OLIVER ELEPHANT GOES HUNTING

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

Originally published in the Springfield Union, November 28, 1915.

Oliver Elephant was lonely. Tommy Tapir had the mumps and Oliver had no one to whom to tell his wonderful schemes and discoveries. He tried playing with Tabora Crocodile, but he WOULD bite Oliver’s trunk when he wasn’t looking and Mimi Monkey led him into such mischief that Mother Elephant and Father Elephant and Uncle Abner all agreed he was not a fit playmate for a big little elephant; so, you see, Oliver Elephant was very lonely and the tears WOULD trickle down his trunk when no one was looking.

“What shall I do?” he said to himself dismally when he had had his breakfast Saturday morning. He sat down and thought and thought and just when his head seemed nearly ready to fly off he looked out of the window and there were Uncle Abner and Father Elephant starting off for a day’s hunt.

Up jumped Oliver Elephant, knocking over his mother’s sewing basket and tumbling scissors and spools all over the floor. Out of the door he raced and, taking the opposite direction from that taken by the two hunters, he disappeared into the dense jungle forest.

When he had gone about two miles he began to step very carefully, waving his big ears and peering around with his little eyes for signs of “specimens,” for that was what his father and Uncle Abner were after—queer animals for old Professor Bear’s collection. One mile, two miles, Oliver Elephant traveled without finding anything at all different from his own jungle folk, and then, just as he was about to sit down to eat some tender green shoots, he saw “it.”

Very quietly the big little elephant went closer. It was the queerest animal Oliver Elephant had ever seen and, indeed, he was not at all sure it was not a pincushion with the pins stuck in upside down. It made a peculiar grating noise like a pig and when Oliver came too close it curled up and the sticky hairs on its back rattled threateningly.

“Sniff, snuff!” (The little elephant was really very curious.) Closer and closer his trunk came to the silent bundle. And then, dears and ducks, he ventured TOO close. The little porcupine raised his quills suddenly and Oliver Elephant jumped with pain and rage—about seven of the sharp quills fastened in the end of his sensitive trunk. Up and down he danced until Mimi Monkey, who had been watching from a tree overhead, dropped down and pulled out the quills one by one. Oooh! But it did hurt and Oliver Elephant did make a dreadful nose. But when the last quill was out and the poor trunk was properly tied up in two banana leaves, the elephant and the monkey sat down to decide how to carry the porcupine home to Professor Bear.

Oliver Elephant would not go within three feet of it and Mimi Monkey was not anxious for a close acquaintance, either, so it was almost dark before the two found a way.

While Oliver watched the porcupine Mimi Monkey dug quite a deep hole in front of it and spread a strong mat (of palm leaves fastened together) over it. The two then broke off long sticks and gently pushed the little animal on to the mat. Of course, the middle fell in and Oliver and Mimi each took two corners and twisting the mat like a bag, carried the furious porcupine home with great glee and gave it to the professor.

Professor Bear was greatly delighted and when the porcupine had presented him with two lovely quills for pens, he decided he was a very valuable addition to the Jungle School. So there you will find him every day curled up asleep, but always ready to supply pens to all the little jungle folk ’cept Oliver Elephant, who never, to this day, will go near him. He much prefers writing with the stub of a pencil to having any more of “Porky’s” quills in his trunk (and I don’t blame him, do you?).

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 29, 1918

A Supposyville Shop

There’s a queer little shop
In Supposyville lane.
I wonder if possibly
I can explain.

“Tis kept by the quaintest
Old gentleman elf,
With all sorts of bottles
And jars on his shelf.

He sits in the doorway
And hammers and sings
And seems to be mending
Invisible things.

And over his shop
Swings a battered old sign,
With printing all crooked
And quite out of line.

And what do you ’spose
That old sign says? Why, honey—
You never have read one
So dear and so funny.

Pshaw! Listen to this:
“Dispositions repaired;
Bad habits removed;
Resolutions prepared.

“Cracked and broken hearts mended
And patience renewed;
Good tempers restored
And all wrinkles unscrewed.

“Please pay me in smiles.
Satisfaction assured—
There’s nothing too broken
Or bad to be cured.”

Many customers come—
And the merry elf swings
His little gold hammer
And whistles and sings,

And sends them off smiling.
I think I myself
Must drop in some time
On this dear little elf.

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

THE ORCHESTRA

By L. Frank Baum

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

Originally published in Songs of Spring, 1916.

 

 

There’s discord in Music Land; why, do you know?
All on account of Miss Violin’s beau.
Miss Clarinet frets, and Miss Banjo, to boot,
While Banning’s cornet has gone off on a toot.

They’d come to rehearse—’twas an Uplift affair;
The orchestra places were all of them there:
Good old Frankel’s cello, high-strung Mrs. Harp,
Bill’s flute—a bright fellow, but often too sharp.

Sweet Miss Violin, and Viola, her chum,
Our Herman’s trombone, light-headed Miss Drum,
Her father, Bass Drum, who stumps with a stick,
And Miss Tambourine, with her merry click-click.

Their keepers had gone—’twas an awful mistake
To stand at the bar and indulge in a shake,
Forgetting that up in the Blue Room, just now,
Their quarrelsome instruments might have a row.

That high-toned assemblage—a sensitive lot—
Had all been keyed up to perform on the spot,
When Miss Violin, looking sharply around,
Discovered her beau was nowhere to be found.

Unstrung, broken-hearted, she leaned on the wall,
While great consternation arose in the hall.
“Oh, oh, for a Beau,” in a high tremolo
Thrilled Miss Piccolo, who had ne’er had a beau.

Roared Harry’s Bass Viol: “Oh, fiddlesticks, say,
I’m sure Mrs. Harp has enticed it away.”
“You’re wrong,” cried the Harp; “I really don’t see
Why somebody always is picking on me.”

“That Bass is quite cracked,” said Viola. “We know
She’d scrape an acquaintce with any old beau;
While Hays Rice’s fiddle, by common report,
Accomplishes pieces of very low sort.”

And so the dispute rose higher and higher
Till Ira’s Flute piped, “Mrs. Harp, you’re a lyre.”
But just at this time, e’er the scrap could begin,
The door opened wide and our Robbie walked in.

“Hush,” cried the Director, with chastening frown;
“You’re all out of tune and had better tone down.
Be still, Miss Viola; don’t nag the big Bass,
And I will look into Miss Violin’s case.”

Deep silence ensued; not another harsh word,
Nor one note of discord was then to be heard.
Robbie looked for a moment—one only—and lo,
Right there, in her case, lay Miss Violin’s beau.
 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 15, 1918

 

Another Supposy Idea

 The King, one day, and Solomon
Tremendous Wise were sitting
Beneath a tree, discussing matters
Interesting and fitting!

“I’ve noticed, among other things,”
Thus spoke up Mr. Wise,
“A tendency among the young
To overexercise!

“In truth, it seems, Your Majesty,
That, in Supposyville,
Only when fast asleep at night
Are lads and lassies still.

“While, on the other hand,
The grown-ups underexercise.
Now there’s a way to even up
These matters, I surmise!”

“Quite right!” the King reluctantly
Rose from his comfy chair.
“Get up, you lazy rogue!” he laughed.
“We are a guilty pair!”

Sir Solomon sprang to his feet
And, chuckling, he proceeds,
To just explain and make quite plain
Supposy-people’s needs.

“I say we set an hour a day
For children to keep still.
And have the grown folks out
To do a bracing set-up drill!”

“Ha, hoh!” the good King
Nearly bent himself in two. “Ha, hoh!
Sir Solomon, you are the
Wisest queer old chap I know!”

He spluttered, “That’s a hopping plan;
’Twill go into effect
Tomorrow, and will cause a lot
Of comment—I expect!

“And I suggest that while
The young folks sit quite still they do
Some useful thing—pare ’taters, say—
To help the housework through!”

So that’s how things are evened up
In old Supposyville,
Sweethearts—while grown folks exercise
The little folks keep still.

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