AN OLIVER ELEPHANT STORY

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Author of The Cowardly Lion of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

 

Published in The Sunday Journal and Tribune (Knoxville, TN), February 13, 1921.

In a snug but roomy house in the wild jungle of India lived the Oliver Elephants—Big Oliver Elephant, Little Oliver Elephant, Mrs. Oliver Elephant and Uncle Abner Elephant—as nice a family of elephants as you’d find anywhere. Uncle Abner not only knew how to play on the flute, but could tell a hundred stories besides. Father Elephant, while not so lively, was an honest chap and a good provider, and as for Mrs. Elephant, she could make everything from hay pudding to coconut pie, so you can imagine how contentedly they lived together. At least, they did between times. I mean when little Oliver Elephant was not getting himself into mischief. He was the curiousest creature, child, you ever saw—but with such a long trunk nose, what could one expect? It was always dragging him into things that didn’t concern him.

One day he was poking around in a big mass of leaves and undergrowth when suddenly his curious trunk nose touched something cold and hard.

“What’s this?” puffed Oliver Elephant, and began scrambling leaves and dead vines out of the way and, first thing you know, he uncovered a BIG IRON RING! Trembling with curiosity, Oliver Elephant put his nose through the ring and pulled with all his might. Nothing happened—at first. Then, all at once, the ground under Oliver Elephant’s feet began to tilt, and next minute he shot backward into a deep, dark hole. The iron door (for it was a door) began to right itself, but Oliver threw up his trunk just in time to keep it half-way open.

“Help!” trumpeted Oliver Elephant, his ears flapping with terror. “Help, help, help!” but nobody heard. It was mighty uncomfortable standing on his hind legs holding the door up with his trunk. He stood it as long as he could, then with a great groan he dropped on all fours, and the door swung shut. It was pitch dark and very damp, and Oliver, running round and round, bumped into sharp-pointed chests and bags full of stones that seemed strewn everywhere. After bumping himself almost to pieces, Oliver stood perfectly still and tried to think.

“There must be another ring somewhere,” wheezed Oliver aloud to keep up his courage. But after feeling carefully all the way round he became terribly frightened again and began thumping the walls in a frenzy with his trunk. Suddenly there was a creak, then a patch of light—a door was opening in the wall. Oliver made a dash for it and next minute was standing in his dear familiar jungle, on the other side and quite a distance below the spot where he had found the iron ring. Before he could even gasp, the door through which he had come closed and the little elephant stood trembling from the very thought of what might have happened if he had not gotten out. Walking around to the other side he covered the iron ring with leaves and sticks to keep his discovery from the meddlesome monkeys. It was quite late and growing darker every minute, so home went Oliver Elephant. In spite of his fright and his bruises, he was very much excited, and back in the left corner of his head was a little notion that some day when he felt very brave he would explore the cave again. He resolved to tell no one—not even Uncle Abner—and when his mammy threw up her trunk and wanted to know where he got all those bruises, he said he’d been in a fight with monkey folks.

Oliver Elephant could scarcely sleep for thinking of the strange cavern. “It certainly is very queer!” thought he, wiggling his curious trunk nose, “and some day I’m going back!”

Well, if he ever does, you may be sure I’ll tell you about it, dears and ducks.

 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 16, 1919.

The Prize Painting

The King and Queen were seated
In their next to best salon.
Said the Queen: “It needs some fixing,
For the spring is coming on.

“It seems to me ’twould be improved
If yonder empty wall
Were hung with some great painting
Of good cheer. Come, let us call

“The artists of Supposyville,
And that shall be the start
Of our spring celebration.
Is not Spring the muse of art?”

Forthwith ’twas done. The artists came
With ideas, haste and fervor.
Each told his theme unto the Queen
And each desired to serve her.

And just as she was almost taken
With a sketch of spring
To be enlarged upon the wall,
The castle bell did ring

So loudly that the footman
Simply tumbled to the floor.
Without, impatient, stood a youth,
And when at last the door

Was opened by the footman
Up the stairs he bounced,
Never waiting to be guided or
Be properly announced!

“Your Highness! Gracious Lady!”—
He swept off his artist’s cap—
“Let me decorate this wall, I beg!”
“Who is this foolish chap?”

The artists muttered to each other,
“Sir, what have you painted?”
“A barn and several fences!” roared
The youth—the artists fainted.

“What is your plan?” the Queen inquired.
“I cannot tell it—still
I know you’ll let me do it.”
“Well, I just believe I will.”

Her Highness, tickled by the youth’s
Audacity, agreed.
“No one must see it till ’tis done.
And ’twill be done with speed!”

He stated. One week from that day
He called them all to view it.
“I hope,” he bowed, “you’ll like my work
And that you’ll all see through it!”

They gasped—no wonder, dears and ducks—
Blue sky and snow-white hills,
A river flowing, white clouds blowing
The whole wide wall space fills!

He’d made a window of the wall.
“What picture ever painted
Can equal Nature’s self?” quoth he—
Again the artists fainted.

As for the Queen, she was so pleased,
Surprised, charmed and delighted,
She gave the youth three bags of gold
And also had him knighted.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

UNTITLED POEM

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw

Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in The Tri-High Journal, Fall Number, Vol. 2, No. 1, November 1930, Oklahoma City Senior High Schools.

The fine white needle of the dawn
Points out above the hills,
Then loops over the world
The golden thread of
The New Day.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 9, 1919.

Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise’s Valentine

The air was full of Valentines.
Sir Solomon felt lonely.
He’s gotten quite a few, but not
One said, “I love you only.”

“It’s fine to be a scientist
And famous and all that,
But who will be my Valentine?”
He murmured to his cat.

The cat arose and waved its tail
And rubbed against his knee
And purred and tried its best to say,
“Old dear, why not take me?”

His master stroked him absently,
Then sank back in his chair
And gazed into a cheerful fire
With such a mournful stare.

The cat reflected to himself:
“Not comfort such as mine
He needs. I’ll go and try my best
To find a Valentine.”

The King and Queen were sitting on
Their next to next best throne.
And for a wonder, dears and ducks,
The two were all alone.

When in with silent pussy tread
And watchful pussy eye
Sir Solomon’s devoted cat
Came seeking favor high.

“Hello! Here’s Solomon’s good cat,”
The King exclaimed. “My dear,
We quite forgot his Valentine.
No wonder puss is here!

“Ho, there! Without!” A page ran in.
“Take this to Mr. Wise.”
He scribbled on an envelope
Of pink and royal size:

“Old friend, we love you best of all.
Come visit us at nine,
And, if the place still’s open
May we be your Valentine?”

The cat purred its approval,
Then stole stealthily away
To walk in lonely majesty
Upon the King’s highway!

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

HOW OLIVER ELEPHANT GOT HIS BIG EARS

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Silver Princess in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Oregon Sunday Journal, May 23, 1920.

 

 

Once upon a time, longer than long ago, Oliver Elephant had ears about as large as a muffin, not one bit bigger. It was so inconvenient for him to hear ’cause when some little creature went to speak to him he’d have to get down on his knees and put his trunk to his ear to find out what they were saying; and as for his appearance, well, it was just ridiculous.

One day as he was looking sadly in a forest pool and wondering why his ears were so small for the rest of him, the little old man of the woods came by. And the little old man of the woods is a second uncle to a fairy, which makes him quite magic.

“What’s the matter, big Oliver Elephant?” asked the little man of the woods. Oliver put his trunk behind his ear and got down on his knees, for the little fellow was no bigger than a waffle.

“Beg pardon?” said Oliver Elephant, politely. The old man of the woods repeated his question and Oliver Elephant asked him how it was his ears were so small, when all the rest of him was so big.

“If they were larger, my nose or my trunk wouldn’t seem so long!” wailed Oliver Elephant. The little man of the woods shook his head wisely.

“They didn’t grow long enough; they must have been picked too soon,” he said slowly and sat down on a tree stump to think. After a while he began to dance around Oliver Elephant in excited circles.

“I have it. I have it; we’ll plant ’em again and then when they are big enough I’ll pluck them and wish them back on you.”

Oliver Elephant was a bit worried, but when the little man of the woods assured him that he could wish his ears off without hurting him he just heaved a big sigh and told him to go ahead. So the little man did and the next thing that elephant person had no ears at all and the little man of the woods had dug a big hole and planted those he had had. Poor Oliver Elephant—he had enormous trials for a whole four weeks, ’cause he couldn’t hear a single thing anyone said. His enemies slipped up before he could see them and nipped pieces out of him, and his friends were all mad at him because he wouldn’t answer their questions. How could he, I ask, without a single ear?

So finally he just went camping by himself right where the little man of the woods had planted his ears. Every day they grew larger and more shapely and Oliver was tempted two or three times to pick them, but restrained himself because, of course, he could not put them back, and a disconnected ear is like a disconnected telephone—no use.

The little man of the woods had gone on a journey and just as Oliver Elephant was growing very much frightened at the size his ears were reaching, he came back.

“Well,” said the little magic man of the woods, “didn’t I tell you they would grow? Are they all right?”

Oliver could not hear a word he said, but he nodded hard, and next thing he was sitting down three yards off with a terrible headache. The man of the woods had wished his ears back so quickly that the shock had upset Oliver Elephant, but hayricks, how happy he was. He could hear even the grasshoppers singing in the grass, and as for his looks, well you know yourself how becoming they are. Yes, that’s the way Oliver came to have big ears.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 2, 1919.

Careless of the Lord High Humpus

The Lord High Humpus, adding up
The Royal books one night,
Fell fast asleep and overturned
His tall red candle light.

The fire went creeping ’long the floor.
Sudden the King awoke.
“My dear,” he shook the Queen, “a fire!
A fire! I smell the smoke!”

He jumped into his slippers and
He seized his shaving cup—
’Twas full of suds—and off he ran
To wake the castle up.

The Queen, with her canary bird
And bottle of cologne,
Ran after him to quench the blaze—
The trumpets all were blown.

The Lord High Humpus with singed toes
Had fled, no one knew where;
The courtiers with scared faces first
Ran here and then ran there.

The fire was at the castle’s end—
The volunteer fire service
Fell to with buckets, mugs and jugs,
But volunteers are nervous.

One must admit a deal of water
Spilled, and many tumbled.
Three pails were thrown upon the King,
But pshaw! he never grumbled.

The Queen’s tears added to the flow,
When all at once a cheer
Went up from every one. “Oh, look!
Sir Solomon is here!”

The Lord High Humpus puffed behind.
They carried a long hose.
Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise,
His night cap on his nose,

Came running. “All stand back,” he cried.
The which they did according.
He got quite close, three buckets
And a tub of water fording.

Pointing the big end of the hose
Straight at the fire, he turned
A little screw. “Look out there, you
Aren’t singed or scorched or burned!”

The King called—oh, my wordy! It
Sucked up the flames like dust.
“My vacuum extinguisher for
Fires,” not one bit fussed.

Sir Solomon spoke calmly and—
My stars the fire was out!
I tell you now Sir Solomon’s
A pretty good old scout!

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

LIFE

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw

Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in The Tri-High Journal, Fall Number, Vol. 2, No. 1, November 1930, Oklahoma City Senior High Schools.

To some, a thing
Of Beauty.
To some, hideous.
To some, a heady wine,
To be sipped, but not taken
In overdose.
Then again it may be a crystal fount
Of knowledge.
At best, inexplicable.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 26, 1919.

Supposyville Doings

“Matters of moment oft hinge on detail,”
Is a saying that warrants inspection.
’Tis one of Sir Solomon’s favorite saws,
The result of much lofty reflection.

The direst and dismalest happenings come
From delaying that ounce of prevention.
To small things Sir Solomon, therefore, devotes
More than half of his time and attention.

Computing statistics on colds, coughs and chills,
He arrived at a startling conclusion.
He sprang from his chair with a clutch to his hair,
Adding much to its general confusion.

And seizing his great coat and small coat and hat,
He set out for the castle most hasty,
Where he burst on the King, who was just in the midst
Of a right royal ravishing pasty.

“How now?” quoth the King, as he took a large bite.
“I should say from the look of your hair
You’d something important, my friend, on your mind.
Have some pasty, and draw up a chair.

“Perchance you have found a new moon or a star
Or a couple of twinkle-ing dippers?”
Sir Solomon sank in a chair, out of breath,
“No, your Highness,” he wheezed, “it is slippers.”

The King’s eyes grew big, “What about ’em?” he puffed.
“I have proved”—here the sage shut one eye—
“There’s hardly a cold or a cough or a chill
Where the slipper proof does not apply.

“It will have to be said, people jump out of bed
And go barefoot more often than not
Before they are dressed, and I’m really distressed—
It will have to be stopped on the spot.”

“All right; go ahead; make the laws that you need,
And proceed all Supposies to measure
For slippers!” Sir Solomon made a deep bow
And remarked that ’twould give him great pleasure.

And forthwith each foot in the Kingdom was shod
With warm slippers for morning and nights,
And old Solomon kept several slipper men just
To inspect and to keep them to rights.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

OLIVER ELEPHANT AND JOHNNY GIRAFFE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Author of Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Published in the Atlanta (Georgia) Constitution, February 22, 1920.

Oliver Elephant had been reading fairy stories which Uncle Abner had secured in a rather remarkable fashion. It must have been remarkable, for he said so himself, and fairy books are not common in the jungles of Africa by any means. But if I am to get on with my story I’ll have to leave out this remarkable part.

The fact remains that Oliver had begun to believe in fairies and stay up at nights to get a sight of some.

“But the only thing that bothers me,” he complained to Johnny Giraffe, “is that I’ll never see any!”

Oliver was a bit shortsighted, and having his long trunk to look down was sort of a disadvantage, too. “Then, I’m liable to scare them,” he added miserably, and Johnny was forced to admit that they both were rather big and ugly, according to fairy standards.

But Johnny Giraffe had very sharp eyes and was also on good terms with the birds (having so long a neck), and Johnny agreed to help Oliver find a fairy. With his head among the tree tops, as he nibbled the fresh young twigs, he kept a sharp ear up for fairy news, and one day from a family of friendly parakeets he learned that the fairies were planning a merry dance for the following night in the quietest little corner of the forest.

Johnny hastened to Oliver with the good news and the two could scarcely eat, so excited did they become. Both determined to hide nearby and get a glimpse of the wonderful little people. Long before 12 o’clock the two big, little jungle boys stole away from their homes and went tiptoeing through the forest. Cautiously they concealed themselves in the thick trees and waited for the fairy folk to make their appearance.

Some one else was waiting—the old witch of the woods. Grumbling and mumbling, she crouched on the other side of the little clearing. For twenty years she had been working on a spell to destroy the fairies of the jungle and at last—at last she had found the right formula. The little creatures were always trying to keep peace among the animals of the wilds and thwarting the wicked plots of the old witch herself, so that she was determined to destroy them.

A little of the powder she had prepared would turn them all into frogs, and so anxious was she to try it that she fidgeted about and Oliver Elephant’s sharp ears caught the crackling of the twigs.

“See what it is!” he whispered to Johnny. Johnny’s bright eyes soon spotted the old witch crouched in the hedge and he was just about to tell Oliver, when up from nowhere apparently floated the fairies, their little red lanterns twinkling like fireflies in the dark. Oliver could not see them distinctly, but the little vague dancing forms delighted him. A fierce whisper in his big ear made him sneeze.

“Blow!” cried Johnny Giraffe. “Put your trunk higher than the fairies’ heads and blow!”

Without stopping to think Oliver obeyed and a mighty good thing it was, for just above the fairies flew the witch with her shaker of magic powder. Away she blew into the top of a tree and the powder was scattered in every direction, not one speck falling on the little fairies, though all of them were blown over.

An old wise man snatched out his spyglass and caught sight of the witch blowing through the air and of the giraffe and the big friendly elephant, and quickly told the queen of their deliverance. And after that Oliver Elephant and Johnny Giraffe often visited the fairies at nighttime and the little creatures perched on Oliver’s trunk and flew close, so he could see how lovely they were. As for the old witch, Oliver threw her into the deepest pool in the jungle and she was put out, for witches disappear at the first touch of water—a fact to remember if you ever meet one.

 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 19, 1919.

Supposyville Doings

The giant who lives next door
To our dear Supposyville,
All sudden, unexpected
And gigantically fell ill!

His wife had gone to visit
Some tremendous tall relations,
And there the poor old fellow lay
With none to cook his rations.

Old Solomon Tremendous Wise,
A-walking near the border
Of Supposyville, heard noises
That suggested some disorder.

It sounded like deep thunder—
“Great Supposyvillish sake!”
The sage exclaimed, “It may be some
Approaching cyclone quake.”

He hurried to his towers,
And he fixed his seer-like eye
On the far-away-off mountains
And the cloudy winter sky.

He put his ear-scope on his head
And listened with great care;
And that’s a sort of telescopic
Ear that tells one where

All noises come from. “Ha!” he cried;
“ ’Tis starting up next door.
I’d better warn that giant man
And every one before

It strikes us!” Off he hurried.
As he reached the giant’s halls
The rumbles grew so loud and long
They shook the very walls.

He peered in through a window
And in bed that giant lay,
A-groaning loud and hard enough
To blow a man away!

“So that’s the trouble.” Solomon,
With firm grip on the railing,
Called in: “Heigh-ho! What’s this? Are you
In bed, great sir, and ailing?

“Take heart, old man, and I’ll return
With several hundred of us.
But don’t groan quite so loudly
I do beg, sir, if you love us!”

The giant turned a grateful eye
Upon is tiny friend
And muffled his great groans, and soon
They had him on the mend!

Those busy, gay Supposies,
Though it took a very troupe,
Stirred up the monster biscuits and
Made barrels full of soup!

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

TRIBUTE TO A GNARLED TREE

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in The Tri-High Journal, Spring Number, Vol. 1, No. 2, May 1930, Oklahoma City Senior High Schools.

Spring, with all her fluttering draperies
Is here, and blossoms bright and pale
Shower from the laden trees
All up and down the green-floored vale.
And wanderers weak and wanly weary
Sink upon the velvet sward
And lean upon the friendly, bleary
Trunk of some kind orchard lord.
A twisted trunk, and cruelly bent,
And in itself not fine to see,
But oh, what angel heaven-sent
So strong as this dear gnarled tree?
What shoulder white so soft to lean
Upon, while sleep doth hover near?
What anguish is so swift and keen
To comfort from a tired heart’s tear
While leaning on the giant bole
Of this good soul in warped form?
Who plays so wise and well the role
Of comforter to the forlorn?
There’s none, and grateful mortals thank,
With lifted arms, such boons as these:
The spring, the flowers, growing rank,
And tender trunks of gnarled trees!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 12, 1919.

Tobogganing in Supposyville With the King and Queen and Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise

The coasting hill in Supposyville’s
The finest that I know.
And you should see the bobsleds
Skitterwitching down it though!

A sled is an essential
In that jolly realm of fun.
Why, pshaw! there’s not a person there
Without a corking one.

It makes no difference as to age,
Condition, shape or size;
A fit for any figure’s made by
Solomon T. Wise.

The King’s cook, who’s uncommon fat,
Requires a special strength,
While the tailor, who is awf’ly thin,
Has his sled built for length.

The King’s is wonderful to see—
Though the Queen does the steering;
For when his Highness has the wheel
Snow-bankward they go veering.

Big and little, broad and slim,
The sleds go gayly swooping
Down the hill; a dozen spill,
Then up they go a-trooping.

Those merry, dear Supposy folk—
The old and middling old ones—
The boys and girls and famous earls,
The timid and the bold ones!

Yes, every white and moonlight night
You’ll find the Kingdom coasting,
With bonfires crackling here and there
For toe and finger toasting!

No wonder they’re so healthy,
And so free from all malignity;
No wonder they’re so jolly—why
They simple have no dignity.

And while we’re on the subject—
If you’re troubled with a lot—
Just take a header down a hill
And see how much you’ve got
(Left.)

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

KING’S TOOTH BRINGS NEW ADVENTURE

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

Originally published in the Oregon Sunday Journal, February 15, 1920.

 

 

Once upon a time the king of the forest lost his best tooth. A tooth is a very important possession of a king, and old Leo dared not roar or smile in the presence of his subjects, because once they missed that sharp tooth they would plot for his downfall.

 

The old lion thought and thought, and at last resolved to consult Abner Elephant, one of his most trusted friends, and get his advice. The house of Mr. and Mrs. Elephant, with whom Uncle Abner lived, was in the deepest part of the jungle, and the whole family was thrown into a flutter by the unexpected visit from the king.

 

Oliver Elephant, Uncle Abner’s little nephew, was sent straight to bed because the king explained that he had come upon a very secret mission.

 

The king looked anxiously all around to be sure no one was listening. Then in an agitated whisper he told them of the loss of his sharpest tooth. He could remember nothing about it, he said, but waking up in the morning and finding it gone.

 

“If you can find it for me I shall give you the freedom of the forest and a royal talisman to protect you from every beast in the jungle,” said the king.

 

Uncle Abner did what he could to comfort his royal majesty, and promised to search diligently for the missing tooth. So the king returned to his castle greatly encouraged.

 

Now I know Oliver Elephant was supposed to be asleep. But what little boy, elephant or human, is going to sleep with a king sitting in the parlor? Oliver, I am sorry to say, put his big ear to the floor and heard the whole story.  He resolved himself to find the king’s tooth and win the freedom of the jungle.

 

Next day instead of going to school Oliver went off under a tree and sat down to think.

 

Of course, one thing was sure. It was impossible for Oliver to go to the king’s palace without disclosing his purpose. But he went to the end of the gate and looked reflectively into the monarch’s private drinking pool, which was just outside. No one was in sight and the water was so clear and tempting that Oliver resolved to have a swim. A big sign stood on the edge of the pool stating clearly:

 

“King’s pool. All trespassing forbidden under penalty of fine and imprisonment.”

 

But Oliver decided to take one plunge and come right out. Down, down, down he dived, then gave a gurgle of pain. Something had stuck in his trunk. He rose to the surface and clambered crossly out on the bank.

 

Then he gave a squeal of surprise. For there stuck in his trunk was—what do you ’spose? The king’s tooth! He clapped it into his pocket and was just about to start off when two of the palace guards seized him and hustled him into the king’s presence.

 

The king was holding court---talking out of one side of his mouth so his missing tooth would not be seen. But when he heard that Oliver had dared to swim in his drinking pool he gave a roar of anger. Then, clapping his paw over his mouth, and gazing around anxiously, he ordered Oliver to be turned out of the jungle.

 

“If it wasn’t for your Uncle Abner I’d have you made into chowder!” he shouted sideways. Oliver was terribly frightened, but begged to speak to the monarch alone, saying he had a message from his uncle.

 

The king looked at him sharply, then waved his subjects out.

 

“Your majesty,” said Oliver, regaining his courage, “walking on the edge of your pool this morning I was attracted by something white shining on the bottom. Looking closer I saw that it was—” (the king began to tremble with nervousness).

 

“What?” he asked weakly.

 

“Your majesty’s peerless tooth!” said Oliver, producing it from his pocket with a great flourish. “At great risk to myself I recovered it and am here to claim the reward.”

 

The king was so delighted to get his tooth again that he forgot to ask Oliver how he had heard of his loss. Pulling a small gold ring from his robe he tied it on a piece of red string around Oliver’s neck, and after that none of the jungle animals dared so much as growl at the little jungle boy, for he possessed the king’s talisman of protection. As for the king, he had his tooth soldered in and, although he could not chew on that side, his subjects never discovered it and, as far as I know, he is still monarch of the jungle.

 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 5, 1919.

A War in Supposyville

In windy winter
When the snow
Covers the roofs
And roads below;

When trees in icy
Armor stand,
And ponds are frozen
Out of hand,

One can expect
At any minute—
A war—their Majesties
Begin it!

No wonder you’re surprised!
A war
In that quaint realm—
Whatever for?

And ’tis a real war.
No one know
When to expect
The wily foes.

The Kingdom in
Two camps divides,
And drills and
Ammunition hides.

Then suddenly and
Without warning
Issue the King and Court
Some morning

With shields and pails
Of ammunition,
Then flies each man
To his position.

Each lad and lassie,
Every one—
And that’s the way
The war’s begun.

A royal, raging,
High-pitched battle,
While trumpets blow
And drumsticks rattle.

With charges, rushes,
Falls and tumbles;
With everything ’cept
Cannon rumbles.

A SNOWBALL WAR
Most fast and furious,
But not the slightest
Bit injurious.

And when the victors
From the field
Have chased the vanquished,
Peace is sealed.

And all march home
With rosy cheeks,
To laugh and talk
For several weeks.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.