OLIVER ELEPHANT TO THE RESCUE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Author of The Hungry Tiger of Oz, The Curious Cruise of Captain Santa, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," etc.

Originally published in the Syracuse Herald, October 24, 1915.

 

 

Mother and Father and Uncle Abner Elephant had gone visiting. Oliver Elephant was all alone. There wasn’t a sound in the room ’cept the sleepy ticking of the clock and the rustle of the leaves as Oliver turned over the pages of his history book. “Ump!” grunted the big, little elephant at last. “Nothing wonderful ever happens to ME—guess I could be a hero if I ever had the chance! ‘The messenger delivered the letter to the king—saving his life and the life of his countrymen!’” he finished with a sigh. “If—UGH—what’s that?” Footsteps were approaching.

Oliver to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. Something bumped violently against it—and the NEXT minute—the next minute—a dark, furry body staggered into the room, rolled over and over on the floor, then lay still. Oliver’s heart pounded like twenty drums—he scarcely breathed. Then as the dark object didn’t stir he tip-toed over to it holding the lamp in his trunk.

It was a young tiger. Limp and seemingly lifeless it lay there, one of its legs broken and a dark crimson stain on its shining coat. At first, Oliver was going to run for his mother—then (you’ll hardly believe what I’m going to tell you next)—then a white envelope clutched in the tiger’s paw caught his eye. “To His Majesty the King!” was scrawled across the back and after that “DANGER!”

All of the history stories Oliver had been reading rushed through his head. “He was carrying a message,” thought he—“and somehow he’s hurt—DANGER—it must be very important!” He looked at the clock. It was 9—and his mother and father would soon be home. They would take care of the wounded messenger, but HE, HE, Oliver Elephant must take the letter to the king!  Propping a pillow under the tiger’s head, he seized the letter and rushed out into the pitch black jungle night.

He had never been to the king’s court, but he had often heard his father and Uncle Abner telling about it, and he knew that it lay on the other side of the deep river in the midst of a tangled growth of trees. Holding the letter fast in his trunk, he rushed through the night, crushing and crackling the branches beneath his huge feet like grain beneath a thresher. He forgot he was only a little boy elephant still studying his multiplications under old Professor Bear. Rushing with the wonderful letter seemed to turn him into some one else—he already fancied himself a grand Minister of State with gold buttons on his jacket. He even forgot to be afraid—and the deep, dark jungle is the last place I should like to be at night, I can tell you!

The river looked black and shimmery and scaresome, but Oliver Elephant plunged in and cut his way across like one of our big ferryboats. Holding the precious message high out of the water in his trunk, he scrambled up the opposite bank, shook himself, and started again on his mad tear through the trees. Every once in a while little furry creatures would scamper out of his way, green eyes peered down at him from the trees and up at him from the bushes. Startled monkey heads darted in and out as he passed and there was a great chattering as to what in the world could be the matter. “Won’t Tommy Tapir stare when I tell him? Won’t Uncle Abner Elephant be surprised?” thought Oliver as he panted along. “Almost there—just the other side of—”

Crash! Up went Oliver Elephant’s trunk, then down went he—down—in a tangle of branches, wire and net. He had fallen into a trap set by some cunning men and covered with branches and leaves. For a minute he was too stunned to move—he was down in a deep pit and so tangled up in a heavy net that getting out seemed impossible.

The first thing he thought of was the letter and he felt around till he had gotten hold of it. He didn’t think of his own danger at all—the only thing he could think of was the message. “What will happen, how will I get out of here, how will I get the letter to him?” he raged, slashing from side to side. “Hello!” called a voice suddenly. Oliver Elephant peered up. Stretched over the edge of the pit was the head of a huge snake—a python. “Can I do anything for you, comrade?”

“Yes! yes!” almost screamed Oliver. “Take this message to the king—hurry! hurry!” He held the letter aloft and the snake took it out of his trunk and slid noiselessly away in the dark.

Well, well! we are almost to the end of our story, for the python rushed to the king’s court and in a little while Oliver Elephant, fuming and struggling in the trap, heard the thudding of many feet. The king and all his court had come to help him. Oh, what a king he was—the most perfectly splendid LION you ever saw—and there were panthers and tigers and leopards, wolves and bears, and every other sort of jungle beast, and they all were roaring compliments to Oliver Elephant. The king gave him one of the gold buttons off his robe and let it down on a gold chain, saying a good bit about Oliver having saved his life—and the lives of all the other animals thereabouts. For the letter brought news of traps—just like the one into which Oliver had fallen—fifty of them—set all around the king’s favorite hunting grounds.

A messenger was dispatched to Oliver’s mother and father and it wasn’t long before they and Uncle Abner besides came puffing up. How to get him out was the question and if it hadn’t been for the great python, he would probably have been there yet, but, what do you think? He slid down into the pit, under Oliver Elephant’s, stomach, then up again. King and a dozen tigers caught hold of his tail and Oliver Elephant’s father caught hold of him just behind the head and they pulled and slowly, slowly, drew him up. The python stretched a foot or so, but he was very polite about it and said he didn’t mind it in the least. The messenger tiger recovered in time—he had been shot in the leg it turned out, and the king to celebrate the event, entertained the whole party in his palace, presenting each with a gold figure of himself as a souvenir and promising Oliver Elephant a high position at court as soon as he should finish school. My, my! did any one ever hear such a story before?

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 8, 1918.

A Model and Merry Castle

Heighho! there’s a castle
The like of which
You never have seen!
And it’s standing

High up on a hill
In Supposyville—
All the countryside
Round—commanding!

Flags flutter from each
Of its turrets and spires,
And the blue smoke curls up
From its big grate fires.

And oh! you should see it,
Sweethearts, o’ nights
A twinkle with thousands
Of candle light.

The gates are wide open
Just all the time
And Supposies are
Going and coming

Both early and late;
Courtiers, people of state,
Lads and lassies
A whistling and humming.

’Tis built—well, you’ll never
Once guess what it’s built of;
Never once in the world
Little honey—

’Tis built all of books,
So no wonder it looks
So delightfully,
Brightfully funny!

Its walls are all pictures
Of fairy tale places;
The furniture’s
Taken from stories,

The kitchen and cupboards
Like old Mother Hubbard’s
All papered in quaint
Jack-a-Gories!

There are caves, hidden stairways,

Throne rooms and all sorts
Of apartments made
Famous in rhymes,

And in this Book Castle
Supposyville’s youth
Have most wonderful
Make-believe times!

Every book that is cheerful
Or famous is there,
And before the huge
Grate fires they lie

And read about Princes
And pixies and elves,
About giants a half
A mile high!

Then they play all the books,
And the jolly Bookkeeper
Finds costumes and things
For them all.

We really must drop in
Some time, you and I,
And make a
Supposyville call!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE ORPHEUS ROAD SHOW

 By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Lyrics from “The Orpheus Road Show,” Uplifters’ High Jinks, Coronado, CA, October 1917.

Never Strike Your Father, Boy

Seldom baste your Mother, lad; ’twas she who gave you life;
Don’t often pound your Sister—save your thumpings for your Wife;
And if yo’ knock your Auntie down ’twill be for cause, I know,
But never strike yo’ Father, boy—unless you need the dough.

The Girl in my Home Town

My girl is a shy girl

But she’s my girl—

That’s why I miss her;

I’m far away today

But say! Some day

I’ll hug and kiss her;

Fair girls and rare girls,

Blue eyes and brown,

Are ev’rywhere, but none compare

With the girl in my home town.

Goose Pimples

She was only foolin’

When she let me call her “hun”;

She was only foolin’

’Cause all she loved was “mon”;

She was only foolin’

And lookin’ out for fat—

She kept my four dollars

And just let me holler—

It gave me goose-pimples at that!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 1, 1918

Solomon Tremendous Wise and the Royal Sleigh of Supposyville

Heighho! but I wish
You had seen the sleigh
Of their Royal Highnesses
Pass today.

With silver bells
And horses white,
I tell you now
’Twas a dashing sight.

Horses ten and
Footmen two,
Cushioned in gold
And deep sea blue.

Along in a whirl
Of snow it sped,
With couriers galloping
On ahead

To clear the way
And prevent a spill,
While the King and Queen
Of Supposyville,

In white fur robes
Securely belted,
With apples and cakes
Their subjects pelted.

Old Solomon
Tremendous Wise
The sleigh at a turn
In the road espies.

And, giving his steed
A prod, sets out
To see what such furious
Speed’s about.

Panting and breathless
He comes ’longside.
“One moment, your Highnesses!
Stop!” he cried.

But they only laughed.
“No time for stopping.
We’re off to finish
Our Christmas shopping!”

The words came back
As they round a curve
In a manner requiring
Technique and nerve.

“A good idea,”
Quoth Mr. Wise;
And after the two
At top speed hies.

It must be fun
To shop that way.
Wish we could ride
In that Royal sleigh!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MINI MONKEY TELLS OLIVER ELEPHANT A SECRET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Cowardly Lion of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Pittsburg Press, May 23, 1915.

 

 

“Ho, Oliver Elephant, I can tell you a secret if you give me that new red tie you have on!” Mini Monkey winked her wicked little eyes and swung slowly to and fro by her tail—“A GREAT secret, Oliver Elephant!”

The big little elephant looked doubtfully first at the mischievous monkey and then at his new tie. “What kind of a secret, Mini?—this is a BEAUTIFUL tie. I don’t believe you know this—I don’t believe it!” and Oliver Elephant began to walk slowly away.

“Oooo—ooh! Listen!—I’ll tell you the secret first and THEN if it is all right you can give me the tie,” said Mini artfully, and making a flying leap through the air she landed on Oliver Elephant’s broad head and whispered in his huge ear. What she said I have no idea—for I only heard the word “fly”—but it MUST have been a pretty fine secret, for Oliver tore off his treasured tie without so much as a wink, and ran home as fast as his legs would carry him (which was pretty fast, I can tell you).

After that strange things went on in Oliver’s woodshed. To Tommy Tapir alone Oliver told the wonderful secret, and every minute the two cousins could spare they hammered and sawed and pasted and planned until Mother Elephant really became quite curious. “What ARE you doing, Oliver Elephant?” she asked one morning when Oliver came in with the end of his trunk almost pounded into a jelly. (Tommy Tapir had pounded it with the hammer instead of the board Oliver was holding for him.) “Just makin’ things,” said Oliver with a wink at Tommy, and Mother Elephant seeing that it was a VERY important secret did not ask any more questions.

Finally everything was finished and Tommy and Oliver Elephant could hardly sit quiet during school hours so anxious were they to try the secret. In fact, they were so restless and looked out the window so much, and asked each other so many times whether it was going to stay clear that they were both kept after school and lectured severely by Professor Bear, who could not understand what an important thing was about to happen. But at last the school bell rang, the longed-for time came and the two, staggering under their heavy bundle (which they had carefully tied up the day before), went deep into the woods and climbed a high cliff which overlooked a beautiful lake.

Here, after a great deal of fussing and fuming and “ouches” and “ohs,” Oliver stood resplendent in a  huge pair of paper wings with heavy wooden frames. He looked to funny and so top-heavy that Tommy Tapir rolled on the ground with glee. “I don’t see anything to laugh at, Tommy Tapir. If I had known you would do that I would never have told you. Here, you try it yourself if you think it is so funny,” and Oliver Elephant began to unstrap the wings. At this Tommy grew quiet. “Don’t, Oliver,” he said. You—you’ll spoil everything.” But he had to laugh again when Oliver Elephant tried to walk—he certainly was top-heavy. Now Oliver Elephant was not afraid, but the laughter of Tommy made him nervous and when he looked down at the lake it made him dizzy—so closing his eyes hurriedly, he leaped from the cliff. Down, down, down he went so fast that both ears blew out like huge sails, and before he could get his breath he hit the water with a resounding smack and disappeared. Tommy, who had confidently expected him to fly, ran panting for help, and returned in a few minutes with Father and Uncle Abner Elephant at his heels. All that they could see of Oliver Elephant was the end of his trunk sticking out of the water, and it took all three to tow him to shore and untangle the wings.

“Now, perhaps, you will be kind enough to explain what all this nonsense was about,” said Father Elephant sternly while he patched up Oliver’s ear which had been badly torn on the broken wing. “Well, you see,” began Tommy, anxious to shield Oliver Elephant. “Mini Monkey told me a great secret—I gave her my new tie for it—but it wasn’t a secret—it was a story,” sobbed Oliver Elephant. “What did she tell you?” asked Father Elephant with a twinkle in his eye. “She said, ‘Cobrada, the wise old snake, told me today that the only reason you could not fly was because YOU DIDN’T HAVE WINGS,’” “Well, that part was true—what else did she say?” Father Elephant asked again, as Oliver hesitated. “She said, ‘Why don’t you MAKE a pair?’—and I did—but I didn’t fly, I just flopped—and I hurt myself, and—just wait until I catch Mini Monkey!”

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 24, 1918.

How They Do It in Supposyville

Ten turkeys roasting on the spit,
With twenty cooks to mind ’em,
To beat up paste, to baste and taste
With ne’er a look behind ’em!

Ten serving men in gold and lace
And silver pantaloons,
Setting the royal table out
With silver forks and spoons.

Ten pages running to and fro
Between the cooks and King;
Ten fiddlers tuning up, besides
Ten minstrels gay to sing!

Who says Supposyville lacks cheer
Thanksgiving time? My heart, dear!
I swear that there they have more fun
Than we could ever start here.

Not only in the palace is
A royal feast preparing,
But every little cottage there
The festival is sharing.

Up every chimney curls the smoke,
And mingled with such savor
The birds hang round to just absorb
The rich, delightful flavor.

And after dinner all the folks
Go calling on the King,
And those that know a clever trick,
And those who dance or sing,

Delight the company by their art.
Heighho! what merry capers
They cut up there—pshaw! I declare—
With riddles, rhymes and tapers.

“My dear Supposies, just a few
Remarks before you go,”
The quaint King cleared his throat; “Thanksgiving
Comes by once, you know,

“Each year, and as the spirit of
Thanksgiving is so splendid,
I have decided with myself
To have the time extended.

“Please note upon your calendars
The lengthening of the season.
Three hundred days and sixty-four
We all can find a reason

“To celebrate it every day—
For any one a-living
In old Supposyville will find
Each day one BIG Thanksgiving!”

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MY HOBBY

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Magic of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Originally published in The Mercury (Los Angeles, CA), July 1915.

 

 

My hobby is the garden that
I’ve made in Hollywood
Where roses blow and dahlias grow
Exactly as they should.

Where Nature in a mood divine,
Her rarest charms unfold
And I who worship at her shrine
Enchantments gay behold.

There color riots in the beds
Of stock and daffodil
And lilies from their nodding heads
The air with fragrance fill.

The merry song birds trill their lays
And water lilies bloom;
Content and pleasure fill my days
And leave no room for gloom.

’Tis there I oft indulge in dreams
Where shady nooks entice
And to my mind this garden seems
An Earthly paradise.

’Tis my retreat from Worldly care;
My one desire, indeed,
Is that within my garden fair
I’ll some day go to seed.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 17, 1918

Pink Mondays in Supposyville

“Now I suppose that washing clothes
Is quite a tedious matter,
Causing no end of rubs and scrubs,
Of muss and fuss and splatter.”

Thus one fine day old Solomon
Tremendous Wise observed.
“A lot of cheer is wasted here
That ought to be conserved.

“For as the good dames blue the clothes
They seem to blue themselves,
And when they’ve placed them crisp and clean
And starched upon the shelves,

“They’re limp, and just an awful cramp
Gets in; makes Monday blue and damp.
It settles like a fog upon us—
Blue Monday, what a wrong you’ve done us!”

The good King laughed.
“Perhaps,” said he,
“You’ve thought us up
A remedy!”

“For one thing,” old Sir Solomon
Remarked, “I’ve been a-thinking
’Twould be a lot more sensible
To use a cheerful pinking

Instead of bluing, and I’ve jars
For the entire realm!”
“Your perspicacity, my friend,
Doth truly overwhelm,”

The good King chuckled, “and what else
Have you in mind, my man?”
Sir Solomon puffed out his chest.
“Your Majesty, my plan

“Is to divide the matter up
Between the men and women;
No reason why a man should not
Share up—he’s fond of swimmin’!”

The King’s crown tumbled off. “My friend,
That is a worthy plan.
But don’t you think that washing clothes
Is not quite fit for man?”

“He wears ’em, don’t he?” Solomon
Tremendous Wise commented;
And after quite a little talk
The good old King consented.

Now, every other Monday all
The good dames take a rest.
And the men-folk wash and pink the clothes,
That is much the best

Way out, I think. I wonder what
Would happen, duck and dear,
If we should just insist they try
The very same thing here!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

WHAT OLIVER ELEPHANT CAUGHT

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Pittsburg Press, March 14, 1915.

 

 

In the first place, it was Saturday. If it hadn’t been Saturday, Oliver Elephant would have been in school. In the second place, Oliver Elephant’s mother had gone visiting! If Oliver Elephant’s mother hadn’t gone visiting, Oliver Elephant would never have gone fishing. “For,” as Mother Elephant often remarked, “there were a good many things besides fish in the jungle river!” and that Oliver was to keep away from there. “But I’m plenty big enough to take care of myself,” said Oliver Elephant as he marched along with his father’s best fishing rod in his trunk! and he tried to forget that his mother had told him NOT to go alone to the river. And you may think it strange for anybody to go fishing because it is so cold and snowy here, but you must remember that in Oliver Elephant’s country there never is any snow. Indeed, he grew so warm walking through the jungle that he had to take off his coat—think of it!

He was so busy thinking of the zwillycumzwoos (which are a sort of jungle fish, my dears) that he did not think of his coat at all, and pretty soon he had lost it. A beggar monkey saw the coat fall and when Oliver had passed by, he took it home to his wife, who made a dress for each of the babies out of the sleeves, a vest for her husband out of the back, and a jacket for herself out of the rest. Oliver Elephant never even missed it. He walked on and on, and pretty soon had come to the river itself. He sat down on a fallen tree, threw his line into the water and waited for the fishes to bite.

He waited—and waited—and WAITED! but no fishes came, and the longer he waited the sleepier he grew. Sleepier and SLEEPIER, and the old river sang such a drowsy song that first thing you know he had fallen fast asleep. And who do you suppose came along just about then? Why, Tabora Crocodile, and he grinned and chuckled till every tooth in his head showed. ’Cause he hadn’t forgotten how Oliver had pulled his tooth. And he hadn’t forgotten how it hurt—and Oliver had run home and talked to him from the upper window. Here was HIS chance and Tabora flopped himself into the river with a TREMENDOUS splash.

Oliver Elephant went on dreaming and dreaming, till all at once his line gave a little jerk, then another, and as Oliver had hold of it with his trunk the jerks pulled his head forward and wakened him up! “A fish!” cried Oliver Elephant, holding on with all his might and main and his trunk! “A fish!” The fish pulled harder and harder. ZIP—out flew the line! Oliver scrambled to his feet. “It MUST be a whopper! It must be a—” The next instant Oliver Elephant whizzed through the air (yes, really), struck the water with the awfullest smack—then disappeared altogether and entirely! A fish that could pull an elephant into the water—why—what kind of a fish could that be? I’ll tell you! It wasn’t a fish at all! It was Tabora Crocodile! And he dragged Oliver Elephant through all the mud at the bottom of the river, and bumped him on the bottom of the river, and bumped him on all the stones, and I don’t know what would have happened if Oliver hadn’t at last thought of letting go of the fishing rod.

I don’t know how he ever pulled himself up the bank, but somehow he managed, and all full of bruises and bumps and mud, with his ears and trunk full of bitter river water, without his coat or his father’s fishing rod he set off for home, while that rogue, Tabora Crodocile, sat on the bank and crunched the fishing rod to bits. The rest of the story is very unpleasant—for, though Oliver did not catch any fish, he DID catch two other things. The first was a terrible cold in his trunk, and the second—well, I’d rather not tell you about that. It happened when Father Elephant came home. I’m sorry about it! But he should have minded his mother!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 3, 1918.

Supposyville’s Court Cross-Examiners

Across from the castle,
Just where the roads meet,
Lives the Court Cross-Examiner,
Jeremy Sweet.

Quite right he should live
At the Crossroads, you know,
And he calls his quaint cottage
The Cherry Cross Bow.

And the Cherry Cross Bow,
With its flowers and vines,
With its red-tiled roof top
And its Christmasy pines,

Is a duck of a spot.
As for Jeremy Sweet,
He’s the gayest dear fellow
One ever did meet.

Yet, on his broad shoulders
All the responsibility
For preserving Supposyville’s
Nerves and tranquillity

Rests, and each day on his
White old plump horse
He canters cross country
To hunt down each source

Of crossness—that’s why
In the whole realm there’s not
A single cross person,
Cross patch or cross spot.

When he sees signs of crossness,
He orders vacations
Or puts all the household
On Thanksgiving rations!

His pockets are wonders
And full of small toys
And caramel cookies
For good girls and boys.

And he keeps a big book
Where he likes to display
Names of people who never
Are cross, so they say.

“No one should be cross.
If they are there’s a reason
To be found and removed
At the earliest season,”

Says Jeremy Sweet,
And he works with such care
That, as I have said.
Not a cross person’s there.

There’s places, I know,
Where this Jeremy’s needed.
Then we’d get a whole lot
Of our cross patches weeded!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SAFETY FIRST

By L. Frank Baum

Author of Ozma of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Songs of Spring by the Uplifters, 1916.

 

As poets sing, a glorious thing is love of man for woman.
Since time began, man’s love for man is safer, tho’ less human.
The one may lead to Heav’n, indeed, though oft to Hell’s descent;
And one’s a trip to Fellowship—to Uplift, and Content.

So here’s a toast to all who boast of love for all mankind;
Who relish wit, and sing a bit and manly pleasures find.
Tho’ passion’s kiss some ass may miss when our Uplifters meet,
We all know well here is no Hell, but Friendship—strong and sweet.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 27, 1918

The Always Inn of Supposyville

’Tis kept by a plump
Little man and his wife,
Who have chuckled half-way
Down the long lane of life.

And they got such a lot
From the journey, and there
Was so much of comfort
And good cheer to spare,

In their wee little house
That it seemed quite a shame
Not to share it, and that’s
How the “Always Inn” came.

“For,” quoth the quaint gentleman,
“Why live alone?
And as we’ve no family
Or folks of our own

“Let’s make some for others.
Of pie and preserve
I am getting more now
Than I really deserve.

“I am fat as is safe
For a man of my size,
So, considering everything,
Is it not wise

“To give to your cooking
A wide circulation,
And for me to spare you
From excess conversation?”

The dear little dame
With a mischievous grin
Agreed, so they started
Supposyville’s Inn.

And there isn’t a thing
That’s not comfortable there.
Each room has a fireplace
And cozy armchair,

With a little crane ready
For tea. And good cheer
In abundance for all
Every day of the year!

And that is the reason,
I ’spose, for the sign
That swings in the lane
From a sentinel pine.

“ALWAYS INN!” And the King,
When the cares of the state
Grow heavy, comes straight
Through the little white gate,

And cheered by the Inn keeper’s
Bright conversation
And his wife’s magic cooking
Has sweet relaxation.

And whenever the Court
Cross-examiner finds
Supposy folk worried
Or low in their minds,

He hustles them off
To the Always Inn at
The expense of the King
To return cheered and fat.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SHAGGY LION'S BLACK EYE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Giant Horse of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 12, 1920.

 

 

Oliver Elephant is sick and in bed, with his trunk tucked under his pillow and a white silk handkerchief tied round his eyes the very minute that I’m writing this story—really! Did you ever think about an elephant’s handkerchief? Well, I shouldn’t like to hem one, that’s all I have to say. Why, it’s as big—as big as a sheet. I guess Oliver’s mother must have loved him a good deal to make all those stitches. It even had a big “O” embroidered in the corner, mind you!

But I didn’t start out to tell you about his handkerchief at all. I started out to tell you the story Uncle Abner Elephant told him. Uncle Abner heard him groaning and plunging around the bed, so he tiptoed into the room and sat down in the big creaky rocker. “Rob Rabbit was certainly the perkiest little rascal I ever heard on,” began Uncle Abner, rocking comfortably. “Huh?” grunted Oliver, trying not to be interested. “I said Rob Rabbit was the perkiest little rascal I ever heard on,” repeated Uncle Abner, slowly. “Why, would you believe it, he blacked the king’s eye once. Yes, sir! He blacked Shaggy Lion’s eye as black as your mother’s cook stove. You see, Rob Rabbit used to get mighty tired of the little people where he lived—of the guinea pigs, and squirrels, and woodchucks, and rabbits—and every once in a while he’d tie up all his clothes in his red silk handkerchief, kiss his mammy goodby and start off to the hills. And this time I’m telling you about he walked a long distance, till he came to the tree where Shaggy Lion had his court.

“Everybody was so busy listening to the evidence against Mr. Snake that they never saw him at all and the evidence was so uninteresting, and Rob Rabbit was so tired that first thing you know he went sound asleep. Didn’t he wake up all of a sudden though? Feeling pretty uncomfortable, he was too!” “Why?” said Oliver Elephant, taking his trunk from under the pillow. “Why?” exclaimed Uncle Abner, “why, all the animals had fast hold of him. They were pulling and jerking and growling and snarling. ‘Come along home with me. Come along home with me!’ ‘A-hold on! A-hold on!’ gasped Rob Rabbit. ‘You’re tearing my coat.’ (I guess he meant ‘let go.’) But anyway they didn’t, they just kept pulling harder—Mr. Bear and Mr. King Lion, and Mr. Snake, and Mr. Tiger, and Mr. Monkey, and all the rest of them. Rob Rabbit wiggled his nose very fast, and with all the breath he had left called, ‘Why LOOK! OH, LOOK! Off by the trees yonder! We’ll all be killed, I reckon.’ And quick as a wink they dropped him and looked off by the trees, and, of course, there wasn’t anything to see at all. When they found that out, Rob Rabbit was on ’tother side of the hill, buried in a deep hole, all but his eyes.”

“Were they mad?” said Oliver Elephant, sitting up and peeking out from beneath his bandage. “MAD!” ejaculated Uncle Abner with a wave of his trunk. “They were the maddest crowd of annymiles you ever did see. And off they went to find him, ker-thump-thump-thump—’cause none of them wanted to lose that Rabbit pie they were hoping to have.

“Shaggy Lion saw his wiggly nose first. ‘Come out of there till I bite your head off!’ he roared, and Rob Rabbit DID come. He shot out like a cannon ball. Kerplunk, he smashed into Shaggy Lion’s eye and closed it up tight, and back in his hole again before any one could swallow. Shaggy Lion ran round and round, with his paw to his eye, which was black as your mother’s kitchen stove, just as I told you—and he made a TERRIBLE fuss. The other beasts were so surprised that they sat plumb down where they were with their tongues hanging out.

“‘Who tore my coat?” shouted Rob Rabbit, sticking his head out of the hole. ‘’Cause when I find out, I reckon I’m goin’ to black BOTH his eyes.’ ‘Who tore his coat?’ roared Shaggy Lion, glaring at the others with his one good eye, and Mr. Bear began to blame it on Mr. Snake, and Mr. Snake began to blame it on Mr. Tiger. And they all began to talk at once, and all the while they were backing clear away from Rob Rabbit, and when they got about so far (Uncle Abner measured off the distance with his trunk) up went their heels and away they ran in a cloud of dust and Shaggy Lion, he ran the fastest of all.”

“Big Wumpuses,” laughed Oliver Elephant, almost forgetting he was sick. “And Rob Rabbit didn’t have any more trouble with them THAT visit!” chuckled Uncle Abner. “Do you know any more stories about Rob Rabbit?” said Oliver Elephant, as Uncle Abner lumbered out the door, “’Cause I’d like to hear them if you do.”

AND—so should I. How about you?

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 20, 1918

Another Supposyville Party

October’s mellow, yellow moon
And brilliant golden sun
Look down in turn upon that realm
Of happiness and fun!

And if the sun’s a little late
In coming up round here,
You’ll know it’s ’cause he overstayed
His time out there, my dear.

They do enjoy him so, you know,
In ’Sposyville. Why, there
Folks spend three-quarters of their day
Out in the open air!

And, naturally, he stays the longest
Where he’s loved the best,
And in that way old Mr. Sun
Is quite like all the rest.

Bus pshaw! no wonder he was late
The other morning. Whew!
If I’d been he I should have stayed
Another hour too!

’Cause there they were, the whole of them—
The King and Queen and Court,
Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise
And men of every sort.

Men and maids and children, too,
A raking leaves together,
And larking in the gayest way
Out in that golden weather!

“The Kingdom must be tidied up;
Let’s make a party of it,”
The King announced, and all the dear
Supposies said they’d LOVE it.

And it wouldn’t be Supposyville
Without rewards and prizes.
They ranged beside the King in many
Different shapes and sizes.

One for the largest pile of leaves,
One for the loveliest wee leaf,
One for a gold and one for a scrolled
And one for the finest belief.

They danced through crackling lanes of ’em
And dived into huge heaps,
And played at hide and seek through ’em
With nimble hops and leaps.

And when the party’s over just
At sundown, not a one
Is strewn about and never did
Supposies have more fun.

And speaking, as we are, of leaves,
’Tis my be-leaf that they
Have found the very best receipts
For turning work to play.
 

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.