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.
