I am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor.”
“I thought that ‘Emperor’ was the title of a person who rules an
empire,” said Tip, “and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom.”
“Don’t mention that to the Tin Woodman!” exclaimed the Scarecrow,
earnestly. “You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as
he has every reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor
rather than King.”
“I’m sure it makes no difference to me,” replied the boy.
The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had
hard work to stick upon its back; so there was little further
conversation until they drew up beside the palace steps.
An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to
assist them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to his personage:
“Show us at once to your master, the Emperor.”
The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way,
and finally answered:
“I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving
this morning.”
“How is that?” enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. “I hope nothing has