tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4343327378999321732024-03-18T00:00:15.693-07:00Hungry Tiger TalesRare stories and poems by the Royal Historians of Oz.David Maxinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12672089188117065118noreply@blogger.comBlogger278125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-13798268644316663972024-03-17T23:59:00.000-07:002024-03-17T23:59:24.793-07:00RAINBOW CHORUS<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By L. Frank Baum<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Author of</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;">etc.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">From the projected stage show <i>Ozma of Oz,</i> 1909.<br /></span><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><br /><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">We’re the daughters of the Rainbow<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">In the clouds our palace stands,<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">There we’re daily dancing gaily<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">In the realm our sire commands.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">When the great world just beneath us<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Is submerged by summer showers<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">All our sky-land is a dry land<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">And a merry life is ours.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Dancing on the shifting clouds<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Where the Rainbow dwells,<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Well we know our sunny bow<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Lovely skies foretells.<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">We’re as happy as the day<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Frolicsome and light and gay<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Though to earth we sometimes stray<br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;">Cloudland is our home.</span></div><p style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="color: #cc5c00; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> June 16, 1918</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: left;"><b>The Supposyville Picnic</b></span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></b><div style="text-align: left;"><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Oh, once upon a tiny time</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">In old Supposyville</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The King and Queen and all the rest</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Went camping on a hill.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">A dim, deep forest stretched beyond—</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">All very well by day—</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">But waiting for the night to come</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Two lurking lions lay!</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">They licked their chops and counted up</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The good Supposies there.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Aho!” said one. “We’ll have enough</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Indeed and some to spare.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Just let them feast to heart’s content,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">I like ’em better stuffed!”</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And so the hungry lions lay</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">All day and bluffed and snuffed.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Meanwhile, Supposies, unaware</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of such unkindly neighbors,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Frolicked away the livelong day</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And rested from their labors.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">A tasty supper topped the rest,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And now each made his bed</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">From fragrant spruce boughs which do make</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">A springy couch, ’tis said.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And as the stars came out they all</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Disposed themselves for sleep.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Then stealthily the lions twain</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">From out the forest creep.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“I’ll take the King!” “And I the Queen!”</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The wretched beasts decided.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“And after that the rest of them</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Can quickly be divided!”</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Hahoh—the King is chuckling to</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Himself, for he has planned</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">A great surprise, and softly now</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">He motions to the band.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">All suddenly a blare of horns</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And trumpets loudly sounded.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The drowsy folk sprang to their feet</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Astonished and confounded.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Then up rose fireworks of all kinds</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And colors in bright showers;</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The sky is spangled with a host</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of bursting gay fire flowers.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The good Supposies clap their hands</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And cry aloud in glee.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The lions quail and next turn tail,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Then turn about and flee!</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The King nor none of them had seen</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The lions. I am glad.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">It would have spoiled the picnic just</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To think of things so bad.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And on the whole I’m awf’ly pleased</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">That they were all surprised</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Instead of eaten up, my dears,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And really lionized.</span></span></div></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-41707818876943484432024-02-29T22:40:00.000-08:002024-02-29T22:40:48.358-08:00THE BEST THING!<h3 style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Author of </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Ojo in Oz, </i><a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml" style="background-color: white; color: #cc5c00; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-decoration-line: none;">"The Wizard of Pumperdink,"</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span><a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml" style="background-color: white; color: #cc5c00; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-decoration-line: none;">"King, King! Double King!"</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> etc.</span></span></h3><div style="background-color: white;"><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>, June 16, 1918.</span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Once upon a time a spider and a daddy longlegs got into a tremendous argument.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“I’m far superior to YOU,” said Daddy. “See what long legs I have, and how much faster I can RUN!”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Flies and fiddlesticks,” grumbled the Spider. “What good is running. Can you SPIN?”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Spin?” said Daddy Longlegs. “I wasn’t made for spinning! Can you run?”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“I don’t have time to run,” said the Spider. “I sit at home and spin, and let other folks do the running. SPINNING’S THE BEST!”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“RUNNING’S the BEST!” cried Daddy, shaking one of his legs angrily.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Just then a terrific gust of wind came sweeping around the corner of the porch. Daddy Longlegs saw it coming, and he did the thing that he thought was best—which was to run—and his long legs carried him safely to a hole between the boards of the porch.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And the spider—he saw the terrific gust of wind coming and he did the thing that he thought was best, which was to spin. Quick as a flash he spun a web round a splinter, then round and round him so that he was tied fast and the gust of wind did not carry him on.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">When the terrific gust of wind had gone somewhere else Daddy Longlegs stepped out of his hole. “I’ll just see what became of that foolish spider who could not run,” said he. And the spider began untying his web and muttering to himself, “Now I wonder what became of that silly Daddy Longlegs who could not spin?”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“WHY, HELLO!” cried Daddy Longlegs in surprise when he came up to where the spider was untying himself. “WHY, HELLO! Thought you’d be blown atop the roof by this time!” “And I thought you’d be clear up to the clouds by now!” said the Spider to Daddy Longlegs.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Well, you see now,” said Daddy, wagging his long leg triumphantly. “Running was the best.”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“I see nothing of the sort!” cried the spider, popping his eye. “Spinning was the best.” Then both of them stopped short, ’cause they both had discovered something.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“Why,” said Daddy, “I see how it is. Spinning’s the BEST for you, and running’s the BEST for me.”</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">“That’s it! That’s it!” cried the Spider. “Shake hands, Daddy Longlegs, shake hands!” And they did. So you see BOTH were best. That’s often the way with things.</span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></div></span></div></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="color: #ff7f15; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;">Originally published in the <i>Oakland Tribune,</i> June 23, 1918</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Supposyville Goes Sailing</b></p><div>Supposyville is not withal<br />A salt sea water nation,<br />They’ve never tried the uses of<br />The sea for recreation.<br />The King has lately read a lot<br />About the thrills of sailing,<br />Of skimming o’er the briny deep <br />And ocean monsters trailing.</div><div><br />Therefore he calls Sir Solomon<br />And orders up a ship,<br />And bids the Queen and half the court<br />Make ready for the trip.<br />Sir Solomon looks very grave,<br />But says he’ll do his best.<br />“Quite so!” replied the King, “And I<br />Myself will do the rest!</div><div><br />“I’ve studied how to raise a sail<br />And climb the gallant mast,<br />To tack and bring her round and back<br />And run her slow and fast.”<br />Sir Solomon looked graver still,<br />But hied him off to start<br />A hundred workmen on the ship.<br />Complete in every part</div><div><br />Within a week she rode at ease<br />Beside the royal dock,<br />Complete from anchor to topsail,<br />From compass-deck to clock.<br />Sir Solomon he shook his head<br />When they invited him.<br />He said he was a bit too old<br />For such a lengthy swim.</div><div><br />“Swim!” laughed the King. “We’re going to sail.<br />What mean you anyway?”<br />“Nothing,” Solomon sighed. “Perhaps<br />You’ll understand some day.”<br />The King read from his book the duties<br />Of all hands aboard;<br />He took the wheel himself and now—<br />“Get under way!” he roared.</div><div><br />Some one forgot the anchor, but<br />At last they headed out<br />So swift and sudden that the King<br />Forgets what he’s about.<br />Round swept the boom and overboard<br />A dozen courtiers tumbled.<br />All hastily they’re rescued; not<br />A fellow of them grumbled.</div><div><br />Straight out and fast and faster still<br />They flew before the gale,<br />And desperately the courtiers clung<br />To cabin, chair and rail.<br />The motion, which they’d overlooked,<br />Began to take effect.<br />They mentioned turning homeward—Ho!<br />Aho! they little recked</div><div><br />That turning back’s a ticklish thing.<br />The King jammed down the rudder.<br />The boat turned on its side and soon<br />The waves began to flood her.<br />The sails ripped wide, the mast collapsed,<br />And tossed and thumped and battered,<br />The poor King and his courtiers in<br />The salty sea are scattered!</div><div><br />I’m mighty glad that they could swim,<br />I’m gladder still to say<br />That Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />Had started off straightway<br />They’d sailed and got a ship to save<br />Them, sirs, and in the nick<br />Of time it reached the spot and brought them<br />Home just double quick.</div><div><br />“I’ll have to see a doctor—not<br />So easy as it looks!”<br />The King groaned, all disconsolate;<br />“It sounds all right in books!”</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: xx-small; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-23540614583405061722024-01-23T00:37:00.000-08:002024-01-23T00:42:11.000-08:00JACK PUMPKINHEAD AND THE SAWHORSE<p><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Originally published 1913.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">In a room of the Royal Palace of the Emerald City of Oz hangs a Magic Picture, in which are shown all the important scenes that transpire in those fairy dominions. The scenes shift constantly and by watching them, Ozma, the girl Ruler, is able to discover events taking place in any part of her kingdom.<br /><br />One day she saw in her Magic Picture that a little girl and a little boy had wandered together into a great, gloomy forest at the far west of Oz and had become hopelessly lost. Their friends were seeking them in the wrong direction and unless Ozma came to their rescue the little ones would never be found in time to save them from starving.<br /><br />So the Princess sent a message to Jack Pumpkinhead and asked him to come to the palace. This personage, one of the queerest of the queer inhabitants of Oz, was an old friend and companion of Ozma. His form was made of rough sticks fitted together and dressed in ordinary clothes. His head was a pumpkin with a face carved upon it, and was set on top a sharp stake which formed his neck.<br /><br />Jack was active, good-natured and a general favorite; but his pumpkin head was likely to spoil with age, so in order to secure a good supply of heads he grew a big field of pumpkins and lived in the middle of it, his house being a huge pumpkin hollowed out. Whenever he needed a new head he picked a pumpkin, carved a face on it and stuck it upon the stake of his neck, throwing away the old head as of no further use.<br /><br />The day Ozma sent for him Jack was in prime condition and was glad to be of service in rescuing the lost children. Ozma made him a map, showing just where the forest was and how to get to it and the paths he must take to reach the little ones. Then she said:<br /><br />“You’d better ride the Sawhorse, for he is swift and intelligent and will help you accomplish your task.”<br /><br />“All right,” answered Jack, and went to the royal stable to tell the Sawhorse to be ready for the trip.<br /><br />This remarkable animal was not unlike Jack Pumpkinhead in form, although so different in shape. Its body was a log, with four sticks stuck into it for legs. A branch at one end of the log served as a tail, while in the other end was chopped a gash that formed a mouth. Above this were two small knots that did nicely for eyes. The Sawhorse was the favorite steed of Ozma and to prevent its wooden legs from wearing out she had them shod with plates of gold.<br /><br />Jack said “Good morning” to the Sawhorse and placed upon the creature’s back a saddle of purple leather, studded with jewels.<br /><br />“Where now?” asked the horse, blinking its knot eyes at Jack.<br /><br />“We’re going to rescue two babes in the wood,” was the reply. Then he climbed into the saddle and the wooden animal pranced out of the stable, through the streets of the Emerald City and out upon the highway leading to the western forest where the children were lost.<br /><br />Small though he was, the Sawhorse was swift and untiring. By nightfall they were in the far west and quite close to the forest they sought. They passed the night standing quietly by the roadside. They needed no food, for their wooden bodies never became hungry; nor did they sleep, because they never tired. At daybreak they continued their journey and soon reached the forest.<br /><br />Jack now examined the map Ozma had given him and found the right path to take, which the Sawhorse obediently followed. Underneath the trees all was silent and gloomy and Jack beguiled the way by whistling gayly as the Sawhorse trotted along.<br /><br />The paths branched so many times and in so many different ways that the Pumpkinhead was often obliged to consult Ozma’s map, and finally the Sawhorse became suspicious.<br /><br />“Are you sure you are right?” it asked.<br /><br />“Of course,” answered Jack. “Even a Pumpkinhead whose brains are seeds can follow so clear a map as this. Every path is plainly marked, and here is a cross where the children are.”<br /><br />Finally they reached a place, in the very heart of the forest, where they came upon the lost boy and girl. But they found the two children bound fast to the trunk of a big tree, at the foot of which they were sitting.<br /><br />When the rescuers arrived, the little girl was sobbing bitterly and the boy was trying to comfort her, though he was probably frightened as much as she.<br /><br />“Cheer up, my dears,” said Jack, getting out of the saddle. “I have come to take you back to your parents. But why are you bound to that tree?”<br /><br />“Because,” cried a small, sharp voice, “they are thieves and robbers. That’s why!”<br /><br />“Dear me!” said Jack, looking around to see who had spoken. The voice seemed to come from above.<br /><br />A big grey squirrel was sitting upon a low branch of the tree. Upon the squirrel’s head was a circle of gold, with a diamond set in the center of it. He was running up and down the limbs and chattering excitedly.<br /><br />“These children,” continued the squirrel, angrily, “robbed our storehouse of all the nuts we had saved up for winter. Therefore, being King of all the Squirrels in this forest, I ordered them arrested and put in prison, as you now see them. They had no right to steal our provisions and we are going to punish them.”<br /><br />“We were hungry,” said the boy, pleadingly, “and we found a hollow tree full of nuts, and ate them to keep alive. We didn’t want to starve when there was food right in front of us.”<br /><br />“Quite right,” remarked Jack, nodding his pumpkin head. “I don’t blame you one bit, under the circumstances. Not a bit.”<br /><br />Then he began to untie the ropes that bound the children to the tree.<br /><br />“Stop that!” cried the King Squirrel, chattering and whisking about. “You mustn’t release our prisoners. You have no right to.”<br /><br />But Jack paid no attention to the protest. His wooden fingers were awkward and it took him some time to untie the ropes. When at last he succeeded, the tree was full of squirrels, called together by their King, and they were furious at losing their prisoners. From the tree they began to hurl nuts at the Pumpkinhead, who laughed at them as he helped the two children to their feet.<br /><br />Now, at the top of this tree was a big dead limb, and so many squirrels gathered upon it that suddenly it broke away and fell to the ground. Poor Jack was standing directly under it and when the limb struck him it smashed his pumpkin head into a pulpy mass and sent Jack’s wooden form tumbling, to stop with a bump against a tree a dozen feet away.<br /><br />He sat up, a moment afterward, but when he felt for his head it was gone. He could not see; neither could he speak. It was perhaps the greatest misfortune that could have happened to Jack Pumpkinhead, and the squirrels were delighted. They danced around in the tree in great glee as they saw Jack’s plight.<br /><br />The boy and girl were indeed free, but their protector was ruined. The Sawhorse was there, however, and in his way he was wise. He had seen the accident and knew that the smashed pumpkin would never again serve Jack as a head. So he said to the children, who were frightened at this accident to their new found friend:<br /><br />“Pick up the Pumpkinhead’s body and set it on my saddle. Then mount behind it and hold on. We must get out of this forest as soon as we can, or the squirrels may capture you again. I must guess at the right path, for Jack’s map is no longer of any use to him since that limb destroyed his head.”<br /><br />The two children lifted Jack’s body, which was not at all heavy, and placed it upon the saddle. Then they climbed up behind it and the Sawhorse immediately turned and trotted back along the path he had come, bearing all three with ease. However, when the path began to branch into many paths, all following different directions, the wooden animal became puzzled and soon was wandering aimlessly about, without any hope of finding the right way. Toward evening they came upon a fine fruit tree, which furnished the children a supper, and at night the little ones lay upon a bed of leaves while the Sawhorse stood watch, with the limp, headless form of poor Jack Pumpkinhead lying helpless across the saddle.<br /><br />Now, Ozma had seen in her Magic Picture all that had happened in the forest, so she sent the little Wizard, mounted upon the Cowardly Lion, to save the unfortunates. The Lion knew the forest well and when he reached it he bounded straight through the tangled paths to where the Sawhorse was wandering, with Jack and the two children on his back.<br /><br />The Wizard was grieved at the sight of the headless Jack, but believed he could save him. He first led the Sawhorse out of the forest and restored the boy and girl to the arms of their anxious friends, and then he sent the Lion back to Ozma to tell her what had happened.<br /><br />The Wizard now mounted the Sawhorse and supported Jack’s form on the long ride to the pumpkin field. When they arrived at Jack’s house the Wizard selected a fine pumpkin–not too ripe–and very neatly carved a face on it. Then he stuck the pumpkin solidly on Jack’s neck and asked him:<br /><br />“Well, old friend, how do you feel?”<br /><br />“Fine!” replied Jack, and shook the hand of the little Wizard gratefully. “You have really saved my life, for without your assistance I could not have found my way home to get a new head. But I’m all right, now, and I shall be very careful not to get this beautiful head smashed.” And he shook the Wizard’s hand again.<br /><br />“Are the brains in the new head any better than the old ones?” inquired the Sawhorse, who had watched Jack’s restoration.<br /><br />“Why, these seeds are quite tender,” replied the Wizard, “so they will give our friend tender thoughts. But, to speak truly, my dear Sawhorse, Jack Pumpkinhead, with all his good qualities, will never be noted for his wisdom.”<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Originally published in the <i>Oakland Tribune,</i> June 16, 1918</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Hair-Raising Happening in Supposyville<br /></b><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Now, in Supposyville, as here,<br />There’s one thing they can’t master—<br />A bald head! And they spread and spread<br />And multiply much faster<br />Than these good folk care to admit.<br />The King himself’s appalled<br />At the horrid thought with misery fraught<br />Of quite becoming bald!<br /><br />“It won’t be quite becoming, either,”<br />He assured his Queen,<br />As thoughtfully he rubbed his still<br />Well-covered royal bean!<br />“Why not prevent it ere it happens?<br />Offer a reward<br />To him who raises hair, and do<br />It now!” the Queen implored.<br /><br />Forthwith ’twas done. A proclamation<br />Freely made it known<br />That whoso found a way of raising<br />Hair by skill alone<br />Should be rewarded with a bag<br />Of yellow gold. Heighho!<br />Now all the people in the land<br />Are trying hairs to grow.<br /><br />Particularly the barber shops—<br />A month they worked away,<br />And what a crowd of them convened<br />Upon hair-raising day!<br />The King sat in the court yard and<br />Each one advanced in turn<br />And tried to prove his fitness that<br />Fair bag of gold to earn!<br /><br />There were ointments by the hundred<br />And tonics not a few,<br />But, after all, no man had proved<br />He’d grown a hair or two.<br />Disconsolate, the King admitted<br />That no proofs were there;<br />Though he’d used his strongest glasses,<br />He’d discovered not a hair.<br /><br />Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise,<br />Who’d stood behind the King<br />A-chuckling fit to kill himself,<br />Now stepped into the ring.<br />Then with a horrid shriek he sprang<br />Into the air and froze<br />Their very marrow. Every hair, sirs,<br />In the company rose!<br /><br />Before they’d quite recovered he<br />Advanced and claimed the prize.<br />“I saw your hair raise straight on end<br />Before my very eyes!”<br />He stated solemnly. Aho!<br />Then how the good King laughed.<br />“You rogue!” he roared. “You scared me so<br />I thought you’d gone clean daft!”<br /><br />“I’ve proved my skill,” quoth Solomon;<br />“And if you are in doubt—”<br />He reached into his blouse and drew<br />Two long-eared bunnies out.<br />“These hares have grown by skill alone!”<br />The merriment waxed higher.<br />“Is there any further proof,” asked he,<br />“Your Highness may require?”<br /><br />“What profiteth hair on the head?<br />’Tis what’s beneath that matters.<br />Pray, leave such worries to the fate<br />Of donderheads and hatters!”<br />His Highness took the seer’s advice<br />And mid the general fun<br />Decided it another thing<br />That simply can’t be done!<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p></p><p></p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-46532964451571999642023-12-01T00:00:00.000-08:002023-12-01T00:00:00.321-08:00OLIVER ELEPHANT<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Author of <i>Captain Salt of Oz, </i><a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">"The Wizard of Pumperdink,"</a> <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">"King, King! Double King!"</a> etc.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>, June 16, 1918.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div>Oliver Elephant is a very nice elephant boy who lives in the jungle with his father and mother and Uncle Abner Elephant, and wears big, loose gray rompers which he may some time grow into.</div><div><br /></div><div>On this particular day I happen to mention all the family were sitting in the front yard of their jungle home trying to keep cool, and, as it was about as hot as four Fourths of July rolled into one, they didn’t make much trunkway—pshaw! I mean headway, but when you’re talking of elephants, trunks do seem so appropriate.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mother Elephant swished her palm leaf fan and father and Uncle Abner Elephant fussed and grunted and rubbed against trees and told Oliver Elephant for mercy sake to keep quiet and not ask questions.</div><div><br /></div><div>So Oliver, who was just as warm as they were, decided to go for a swim, where he could ask the river people as many questions as he pleased.</div><div><br /></div><div>He went himpety-humping through the thick brush wishing he would meet his cousin, Tommy Tapir, but no Tommy showed up and, as he lived a long way off, Oliver Elephant preferred swimming alone to fetching him.</div><div><br /></div><div>A little rustle behind him made him prick up his ears, and there, tiptoeing after him, was a little gentle-eyed deer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, Uncle Abner had taught Oliver to be polite to all creatures smaller than himself and to take no sass from creatures bigger than himself. This was a very good rule and, as the little ones were a lot more numerous than the bigger ones, Oliver was always finding reasons to be polite.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides, the deer, Oliver felt, belonged in his family—eating as they did only roots and grasses and not, like the lions and tigers, dining upon their weaker brothers.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Howdy!” rumbled Oliver. “Where’s your mammy?” The little creature trotted along beside him and explained that its mammy was sick; so “I am going alone for a drink!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“All right!” chuckled Oliver, “let’s go alone together!” So they did, and the deer told Oliver what a big strong fellow he was and how happy he must be not to have to run away from anything.</div><div><br /></div><div>“A chap as big as you would never get scared!” And Oliver puffed out his chest and said, “Indeed, not!” and just dared anything to scare him.</div><div><br /></div><div>And by and by they came to the river. “You take your drink first!” suggested Oliver politely, “’cause when I get in it will be all muddy!”</div><div><br /></div><div>The little deer trotted obediently down to the water’s edge and Oliver hooked his trunk up in the branch of a tree and stood waiting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then all at once he began to shake all over—and no wonder—the branch wasn’t hard as it should have been at all. It was soft—it was alive!</div><div><br /></div><div>Oliver Elephant could hardly keep from screaming, but before he could budge a hissing came thru the trees.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Move and I’ll twine around your neck and choke the breath out of you; keep still, it’s the deer I’m after!”</div><div><br /></div><div>Just then the deer came bounding toward Oliver.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Now I shall watch you swim!” it cried gayly. “Now—”</div><div><br /></div><div>Down swung an arch of glistening copper, and around the small creature coiled the terrible folds. It was a python, almost twenty-five feet long.</div><div><br /></div><div>Piteously the deer looked at Oliver and Oliver, trembling in every limb, looked back.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Why hadn’t he trumpeted—why?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Because you were afraid!” Accusingly his conscience answered for him and in the same instant he stopped trembling. That little fellow had said he never was scared; all right, he wasn’t scared—and just to reassure himself he raised his trunk and trumpeted till the ground trembled.</div><div><br /></div><div>The gaze of the python, fixed on the helpless deer, wavered; the little animal with its whole heart in its eyes, struggled feebly in the ever-tightening coils.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oliver plunged forward. The great snake flattened its head and unconsciously relaxed its hold on its victim. Without giving himself time to get more scared Oliver Elephant kept on coming, making as much noise as he could (and an elephant can make a tremendous noise).</div><div><br /></div><div>When he got right close to the snake Oliver turned out and went behind it. The python hissing with fury turned its head to see what he was about and when it saw him bearing down—this time with the unmistakable purpose of tramping on him, he let go of the deer and slid with almost uncanny speed up and around the massive tree trunk. The tip of his tail was too slow, however, and down came Oliver’s big foot upon it—ugh!</div><div><br /></div><div>“And that will be about all from you!” rumbled Oliver Elephant. And it was. The snake drew the rest of its tail up with a jerk and Oliver and the trembling little deer went on back through the jungle. “Don’t ever go for a drink by yourself again!” warned the big little elephant. And it never did.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Did you have a good time?” asked Uncle Abner Elephant, as Oliver came puffing in.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Pshaw. Now—I forgot all about it!” spluttered Oliver Elephant. “You see--,” and here he told them what had happened, just as I have told you. And the three big elephants were so proud that they almost burst the buttons off their clothes, but they didn’t say so, my, no!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="color: #cc5c00; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> June 9, 1918</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><b>Turn-About Schools in Supposyville</b></span></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif"><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The schools are shut all through the land</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">’Cept in Supposyville.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">You’ll doubtless be surprised to learn</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">That theirs are open still.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">But, then, surprises are the rule</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">That proves the whole exception.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">(That sounds a little twisted, but</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">I think ’twill bear inspection.)</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">However, as I just remarked,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Surprises are surprises,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And in Supposyville they come</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">In many shapes and sizes.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The schools are open, I repeat,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Ho, ho! And every day</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Some boys or girls come back to teach</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The teachers how to play!</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">All benches, desks and boards are gone,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The games have honor places,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And now the art of spinning tops,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of marbles, jacks and races</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Are taught in all their branches—</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Skipping rope and fast bean bag,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Hockey, dolls, old maids, jackstraws,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Hopscotch and hearts and tag.</span></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7028014022907970341" itemprop="articleBody" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div></div></div></div></div></span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-25929699697446216272023-11-29T22:29:00.000-08:002023-11-29T22:35:10.956-08:00BILLY BOUNCE IN SEARCH OF THE NORTH POLE<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: medium;">By W. W. Denslow</span></span></span><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">Illustrator of </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Father Goose: His Book, Dot and Tot of Merryland<a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">,</a></i><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> etc.</span><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span>Originally published November 17, 1901.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuyvtSOpiWgAM9zRzeGHu4sH_YYm96YalnZgTpFqG7t1YcgRPBw3nNmC9HF5BixY1Lsa8xcUOFjnZhRK7Gie3uyAK_koRBNt9fWH2l57sZXL6gFXZ3Prz7-KyuQRRRhChg2BmAtvYwqi9HDnxqxPHBwDExGieSqhxwt-bmFTZO_3flkGvE91KfEkQ0zIW/s1152/1901-11-17_BillyBounce_theHot-FootBoyMessenger_inSearchoftheNorthPole_Part2_photoshopped.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuyvtSOpiWgAM9zRzeGHu4sH_YYm96YalnZgTpFqG7t1YcgRPBw3nNmC9HF5BixY1Lsa8xcUOFjnZhRK7Gie3uyAK_koRBNt9fWH2l57sZXL6gFXZ3Prz7-KyuQRRRhChg2BmAtvYwqi9HDnxqxPHBwDExGieSqhxwt-bmFTZO_3flkGvE91KfEkQ0zIW/w534-h640/1901-11-17_BillyBounce_theHot-FootBoyMessenger_inSearchoftheNorthPole_Part2_photoshopped.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p></div><div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="color: #cc5c00; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> June 2, 1918</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><b>Children's Day in Supposyville</b></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Among the other charming days,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Delightful and delectable,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To find a Children’s Day is quite</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Supposish and expectable.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And things are just reversed, my dears,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And parents take the places</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of little boys and girls and have</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To wash their hands and faces.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And in Supposyville that day</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">No one says “No” or “Sha’n’t”</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To any little boy or girl;</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Nor “Stop!” nor “don’t!” nor “Can’t!”</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The grown folks run the errands and</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The grown folks do the chores,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And fetch the cows and make the bows</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And answer bells and doors.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The children start the day by lying</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Late in bed, and then,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Without a thought of soap or water,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Dress at nine or ten.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And minus shoes and stockings hie</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Them forth to hill and wood,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">With no one to correct them, nor</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To tell them to be good.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Perhaps this wouldn’t be quite safe</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">In any place but this,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">But in Supposyville things never,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Never go amiss!</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And so on Children’s Day the boys</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And girls roam up and down—</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Even the good King abdicates</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And lets them have his crown</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And sit upon his big, high throne;</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And in the castle court</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Are swings and rings and other things</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of fascinating sort.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Merry-go-rounds and ponies</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">To be ridden, and toy boats</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">That can be guided with long poles</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Around the castle moats.</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The children eat just any time</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And stay up late as ten,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Or half-past, or eleven, and</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">No one says bed; so then</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">They fall asleep where’er they be,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And then the grown-ups come</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And gather in the weary crop</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of little chicks. Ho—hum!</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And though they won’t admit it, and</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">It may seem strange to you,</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">They think they’re going to like this day</span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Much better than they do!</span></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7028014022907970341" itemprop="articleBody" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div></div></div><div style="clear: both;"></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 10.8px; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.6; margin: 20px -2px 0px; padding: 5px 10px;"></div></div></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-70280140229079703412023-10-01T18:58:00.005-07:002023-10-01T18:58:39.073-07:00A PEACH STORY<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span>Author of</span><span> </span><i>Handy Mandy in Oz, </i><a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">"The Wizard of Pumperdink,"</a> <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml" style="color: #cc5c00; text-decoration-line: none;">"King, King! Double King!"</a><span> etc.</span></span><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>, August 30, 1914.</span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white;"><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;">This is the story of a pear who fell in love with a peach! It all happened because the pear and peach tree mothers WOULD chat over the garden wall! While they were discussing the weather, the east wind and things like that, their two finest children were bobbing and ducking at one another in a shocking fashion.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;">The pear thought he had never seen so fair a lady as the radiant peach (indeed, she was the very finest peach on the tree). What the peach thought of the pear I cannot tell you, but, at any rate, she danced in her most heart-breaking fashion. The poor pear almost wrenched himself from his branch, so as not to lose sight of her for even a second.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;">That NIGHT, when all the other peaches and pears had retired under their leaves and gone to sleep, the finest pear was still awake. So was the finest peach. They said a good bit to each other in their peach and pear way, and at last the pear asked the peach to run off with him. She said that she would. “We’ll travel all over the garden,” said he, “and you will never need to be eaten up at ALL. I tell you, we will be a handsome pair! But now, when I count three, make ready to jump, and I will jump, also!” (I think he called her Sweetheart, but I am not sure.)</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;">“One!” began the pear, swinging gently, “Two! Now, then, are you ready?” he called at last, and DOWN he went crashing through the leaves to the ground.</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13.2px;">But what of the peach? My dears—she never jumped at all, but danced more gaily than ever up in the tree. “Ho! Ho! Mr. Pear,” she called wickedly, “I hope you are not very much smashed!” The pear answered never a word, for he was smashed to bits indeed. And the sad reason of it all was this—the peach under all of her rosy blushes had a heart of STONE—and the pear—the pear had a soft spot in his side.</span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></div></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="color: #cc5c00; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> May 26, 1918</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><b>Spring Housecleaning in Supposyville</b></span></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The tang of suds is in the air,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Of paint and tar and putty,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And woe betide all dust and rust</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And everything that’s smutty!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Supposyville’s so thorough that</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">When once it starts a-cleaning</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">It sends the winter’s dinginess</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Like autumn leaves careening.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The good dames mobilize and, armed</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">With brushes, soap and pails,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Are followed by the men folks</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Weighted down with paint and nails.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The army of invasion takes</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The kingdom quite by storm.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">From end to end, from house to house</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The good Supposies swarm.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And not a spot is left unscrubbed,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Unburnished, unrepaired;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Not even roofs or hidden grooves</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Or puppy dogs are spared.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The Queen, with sleeves rolled up, is in</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The window-washing group;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">He bosses the whole troop.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">The King, who simply loves to paint,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Now wields a brush with vim;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">His crown awry, himself perched high</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">On swinging board so slim.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">I tremble for the folks below—</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Ah, well! The rope is strong,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And in Supposyville they never</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Nurse their bruises long.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And would you just believe it, dears</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And ducks, all through this season</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">They carry umbrellas, and,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">I say, ’tis done with reason.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">For water gushes from the roofs</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">And charges out each door;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">From every shingle, ledge and wedge</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">Cascades of soapsuds pour.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">But, oh! they have the finest lark.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">I wonder, honeys, whether</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">We’ll ever learn to work that way,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;">All happily together.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 13.2px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div></div></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-85462925187289341282023-09-03T22:59:00.002-07:002023-09-03T23:32:42.400-07:00BILLY BOUNCE, THE HOT-FOOT MESSENGER BOY OF OUR TOWN - PART 1<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">By W. W. Denslow</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Illustrator of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Father Goose: His Book, Dot and Tot of Merryland<a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">,</a></i> etc.</span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Originally published November 10, 1901.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGs6tW_TCIEuwOSXTEBcWEEGJgw3U1pR-q70qk__ocBpU9ieRFfEKILi3uTe-fq8AWkwZnDFEDS74PKXoH8BdEkLFt7p0VXwPhJakTHIjFkTwfxVCKxhrbjFxSpDrVz7su57VhjOdaIz8J1qvBp3rk1SwLZqeOofsDfY9jzv5oik9DuvqvgWiEJ947KqO/s2331/1901-11-10_BillyBounce_WWDenslow_001_color_photoshopped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2331" data-original-width="1880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGs6tW_TCIEuwOSXTEBcWEEGJgw3U1pR-q70qk__ocBpU9ieRFfEKILi3uTe-fq8AWkwZnDFEDS74PKXoH8BdEkLFt7p0VXwPhJakTHIjFkTwfxVCKxhrbjFxSpDrVz7su57VhjOdaIz8J1qvBp3rk1SwLZqeOofsDfY9jzv5oik9DuvqvgWiEJ947KqO/w517-h640/1901-11-10_BillyBounce_WWDenslow_001_color_photoshopped.jpg" width="517" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /> </span></span><p></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> May 19, 1918</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise Answers All the Whys</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />Gets such a lot of mail,<br />He sends his footman for it with<br />Two knapsacks and a pail.<br /><br />For all Supposies think he knows<br />Just every why and wherefore,<br />Each rhyme and reason and because<br />And every single therefore.<br /><br />And patiently Sir Solomon,<br />With specs upon his nose,<br />Goes through the lot to see what new<br />Inquiries ’twill disclose.<br /><br />His quill pen splutters valiantly<br />Their questions to unravel,<br />Upon my word, sweethearts, my loves,<br />That old quill pen can travel.<br /><br />They say he uses pails of ink<br />(His writing is so large)<br />And miles of paper, which the King<br />Supplies him free of charge.<br /><br />Each morning in his study there<br />He writes and writes and writes,<br />And then to finish up the rest<br />Sometimes he works at nights.<br /><br />It’s pretty good of him, I think;<br />And when the children there<br />Ask questions vexing and perplexing,<br />Parents don’t despair!<br /><br />They just refer the matter to<br />Old Solomon, and never<br />Has he been stumped or failed to give<br />A jolly answer ever.<br /><br />“Now, why do bills and hills run up?<br />And why do clocks run down?<br />Why is the sky so often blue<br />Instead of merely brown?<br /><br />“Why am I bald? And how can shoes<br />Be kept from wearing out?<br />And could you send a remedy<br />For me? I’m much too stout!<br /><br />“How is it that the trees put forth<br />Their blossoms ’fore the fruit?”<br />And Solomon he finds them all<br />A reason just to suit.<br /><br />“You’re bald, dear sir, because your head<br />Is such a splendid one—<br />’Twould never do to hide from view!”<br />“For stoutness roll and run!”<br /><br />Do thus and so and so and thus,<br />Sir Solomon advises.<br />It is a mystery to me<br />Why Solomon so wise is!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span> <br /></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-45305827588751354212023-08-05T22:37:00.005-07:002023-10-01T18:27:37.959-07:00THE KINGFISHER'S STORY<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>Grampa in Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> June 4, 1916.</div><p><br /></p><p>“Mother,” said little Jack Rabbit wiggling his nose very fast, “where did Brother Kingfisher get his beautiful coat?”<br /><br />“That’s an old, old story,” observed Mother Rabbit, glancing over to where Johnny Kingfisher was lunching. It surely was a comical way to lunch. There he sat, his chair a rock and the whole river his table, and he kept looking and looking down at the river; then suddenly, IN would go his long beak and next minute a fish would be tossed into the air and swallowed head foremost. Ugh! No salt or pepper even! I hope he never invites me to lunch—that is all I hope! Well, well, here we are getting away from Jack Rabbit’s question, and Mother Rabbit will have finished the story if we don’t watch out. What is she saying?<br /><br />“—let him out of the ark.” Goody two shoes—we HAVE missed a lot already, but luckily I know the story, too, and it goes in this way: Long, long ago, when Noah let the animals and birds out of the ark, the kingfisher was a dull gray. But as soon as he was set free he flew straight toward the setting sun, and his back took on the hue of the sky and his under side the colors of the setting sun—chestnut red—and from that day on all kingfishers’ feathers have had all the wonderful hues of the sky and of the sunset.<br /><br />“Humph!” said little Jack Rabbit when his mother had finished the story. “Where did YOU go, mother?”<br /><br />“How old do you think I am?” snorted Mrs. Rabbit indignantly.<br /><br />“Children should be seen and not heard!” she added hastily—but I know where the little Jack Rabbit went when it was set free from the ark. It burrowed into the dusty brown earth as fast as it could go, and since then all jack rabbits have been a brownish yellow. Really!<br /><br /></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> May 12, 1918</div><p style="text-align: center;"><b> Another Experiment of Solomon Tremendous Wise</b><br /></p><p><br />Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />Sat drowsing ’neath the trees,<br />Lulled to indifference by the spring’s<br />Mild, sleep-compelling breeze!<br />“Ah, ho!” he yawned; “Ha, ho, ha, hum!”<br />Spring days would be more sprightly<br />If not so full of sandman’s dust,<br />For sleep by day’s unsightly!”<br />He shook himself determinedly,<br />Resolved to keep awake.<br />“If I could just invent a way<br />Spring’s drowsy spell to break,”<br />He murmured. Then all suddenly<br />An idea came a-flashing<br />Across the ramparts of his brain,<br />Next minute he was dashing<br />Off to his tower; there he made<br />A queer balloonish silken bag<br />A-fastened to a huge kite frame.<br />With lengthy knotted tail to wag.<br />He sailed his kite balloon up high,<br />Then low, then up and down,<br />In all the meadows, woods and lanes<br />And lastly, in the town.<br />And wonderful to say, my ducks,<br />The more he sailed it there,<br />The less and less folks yawned and gaped—<br />They stepped with lively air.<br />The horses plowing in the fields<br />Began to prance and canter;<br />The good Supposies dozing on<br />The benches waked instanter.<br />For Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />Had captured in his bag, dears,<br />The grains of sleepiness that make<br />One want to yawn and sag, dears.<br />Enchanted with his great success,<br />Old Solomon went hying<br />Off to the castle to inform<br />His Majesty, a-flying<br />The big silk bag behind him. And<br />The King was so delighted<br />He gave Sir Solomon a hug<br />(He was already knighted).<br />But, oh, alas! While they in talk<br />Engaged, a little bird, dears,<br />Pecked at the bag. It burst with an<br />Explosion that was heard, dears,<br />For miles and miles. That’s not the worst.<br />The grains of sleep went flying,<br />And in a trice Supposies fell<br />And slept where they were lying<br />In courtyard and in lane and field<br />And house, and like the roaring<br />Of twenty dozen engines you<br />Could hear that Kingdom snoring.<br />And so much concentrated sleep<br />Was in that old balloon, dears,<br />They never wakened till that day<br />Two weeks—at half-past noon, dears.<br />Sir Solomon he shook his head,<br />And climbing on his horse<br />Allowed that after this he’d just<br />Let nature take her course.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-32557520984667751052023-07-31T23:41:00.005-07:002023-07-31T23:41:56.888-07:00I GOT A GROUCH—THAT'S ALL<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">From the stage musical <i>The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, </i>1913, cut before production.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Presented here to celebrate the July 2023 publication of <i>All Wound Up: The Making of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz</i> by Eric Shanower.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">GROUCH SONG</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Some ginks don’t have no luck at all-<br /> They back-fire ev’ry time.<br /> That’s me. If I fall off a wall<br /> Folks think it is a crime.<br />If I wear stockings, all the stocks go sliding below par;<br />If I should own an auto it would bump a trolley-car;<br />If I got anybody’s goat ’twould get-me--butt behind!--<br /> That’s me. But never mind.<br /> I got a grouch.<br /><br /> Ah, bah, this life’s a stupid game;<br />And when I get to Hades I will find the devil tame.<br />I ain’t abit unsociable--ner haughty--means ner small--<br /> I ain’t no slouch. I got a grouch.<br /> That’s all.<br /><br /> One time I loved a widow; she<br /> Was pretty as could be;<br /> She told me she had lots of dough<br /> And she would marry me.<br />She said at twenty she’d be my bride. I had an awful shock<br />For when I reached the church at ten my face had stopped the clock.<br />The wedding hour it never came, and yet I never whined.<br /> That’s me. But never mind.<br /> I got a grouch.<br /><br /> Ah, bah! the widow never came;<br />It didn’t break my heart, but I was grouchy just the same;<br />It soured my disposition, but I didn’t weep nor squall.<br /> I ain’t no slouch. I got a grouch.<br /> That’s all.<br /><br /> One time one of my rich uncs<br /> Was kind enough to die;<br /> He left me half a million plunks<br /> A pretty good supply.<br />But some one didn’t like the will and threw it into court;<br />The lawyers argued seven years and had a lot of sport<br />It cost me all my fortune, for the law is so unkind--<br /> That’s me. But never mind.<br /> I got a grouch.<br /><br /> Ah, bah! who cares a cuss for wealth!<br />A lot of jingles in your pants don’t help a fellow’s health.<br />You don’t catch me bewailin’ ’cause my bank account is small--<br /> I ain’t no slouch. I got a grouch.<br /> That’s all.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Originally published in the <i>Oakland Tribune,</i> May 5, 1918</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Supposyville Post</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't like to boast,</div><div style="text-align: left;">But, my ducks, 'tis the most</div><div style="text-align: left;">Enchanting—. What is? Why,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The S'posyville Post!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It comes out with the sun</div><div style="text-align: left;">And it's printed in pink</div><div style="text-align: left;">And chock full of chuckles</div><div style="text-align: left;">In bright colored ink.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are pictures and patterns</div><div style="text-align: left;">And comic revues;</div><div style="text-align: left;">In fact, there is everything</div><div style="text-align: left;">'Ceptin' bad news!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And bad news is so skeerce</div><div style="text-align: left;">In that Kingdom of Smiles</div><div style="text-align: left;">You'd have to go scouting</div><div style="text-align: left;">For hundreds of miles</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">To run down an item;</div><div style="text-align: left;">And why waste the time</div><div style="text-align: left;">When there's plenty of good news</div><div style="text-align: left;">That's newsy and prime?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Post's jolly editor,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I. Makem Laugh,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Is assisted and helped</div><div style="text-align: left;">By a talented staff.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And all over the kingdom</div><div style="text-align: left;">They gallop to find</div><div style="text-align: left;">Who is who and what's new</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or to newness inclined.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You don't have to be</div><div style="text-align: left;">A High This or High That,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just so you've some brain cells</div><div style="text-align: left;">Tucked under your hat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You will find a safe place</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the S'posyville Post</div><div style="text-align: left;">If you make a good pudding</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or cook a good roast,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Or help out your neighbors</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or make a high mark</div><div style="text-align: left;">In your school work, or feed</div><div style="text-align: left;">A stray dog in the park.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The staff finds it out, dears,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And one never knows</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just what the Supposyville</div><div style="text-align: left;">Post will disclose.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As for nonsense and rhymes, dears,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Quaint jokes, quips and fun,</div><div style="text-align: left;">There isn't a journal</div><div style="text-align: left;">Can rank with this one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">No wonder Supposies</div><div style="text-align: left;">Begin each new day</div><div style="text-align: left;">Brimful of good cheer.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Gee! wish I felt that way!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-5278233096319745542023-06-01T18:10:00.017-07:002023-06-29T20:05:16.093-07:00MRS. JACK RABBIT'S FROG STORY<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>The Cowardly Lion of Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> October 22, 1916.<p><br /></p><p>Down in the little warm brown house underground, in the sitting room that lay at the end of the long winding hallway, Mrs. Jack Rabbit and the six little Jack Rabbits cuddled cozily together, for Mr. Jack had whispered to Mrs. Jack that old Auntie Fox was snooping round their house and for her to keep the children indoors.</p><p>He had brought them some nice crisp leaves to nibble, and Mrs. Jack was wiggling her nose and scratching her head in an effort to think up a new story to keep the children interested. Daddy was dozing in the doorway; at least, he pretended to be; but, really, he was keeping watch with one eye and listening to Mrs. Jack Rabbit’s story with one ear.<br /><br />“Ahem,” began Mrs. Jack, twitching her ears. “Once upon a time a little red frog lived in a house deep down in the ground, where he could find plenty of worms, he being very fond of worm pie, and one day—”<br /><br />“First time I ever heard of a red frog,” grunted Mr. Jack, opening the other eye and wiggling his nose terribly fast. “RED FROG! HA, HA!” Mr. Rabbit shook up and down.<br /><br />“And one day,” continued Mrs. Jack, paying no attention to Mr. Jack’s rudeness, “The little red frog climbed the fifty brown steps that led up to the outside world and went hopping along the road; and he was so busy looking up at the sky and wondering whether or not it would rain that he never saw the great deep precipice that he was coming to, and–” The little rabbits all wiggled their noses and winked their eyes, but Mrs. Jack went on nibbling leaves as though she had forgotten all about the little red frog and the precipice.<br /><br />“And what?” snapped Mr. Jack, thumping with his hind feet as a signal to Mr. Bob Rabbit, a neighbor who lived above, that all was well. “And what?”<br /><br />“Why,” said Mrs. Jack slowly, “he tumbled over the precipice head over feet and landed with a thump on the rocks and—” “Did he hurt himself, mother?” asked Benny Rabbit anxiously. “And broke his RIB!” finished Mrs. Jack with a triumphant glance at Mr. Jack.<br /><br />“Rib!” screamed Mr. Jack, as if that were the funniest word he had ever heard. “HIS RIB!” and over and over rolled Daddy Jack Rabbit, kicking his heels and roaring with merriment, and because he laughed, all the children laughed and echoed “RIB!” Mrs. Jack was displeased. She put her ears back, and wiggling her nose very fast, wanted to know at what they were laughing.<br /><br />All the little rabbits grew very solemn and looked at Mr. Jack, but Mr. Jack kept chuckling and rolling over and muttering to himself, and at last he sat up and wiped his eyes. “I don’t reckon the little red frog was hurt much,” said he to Benny Jack Rabbit. “Leastways, not if he broke his rib, ’cause—ha! ha!—frogs don’t have any ribs!”<br /><br />And that’s all I know of the story of the red frog that broke his rib.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> April 28, 1918<br /><br /><b>Supposyville Goes A-Maying</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Aho! in lovely spring, my ducks,<br />One has no need of bells,<br />Alarms or shocks or tiresome clocks<br />For waking up. She tells<br />’Tis rising time delightfully.<br />Spring sets the birds a-singing,<br />And Mr. Sun his golden beams<br />Betimes abroad is flinging!<br /><br />And in Supposyville, as here,<br />The people rise with pleasure,<br />For each spring hour is a gift<br />To live and love and treasure.<br />And on this certain balmy morn<br />They even beat the sun<br />At rising, and ’tis not surprising,<br />For this day is one<br /><br />Of special joy and jollity.<br />Aho! now ’tis a gay day;<br />’Tis flower-crowned and gowned—renowned,<br />Delicious merry May Day!<br />And every one off to the woods<br />Light-heartedly goes hying<br />To pick the sweet spring flowers there<br />That need no gold for buying.<br /><br />And he who finds the sweetest ones<br />And she who has the fairest<br />Bouquet that day rule o’er the May;<br />And truly ’tis the rarest<br />Delight to be Queen of the May<br />And King of Spring. The green, dears,<br />Presents the gayest picture that<br />You’ve really ever seen, dears.<br /><br />The May Pole, ribboned and beflowered,<br />Standing high and festive;<br />The fiddlers fiddling till the oldest<br />Soul grows gayly restive.<br />Yes, there they spend the happiest<br />And most delightful May Day<br />You ever could imagine, loves;<br />A high day and a heyday!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-28682723797987399162023-05-01T18:11:00.016-07:002023-06-28T00:13:42.666-07:00SING A SONG O' SIXPENCE<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Originally published in <i>Mother Goose in Prose, </i>1896.</span></span></p><p> </p><p style="margin-left: 80px; text-align: left;">Sing a song o’ sixpence, a handful of rye,<br />Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie;<br />When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,<br />Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the King?</p><p>If you have never heard the legend of Gilligren and the King’s pie you will scarcely understand the above verse; so I will tell you the whole story, and then you will be able to better appreciate the rhyme.<br /><br />Gilligren was an orphan, and lived with an uncle and aunt who were very unkind to him. They cuffed him and scolded him upon the slightest provocation, and made his life very miserable indeed. Gilligren never rebelled against this treatment, but bore their cruelty silently and with patience, although often he longed to leave them and seek a home amongst kinder people.<br /><br />It so happened that when Gilligren was twelve years old the King died, and his son was to be proclaimed King in his place, and crowned with great ceremony. People were flocking to London from all parts of the country, to witness the festivities, and the boy longed to go with them.<br /><br />One evening he said to his uncle,<br /><br />“If I had sixpence I could make my fortune.”<br /><br />“Pooh! nonsense!” exclaimed his uncle, “a sixpence is a small thing. How then could you make a fortune from it?”<br /><br />“That I cannot tell you,” replied Gilligren, “but if you will give me the sixpence I will go to London, and not return until I am a rich man.”<br /><br />“The boy is a fool!” said his uncle, with anger; but the aunt spoke up quickly.<br /><br />“Give him the money and let him go,” she said, “and then we shall be well rid of him and no longer be obliged to feed and clothe him at our expense.”<br /><br />“Well,” said her husband, after a moment’s thought, “here is the money; but remember, this is all I shall ever give you, and when it is gone you must not come to me for more.”<br /><br />“Never fear,” replied Gilligren, joyfully, as he put the sixpence in his pocket, “I shall not trouble you again.”<br /><br />The next morning he cut a short stick to assist him in walking, and after bidding good-bye to his uncle and aunt he started upon his journey to London.<br /><br />“The money will not last him two days,” said the man, as he watched Gilligren go down the turnpike road, “and when it is gone he will starve to death.”<br /><br />“Or he may fall in with people who will treat him worse than we did,” rejoined the woman, “and then he’ll wish he had never left us.”<br /><br />But Gilligren, nothing dismayed by thoughts of the future, trudged bravely along the London road. The world was before him, and the bright sunshine glorified the dusty road and lightened the tips of the dark green hedges that bordered his path. At the end of his pilgrimage was the great city, and he never doubted he would find therein proper work and proper pay, and much better treatment than he was accustomed to receive.<br /><br />So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away the time, watching the sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the full the unusual sights that met his eyes. At noon he overtook a carter, who divided with the boy his luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper a farmer’s wife gave him a bowl of milk. When it grew dark he crawled under a hedge and slept soundly until dawn.<br /><br />The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and toward evening met a farmer with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.<br /><br />“Where are you going, my lad?” asked the man.<br /><br />“To London,” replied Gilligren, “to see the King crowned.”<br /><br />“Have you any money?” enquired the farmer.<br /><br />“Oh yes,” answered Gilligren, “I have a sixpence.”<br /><br />“If you will give me the sixpence,” said the man, “I will give you a sack of rye for it.”<br /><br />“What could I do with a sack of rye?” asked Gilligren, wonderingly.<br /><br />“Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour. With the flour you could have bread baked, and that you can sell.”<br /><br />“That is a good idea,” replied Gilligren, “so here is my sixpence, and now give me the sack of rye.”<br /><br />The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which he cast on the ground at the boy’s feet.<br /><br />“There is your sack of rye,” he said, with a laugh.<br /><br />“But the sack is empty!” remonstrated Gilligren.<br /><br />“Oh, no; there is some rye in it.”<br /><br />“But only a handful!” said Gilligren, when he had opened the mouth of the sack and gazed within it.<br /><br />“It is a sack of rye, nevertheless,” replied the wicked farmer, “and I did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give you. Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking into the sack!” and with that he whipped up his horses and left Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and nearly ready to cry at his loss.<br /><br />“My sixpence is gone,” he said to himself, “and I have received nothing in exchange but a handful of rye! How can I make my fortune with that?”<br /><br />He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued his way along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to travel farther, and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon the sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and prepared to sleep.<br /><br />The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and he sat up and opened the sack.<br /><br />“Why should I keep a handful of rye?” he thought, “It will be of no value to me at all.”<br /><br />So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack again for a pillow, was soon sound asleep.<br /><br />When he awoke the sun was shining brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds fell upon his ears. Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock of blackbirds feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground. So intent were they upon their feast they never noticed Gilligren at all.<br /><br />He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading wide its opening threw it quickly over the flock of blackbirds. Some escaped and flew away, but a great many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the sack and found he had captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of the sack with a piece of twine that was in his pocket, and then threw the sack over his shoulder and began again his journey to London.<br /><br />“I have made a good exchange, after all,” he thought, “for surely four and twenty blackbirds are worth more than a handful of rye, and perhaps even more than a sixpence, if I can find anyone who wishes to buy them.”<br /><br />He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon entered the great city of London.<br /><br />Gilligren wandered about the streets until he came to the King’s palace, where there was a great concourse of people and many guards to keep intruders from the gates.<br /><br />Seeing he could not enter from the front, the boy walked around to the rear of the palace and found himself near the royal kitchen, where the cooks and other servants were rushing around to hasten the preparation of the King’s dinner.<br /><br />Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could watch them, and laying the sack at his feet was soon deeply interested in the strange sight.<br /><br />Presently a servant in the King’s livery saw him and came to his side.<br /><br />“What are you doing here?” he asked, roughly.<br /><br />“I am waiting to see the King,” replied Gilligren.<br /><br />“The King! The King never comes here,” said the servant; “and neither do we allow idlers about the royal kitchen. So depart at once, or I shall be forced to call a guard to arrest you.”<br /><br />Gilligren arose obediently and slung his sack over his shoulder. As he did so the birds that were within began to flutter.<br /><br />“What have you in the sack?” asked the servant.<br /><br />“Blackbirds,” replied Gilligren.<br /><br />“Blackbirds!” echoed the servant, in surprise, “well, that is very fortunate indeed. Come with me at once!” He seized the boy by the arm and drew him hastily along until they entered the great kitchen of the palace.<br /><br />“Here, Mister Baker!” the man called, excitedly, “I have found your blackbirds!”<br /><br />A big, fat man who was standing in the middle of the kitchen with folded arms and a look of despair upon his round, greasy face, at once came toward them and asked eagerly,<br /><br />“The blackbirds? are you sure you can get them?”<br /><br />“They are here already; the boy has a bag full of them.”<br /><br />“Give them to me,” said the cook, who wore a square cap, that was shaped like a box, upon his head.<br /><br />“What do you want with them?” asked Gilligren.<br /><br />“I want them for a pie for the King’s dinner,” answered Mister Baker; “His Majesty ordered the dish, and I have hunted all over London for the blackbirds, but could not find them. Now that you have brought them, however, you have saved me my position as cook, and perhaps my head as well.”<br /><br />“But it would be cruel to put the beautiful birds in a pie,” remonstrated Gilligren, “and I shall not give them to you for such a purpose.”<br /><br />“Nonsense!” replied the cook, “the King has ordered it; he is very fond of the dish.”<br /><br />“Still, you cannot have them,” declared the boy stoutly, “the birds are mine, and I will not have them killed.”<br /><br />“But what can I do?” asked the cook, in perplexity; “the King has ordered a blackbird pie, and your birds are the only blackbirds in London.”<br /><br />Gilligren thought deeply for a moment, and conceived what he thought to be a very good idea. If the sixpence was to make his fortune, then this was his great opportunity.<br /><br />“You can have the blackbirds on two conditions,” he said.<br /><br />“What are they?” asked the cook.<br /><br />“One is that you will not kill the birds. The other condition is that you secure me a position in the King’s household.”<br /><br />“How can I put live birds in a pie?” enquired the cook.<br /><br />“Very easily, if you make the pie big enough to hold them. You can serve the pie after the King has satisfied his hunger with other dishes, and it will amuse the company to find live birds in the pie when they expected cooked ones.”<br /><br />“It is a risky experiment,” exclaimed the cook, “for I do not know the new King’s temper. But the idea may please His Majesty, and since you will not allow me to kill the birds, it is the best thing I can do. As for your other condition, you seem to be a very bright boy, and so I will have the butler take you as his page, and you shall stand back of the King’s chair and keep the flies away while he eats.”<br /><br />The butler being called, and his consent secured, the cook fell to making the crusts for his novel pie, while Gilligren was taken to the servants’ hall and dressed in a gorgeous suit of the King’s livery.<br /><br />When the dinner was served, the King kept looking for the blackbird pie, but he said nothing, and at last the pie was placed before him, its crusts looking light and brown, and sprigs of myrtle being stuck in the four corners to make it look more inviting.<br /><br />Although the King had already eaten heartily, he smacked his lips when he saw this tempting dish, and picking up the carving-fork he pushed it quickly into the pie.<br /><br />At once the crust fell in, and all the four and twenty blackbirds put up their heads and began to look about them. And coming from the blackness of the pie into the brilliantly lighted room they thought they were in the sunshine, and began to sing merrily, while some of the boldest hopped out upon the table or began flying around the room.<br /><br />At first the good King was greatly surprised; but soon, appreciating the jest, he lay back in his chair and laughed long and merrily. And his courtiers and the fine ladies present heartily joined in the laughter, for they also were greatly amused.<br /><br />Then the King called for the cook, and when Mister Baker appeared, uncertain of his reception, and filled with many misgivings, His Majesty cried,<br /><br />“Sirrah! how came you to think of putting live birds in the pie?”<br /><br />The cook, fearing that the King was angry, answered,<br /><br />“May it please your Majesty, it was not my thought, but the idea of the boy who stands behind your chair.”<br /><br />The King turned his head, and seeing Gilligren, who looked very well in his new livery, he said,<br /><br />“You are a clever youth, and deserve a better position than that of a butler’s lad. Hereafter you shall be one of my own pages, and if you serve me faithfully I will advance your fortunes with your deserts.”<br /><br />And Gilligren did serve the King faithfully, and as he grew older acquired much honor and great wealth.<br /><br />“After all,” he used to say, “that sixpence made my fortune. And it all came about through such a small thing as a handful of rye!”<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the <i>Oakland Tribune,</i> April 21, 1918<br /><br /><b>Spring Sports in Supposyville</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, dears and ducks, my precious loves!<br />Now, would you like to hear<br />Some more about Supposeyville?<br />Then ’spose you just draw near.<br /><br />Pshaw! ’tother day somehow, some way<br />A book came whizzing down<br />And landed in the queerest place.<br />Yes, on the good King’s crown.<br /><br />Somewhat amazed, a little dazed,<br />He pulled it off his head.<br />“What gale or cyclone blew this here?”<br />The merry monarch said.<br /><br />“But since ’tis here and forcibly’s<br />Been brought to my attention,<br />I’ll just glance through it and find out<br />What matters it may mention!”<br /><br />And while the Queen poured hamamelis<br />On the bump it raised,<br />The King put on his specs and on<br />The print and pictures gazed.<br /><br />Then all at once he gave a leap<br />And off he blithely bounded,<br />While Queen and courtiers stand around<br />Confused and quite confounded.<br /><br />On Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />He burst, all out of puff:<br />“Please copy these, my good old friend,<br />And see that there’re enough<br /><br />For every once, including me<br />And pray, sir, don’t be long.<br />Ahem! and when you come to mine<br />Just make ’em good and strong!”<br /><br />In just about a week from them<br />The strangest clatter sounded,<br />And little squeaks and frightened shrieks<br />At dangerous corners rounded.<br /><br />Upon my word, both old and young,<br />In manner far and agile,<br />Were roller skating, and I’m glad<br />They were not overfragile.<br /><br />The gentle art learned late in life<br />Is often fraught with shocks, dears;<br />With sundry sudden sittings down<br />And unexpected knocks, dears.<br /><br />But, oh! the great delight and glee<br />When once the art they master.<br />I don’t believe that even YOU<br />Skate better now or faster!<br /><br />“To think,” exclaimed the Queen, “That we’ve<br />Ne’er known of skates before.<br />I’m glad that funny book blew in<br />And hope we’ll get some more.”<br />(We ought to send them some, don’t you think?)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-16497793682634809642023-04-02T15:22:00.003-07:002023-04-02T15:22:37.996-07:00OLIVER ELEPHANT RUNS<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>The Wishing Horse of Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.<br /></div><p>Published in the <i>Houston </i>(TX) <i>Post,</i> September 12, 1915.</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">Uncle Abner had gone hunting. Oliver Elephant and Tommy Tapir had begged and begged, but “You’re too small—why, you wouldn’t have sense to run if Shaggy Lion charged—or a Two Leg. No, I will not take you with me and that’s all there is to it!” Uncle Abner had said. “Run! I guess not! I don’t know just exactly what I WOULD do, but I would NOT run,” Oliver had said indignantly, but Uncle Abner would not relent.</div><p>There had been reports in the Jungle Ledger that the Two Legs were seen near the jungle, but Uncle Abner did not worry himself about that. After a journey of about two days, in the early evening, while he was taking a fine roll in some soft, oozy mud, the most horrifying noises broke out and torches and dancing brown bodies seemed to almost surround him. “The Two Legs,” thought Uncle Abner Elephant. “NOW is the time to run away!” and turning he plunged in the only direction that was free from the noise and lights.<br /><br />On and on he ran through the forest until bang!—BUMP—his head went crashing into a solid wall of logs. Madly he tore around the inclosure searching for an opening, but the wily black men had closed the huge gate and Uncle Abner was fairly trapped.<br /><br />Once again that dreadful night the gate was opened and a small elephant came crashing into the stockade, and Uncle Abner, quiet by that time, walking over to sympathize with the newcomer, found Oliver Elephant crying as if his heart would break. “You—t—t—told me to run—and I DID. And now how in the jungle world are we going to get out?” “Never mind, Oliver Elephant, we’ll—!” began Uncle Abner, but Oliver Elephant almost shrieked, “Don’t talk to me—I want to THINK!” And he thought and thought and thought, waving his big ears and swaying from side to side. In the very early morning he crept over to Uncle Abner and unfolded a plan to him.<br /><br />So it happened that when the mahouts came in the morning they found two very tame elephants in the stockade, who allowed the chain to be put on their feet without any resistance and who tried in every elephant way to make them understand that they wished to be friends. “The largest and the smallest, but the tamest we have ever caught,” the men said to each other.<br /><br />A week went by uneventfully and then the looked-for day came to Oliver and Uncle Abner. The chain was unfastened and, together with the tame elephants, they were led down to the river for a bath, a mahout on the head of each elephant. Lazily Uncle Abner swam out, with Oliver Elephant close behind him. Playfully they filled their trunks with water and gave their mahout a shower bath, and then, watching their opportunity, each elephant ducked suddenly and, turning, grasped the black men and threw them far toward the land—and before the rest of the party knew what to do they were climbing up the opposite bank and tearing through the jungle as fast as only an elephant can.<br /><br />By running evenly and not stopping for either food or rest, they reached home in the early morning of the following day, where Mother and Father Elephant, who had given them up for lost, wept for joy and gave them lovely fresh hay to eat and were so happy to see them again that they did not even scold Oliver for running away with Uncle Abner.<br /><br />“Just the same,” said Oliver Elephant, when he was telling Tommy Tapir about it, “I learned one thing. NEVER run from a thing you are afraid of. One of the tame elephants told me that if we had charged the men instead of running just the way they wanted us to we would have upset all their plans and scared them so we would have gotten safely away. No more running for me. I’d rather face the music.”<br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> April 14, 1918<br /><br /><b>Supposyville’s Boys and Girls</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Supposyville is quite unlike<br />The countries that we know of.<br />It must be a delicious place<br />To play and stay and grow, love!<br /><br />They think of boys and girls in that<br />Quaint kingdom as they should.<br />No wonder that they’re merry and<br />So very, VERY good.<br /><br />The King has glanced through all the books<br />And rules and regulations<br />On raising children practiced in<br />The foremost Christian nations.<br /><br />And he and Solomon Tremendous<br />Wise were sadly shaken<br />To find a great majority<br />Of theories quite mistaken.<br /><br />“Why, boys and girls are like the birds<br />And flowers. Lots of sun<br />And love and air and happiness<br />And just old-fashioned fun<br /><br />“Is what they need. Too many rules,<br />Too many don’ts and can’ts<br />Will chill the lads and lassies<br />Like the winter frosts the plants.<br /><br />“Our treasures are our children,<br />And I want them understood;<br />And here our plans will be to make<br />It easy to be good!”<br /><br />Thus saying did the good King many<br />A jolly scheme devise.<br />Assisted by the keen old head<br />Of Solomon Tremendous Wise.<br /><br />And first of all they changed the motto<br />Which so many tears<br />Relentlessly have drawn and sent<br />Cascading down the years!<br /><br />You will remember it, I’m sure.<br />’Tis, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”<br />Upon the so few law books of<br />Supposyville in manner mild,<br /><br />With all the stings withdrawn it reads<br />Thus: “Spare the child and spoil the rod,”<br />And no one finds it any ways<br />Remarkable or queer or odd.<br /><br />They haven’t any dismal signs—<br />No “Get off of the grasses,”<br />“Beware of Watchdogs” and “The law<br />Will deal with all trespasses!”<br /><br />And what is more, they never whip<br />Small boys for going swimming.<br />“’Tis just an instinct to be clean<br />And spirits overbrimming,”<br /><br />The King declared, and fixed the pools<br />With diving boards and slides, dears,<br />And gave them unexpected swimming<br />Holidays besides, dear.<br /><br />That’s why I said some fifty lines<br />Or maybe more ago<br />It is the most delicious and<br />Delightful place I know.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-60221312146879248112023-03-01T18:11:00.003-08:002023-04-02T15:25:16.346-07:00JACK BURGITT'S HONOR<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></div><div class="poem" style="text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Published in the <i>Boston Evening Transcript,</i> May 4, 5, 1898.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">PART I.<br /><br />It was in the early mining days of Black Rock, when rumors of gold in the surrounding hills were first whispered around, that Jack Burgitt and Dick Hamilton formed a partnership and started out prospecting. They had ample territory to work in, for other more brilliant fields of operation in California had attracted most of the fortune-hunters and only a few sanguine men had pinned their faith to Black Rock and scattered themselves along the banks of the neighboring streams to wash the precious metal.<br /><br />Hamilton and Burgitt penetrated a dozen miles into the hills and settled upon the bank of a tiny brook whose sands showed traces of gold. They built a rough shanty, containing bunks, a table and a bench, rigged up a rude, old-fashioned fireplace, and then devoted their days to persistent search for “the dust.”<br /><br />They were simple, patient, courageous fellows, each owning an ambition to amass a fortune and return to his old home to enjoy it. Dick had a pretty, black-eyed girl waiting for him somewhere in Ohio, and Jack longed to be able to assist his old mother and her numerous brood of younger children. They had met by accident, and forming one of the sudden friendships so common in the West, had joined fortunes in their search for gold.<br /><br />After a month’s hard work, their provisions being exhausted, they resolved to carry their dust to Black Rock and trade it for a further supply of groceries. They realized they had not been very successful, but were too inexperienced to know how valuable the little bags of glittering atoms might be. So they barred the door of their shanty and started on the twelve-mile walk to the village.<br /><br />Quincy Brown was in those days the proprietor of the store, bank, real estate office and saloon, and did a thriving business in default of serious competition. To him the two men took their little bag of dust and asked him to weigh it.<br /><br />Brown tossed the bag carelessly upon the scales, and then, after securing the weight, laboriously figured its value in dollars and cents, while Dick and Jack stood by with bated breaths and watched every mark of the pencil.<br /><br />“Thirty-four dollars and a half,” announced old Brown, at length, as he pushed the paper toward them for confirmation.<br /><br />“Thirty-four dollars,” repeated Jack, a bit huskily; “that’s about seventeen dollars apiece, Dick, an’ it means a month’s hard work.”<br /><br />“Rather discouragin’, ain’t it?” replied Dick; “guess we’d better give up these diggin’s, ol’ man, an’ try fer a job at somethin’ else.”<br /><br />“Nonsense,” said Brown, tossing the bag into a drawer of his safe, “these hills is full o’ gold, an’ no mistake. Why, on’y half an hour afore you come in I weighted up two thousan’ dollars’ wuth o’ dust an’ nuggets for one man, an’ he’s on’y been three weeks a’ work.”<br /><br />Jack drew a long breath.<br /><br />“Two thousan’ dollars!” he exclaimed, “why, thet’s most a fortune by itself. Who was the feller?”<br /><br />“Hawks, his name is; quite a old man, too, fer sech a job. I dunno where his claim is, an’ I don’t suppose he’d tell me ef I asked him; but he’s out in the grocery, now, ef ye wanter see how he looks. ’T ain’t my business to give away other folkses secrets, an’ ye’d better keep dark what I told ye; but I thought as how it’d incourage of ye to know there was gold in these yere hills, an’ plenty of it, too.”<br /><br />“I guess,” said Jack, with hesitation, “we’d better try it another month, Dick.”<br /><br />“Jest as you like,” responded Dick; “it may be as our luck’ll change.”<br /><br />“There’s your check, boys,” said old Brown; “ye’ll want to trade it out, I s’pose?”<br /><br />They nodded and followed him into the store room. There were a few loafers idling about. A thin, gray-haired man was quietly purchasing a supply of bacon and tobacco. Brown jerked his thumb toward the latter with a significant wink, and the boys eyed their more fortunate rival as respectfully as if it were Croesus himself.<br /><br />The old gentleman soon concluded his purchases, packed them carefully into a basket and started down the street to return to his camp. He looked back more than once to see that no one followed him, and he walked in several different directions before finally striking a straight path that would lead him to his destination.<br /><br />Dick and Jack invested their check in enough provisions to last another month, including a big bottle of very indifferent whiskey and a dozen plugs of “navy,” and then they also set out upon their return, having no fears whatever that anyone would care to follow them.<br /><br />“If we don’t have better luck this month,” said Jack, as they trudged along, “we’ll up stakes and go a bit further into the hills. If one ol’ man can wash two thousan’ dollars’ wuth in three weeks, it stands to reason there’s gold to be found, an’ we’re jest as likely to find it as anyone.”<br /><br />“True ‘nough,” agreed Dick, laconically. He usually did agree with Jack, and that was one reason why they got along so nicely together.<br /><br />The next morning found them working more eagerly than ever, but the days passed slowly by and their efforts were no better rewarded than before.<br /><br />“We’d best give it up, ol’ man,” Dick would say, at times.<br /><br />“No,” answered his partner, “we said we’d stick the month out, an’ so we will,” and whatever Jack decreed was sure to be convincing to his friend.<br /><br />When two weeks had passed Jack took an afternoon off and went into the hills with his gun to hunt for game. To Dick’s surprise he was back within the hour, destitute of game, but with an eager expression upon his face that betokened a discovery of some sort.<br /><br />“Dick,” he said, hurrying up to his partner, “guess what I’ve seen!”<br /><br />“What?” demanded Dick, without attempting to guess the riddle.<br /><br />“I’ve seen ol’ man Hawks goin’ over to Black Rock with a sack o’ dust so heavy he could hardly tote it. An’ it’s on’y two weeks sense he put two thousan’ dollars in ol’ Brown’s bank!”<br /><br />Dick sat down upon a rock and gave a long whistle of amazement.<br /><br />“Where’d ye see him?” he inquired.<br /><br />“Not more’n thirty rode away—over by the edge of the bush.”<br /><br />“Did he see you?”<br /><br />“No, I kep’ out o’ sight, knowin’ he wouldn’t want no one to see where he come from.”<br /><br />For a few minutes they sat regarding each other thoughtfully. Then Jack whispered,<br /><br />“Dick, that were the doggondest heaviest bag o’ dust you ever seen!”<br /><br />Again there was a period of silence.<br /><br />“What’s we best do, Jack?” asked Hamilton, at last.<br /><br />“I’ll tell ye what was on my mind, Dick, an’ you can see what ye think of it. It’s plain ’nough that that ol’ feller has struck it rich, while we’re a ploddin’ away fer a bare livin’. How would it be to watch fer him when he comes back an’ foller him to his claim? We might strike a spot that’d pay us as well as his’n.”<br /><br />“I b’lieve thet’s the best thing to be done,” replied Dick, thoughtfully. “O’ course it ’pears like a underhanded act to trail the ol’ man to his find, but we’ve got ourselves to look after.”<br /><br />“That’s jest it,” answered Jack, quickly, “it’s every man fer himself in this country, an’ no one’ll help us ef we don’t help ourselves. So I’ll get back to the trail after supper, an’ watch till Hawks comes along.”<br /><br />“Don’t let him see you,” warned Dick, “or he’ll throw you off’n the track.”<br /><br />“Never you fear—I’ll do the job right,” was the rejoinder; and the programme being thus agreeably settled, each indulged in another drink.<br /><br />Jack succeeded in following his man, and located the claim about two miles farther into the hills. It was oddly situated, at the foot of a high, rocky precipice covered with brush, where a small stream issued from the hill and flowed in many windings down the valley. Old Hawks had built a lean-to against the hill, which so effectually protected his claim that our two friends could see no possible way of profiting by their discovery.<br /><br />The next day they abandoned all work and sat thoughtfully at the door of their shanty, consuming so much whiskey at intervals that before long the big bottle was entirely empty.<br /><br />After that they grew surly, and all most quarrelled with one another over the most trifling things. Burgitt smoked his pipe persistently, and lay upon the grass hour after hour, buried in deep thought, while Hamilton made fierce inroads into the “navy” as he sat pondering upon a rock.<br /><br />“It don’t seem right,” said Jack, one evening, “fer that ol’ man to be makin’ his pile while we’re doin’ nothin’.”<br /><br />“No,” responded Dick, slowly; “it don’t seem right.”<br /><br />“Someone,” continued Burgitt, “will light onter him some day, an’ stick a knife in him, an’ jump his claim.”<br /><br />“Very likely,” agreed Dick, soberly, “sech things happen at times.”<br /><br />The conversation languished here, and both returned to their former musings, only to resume the topic the following morning.<br /><br />“As a rule,” Jack announced, abruptly, “I b’lieve in bein’ honest. Mother allus said that a man as kep’ honest would prosper better in the long run. But when I think o’ the ol’ lady slavin’ her life away at home to bring up that lot o’ brats, an’ how comf’table I could make her if I had the dust, I’m ‘most tempted to jump ol’ Hawkses claim myself.”<br /><br />Dick looked at him curiously a minute.<br /><br />“Jack,” he whispered, hoarsely, “I’ve ben thinkin’ o’ that myself. With Hawks’s gold I could go back an’ marry Susie; only—”<br /><br />“Only what?” demanded Jack.<br /><br />“I couldn’t bear the sight o’ her clear eyes ef I knowed I’d stuck a man to git the money!”<br /><br />Jack moved uneasily upon the grass and turned his back to his partner. Presently he said:<br /><br />“It’s near time fer the ol’ man to make another trip. He must hev’ quite a heap o’ dust on hand by this time.”<br /><br />“I was thinkin’ o’ that,” said Dick, softly.<br /><br />PART II.<br /><br />An hour dragged slowly by without further remark. Then Jack sat up and addressed his friend in a quick, decided voice:<br /><br />“It’s no use beatin’ around the bush, Dick. This here is our big opportunity, an’ you know mighty well the job’s got to be did! I don’t like it no more ’n you do, but the money means a deal more to us than to that ol’ chap, who’s got one foot already in the grave. When we’re rich no one’ll ask any questions. Now, then, who’s to do the work—you or me?”<br /><br />Dick shrank away with a look of fear upon his face.<br /><br />“Not me, Jack—not me! Think o’ Susie!”<br /><br />“I hev thought,” said Jack, doggedly, “an’ I’ve thought o’ mother, an’ her prayers fer me. But men do these things, an’ they’re never found out—not in the cases o’ this kind. I know it’s wrong, but it seems like a devil had got hold o’ me an’ wouldn’t let go, an’ sooner or later I’ve got to give in. One of us has got to do the job, pard, and you’re no better nor I am!”<br /><br />“We’ll draw cuts,” said Dick, desperately.<br /><br />“Thet’s sensible,” returned Jack, springing to his feet, “an’ it sounds like business. If I hed to think o’ this thing much longer, I should go crazy. Which does the job—the long or the short?”<br /><br />“Short!” said Dick, faintly.<br /><br />“Then draw!”<br /><br />Dick reached out a trembling hand and drew the long blade of grass. Then they looked into each other’s eyes a moment and turned away.<br /><br />Soon after Jack emerged from the shanty in his coat and hat. The butt of a revolver protruded from his pocket and his bowie was stuck in his belt. His white face wore a stern expression as he walked up to Dick and reached out his hand.<br /><br />“Shake, pard,” he said, grimly, “it’s the last time I can hold out an innercent hand!”<br /><br />“Don’t go, Jack!” exclaimed Dick, with almost a sob; “don’t go, ol’ man!”<br /><br />“I must,” was the reply, “there’s no backing out now.” And he marched away toward the brush.<br /><br />Old Hawks was busily at work that afternoon when a gruff voice at his side startled him.<br /><br />“Hello, pard!”<br /><br />He looked up to see Jack Burgitt standing near, his eyes fixed eagerly upon a nugget of gold which had just been washed out. Hawks examined the face of his visitor with shrewd intentness, and shrank from what he saw there.<br /><br />“Where did you come from?” he asked, slowly, as he thoughtfully considered the consequences of this visit and the character of the man before him.<br /><br />Jack made a motion with his head.<br /><br />“Down the valley,” he answered.<br /><br />“Prospectin’?”<br /><br />“Yes. I see you’ve struck it rich.”<br /><br />“Fair; only fair,” replied Hawks, with a sigh.<br /><br />Jack looked at the ground, at the little pile of dust in the tin at Hawks’s feet, anywhere except at the face of the old man.<br /><br />“Kin ye give me a bunk fer the night?” he asked at length.<br /><br />“Certainly,” answered Hawks, promptly, concealing his fears and glancing briefly at the sun. “It’s near supper time, now, and I’ll stop work and fry us a bit of bacon. You’re welcome to stay and rest as long as you please.”<br /><br />Hawks was a fair judge of human nature, and while he knew perfectly well from his visitor’s actions that the man had come to rob if not to murder him, there was somehow a look of innate honesty in Jack’s face that puzzled him. As he cooked the supper he reflected how he could best extricate himself from his uncomfortable position. By a few casual remarks he drew Jack out, and soon discovered that he already knew of his rich find and that Hawks had carried large quantities of dust to Brown’s Bank at Black Rock.<br /><br />Hawks valued money, but after all life was much sweeter to him than gold, and he decided to bend all efforts toward saving his life.<br /><br />Therefore he conversed frankly with his visitor, and as Jack became more at his ease Hawks found himself thinking that his guest was far from being a hardened criminal, and under other circumstances might possess many admirable qualities.<br /><br />“It is this horrible thirst for gold that has mastered the fellow,” thought the old man, “and made him capable of a crime in order to obtain it. Very well, as I am too weak to cope with him, I shall sacrifice a part of my wealth to purchase my life.”<br /><br />Jack was eating his supper slowly and swallowing each morsel with great difficulty. His face retained its pallor, but also bore an expression of stern resolve. Old Hawks looked at him slyly and trembled.<br /><br />“Will you be returning to Black Rock tomorrow?” he asked.<br /><br />Jack nodded.<br /><br />“Then you can do me a great favor.”<br /><br />“How is that?”<br /><br />“I have a large quantity of gold on hand, and if you will take it to Brown’s for me and deposit it to my account it will save my making the trip.”<br /><br />Jack stared at him in amazement.<br /><br />“How much is there?” he demanded.<br /><br />“About twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth,” replied Hawks, after a moment’s hesitation, during which he resolved to make the stake large enough to save himself beyond question. “It will be heavy, I know, but I shall be glad to pay you for your trouble.”<br /><br />Burgitt pushed back from the table, his face flushing a deep red.<br /><br />“An’ you’d trust me with all that dust?” he demanded.<br /><br />“Yes,” answered the old man, with a smile that was rather forced. “I can see well enough you’re an honest chap, and I’m safe to trust to your honor.”<br /><br />Jack winced, and to cover his confusion pulled out his red handkerchief and slowly wiped his brow.<br /><br />“All right, pard,” he said, shortly; “I’ll take it.”<br /><br />“The gold is in gunny-sacks, stowed away in this crevice of the rock,” continued Hawks, who had decided it was better to betray his hiding-place voluntarily. Jack nodded.<br /><br />“It’s easy got at, if once you know where it is,” explained the old man, “but as a rule no one would ever think of looking in that crevice for it.”<br /><br />“Why did you tell me about it?” asked Burgitt, with a frown.<br /><br />“Because,” repeated Hawks dryly, “I believe you to be an honest man.” He did not think it wise to say that a knowledge of the hiding-place would render it unnecessary for his guest to murder him in order to search for the gold at his leisure. Now that he had told him plainly where to find it, he felt assured his gold and his visitor would disappear together during the night.<br /><br />But, to his surprise, Jack was there the next morning, and the gold as well. After breakfast, during which he had many disturbed thoughts, Hawks brought out the bags and placed them in Jack’s hands.<br /><br />“I’d like you to see old Brown weigh it,” he said, to keep up appearances, “for then he won’t dare to cheat me.”<br /><br />“I will,” replied Jack.<br /><br />Hawks stood in his doorway and watched the powerful form of his late visitor move down the valley.<br /><br />“There goes the result of two weeks’ hard labor,” he said, with a sigh, “but there is more to be washed out, and after all, I have escaped very cheaply.”<br /><br />Jack walked into the camp, where Dick sat stolidly upon his rock, and threw down the heavy sacks of gold.<br /><br />Dick shuddered and turned away his eyes.<br /><br />“Is he dead?” he whispered, hoarsely.<br /><br />“No,” replied Jack, in quite a cheerful tone, “He’s alive an’ well, fer all I know.” Then he sat down beside his partner and told him how old Hawks had innocently taken him for an honest man, and trusted him to carry his wealth to the bank.<br /><br />“I’m glad ye didn’t hev to kill him,” said Dick, when he had heard the story, “for I should never ’a’ felt like the same man. I didn’t sleep a wink las’ night, Jack. But I s’pose we’d better git our traps together an’ make tracks. It’s a pretty good strike fer us, when you think how easy it was come by.”<br /><br />“What d’ye mean?” asked Jack, fiercely.<br /><br />“As how?” returned Dick, in surprise.<br /><br />“About our makin’ tracks. D’ye s’pose I’d steal the dust?”<br /><br />“Why—didn’t ye start out to—to—” stammered Dick, and then he stopped short and looked at Burgitt with an expression of intense relief.<br /><br />“See here, Dick Hamilton,” said Jack, proudly, “ol’ Hawks said as he’d trust to my honor. Did ye ever know me to break my word?”<br /><br />“No.”<br /><br />“Well, I won’t begin now. Thet gold’s goin’ inter ol’ Brown’s bank an’ to Hawks’s credit, or else my name ain’t Jack Burgitt!”<br /><br />Dick held out his hand.<br /><br />“You’re right, pard,” he said, “an’ we’ve been a pair o’ low scoundrels! You jest tote them bags over to Brown’s, an’ I’ll begin washin’ fer dust agin. Our claim ain’t so durned bad, after all, ef it’s well worked.”<br /><br />When Jack carried Brown’s receipt up to Hawks, the old man was nearly paralyzed with amazement.<br /><br />“I owe you an apology, my friend,” he said, when he had recovered his breath; “my worry over this confounded gold has made me suspicious of everyone. I took you for a thief that night, and thought you meant to murder me!”<br /><br />“I did,” said Jack, simply, “but when you trusted to my honor, why you jest knocked me clean out.”<br /><br />And then he frankly told Hawkes [<i>sic</i>] the whole story, and the old man was so affected that he invite the two partners to join him at once in working his rich claim.<br /><br />“I’ve got nearly as much as I need already,” he said, “and there’s plenty left to make us all rich. Besides, it’s dangerous working alone, and I shall feel safer with your protection. I’ve prospected in different parts of the country for six years, and I know that gold is hard to find, but an honest man, Jack Burgitt, is scarcer in these diggings that gold itself!”<br /><br />A year later, when Jack took his fortune to his old mother and smiled delightedly at her amazement, he kissed her and said:<br /><br />“It’s honestly come by, mother, ev’ry cent! An’ yet, that ain’t altogether my fault, but the mistake that old Hawks made when he took me fer an honest man!”<br /><br /></span></span></p></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the <i>Oakland Tribune,</i> April 7, 1918<br /><br /><b>The Substitute King of Supposyville</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">“My love”—the good Supposy King<br />With finger tips together<br />And thoughtful mein addressed his Queen—<br />“This lovely April weather<br />Has made me long to get away<br />And leave all pomp behind.<br />The only thing’s to find a King<br />Of fair and generous mind<br />To substitute while we are gone.”<br />The Queen jumped up in glee.<br />“Why, I can think of plenty. There’s<br />The royal tailor—he<br />Has always seemed an honest man<br />Industrious and steady.<br />And there’s the blacksmith. While you choose<br />I’ll run off and get ready.”<br /><br />The good King chuckled: “Choose I will<br />And from the humble folk who serve, <br />And he who takes the message best<br />Shall have the honor he’ll deserve,”<br />And thereupon he wrote four notes<br />And fixed his royal seal.<br />“At three o’clock you will be King<br />For two weeks, woe or weal!”<br />Then chuckling once again, of snuff<br />He took a mighty sniff,<br />And in the corner of each note<br />He put a little “if.”<br /><br />Off galloped now the couriers.<br />’Twas two o’clock. The first<br />His message did the tailor reach,<br />And pshaw! he nearly burst<br />The buttons off his homespun coat—<br />He dropped his tape and shears,<br />Dismissed his helpers sternly and<br />With trembling hands, my dears,<br />Pulled on a suit he’d lately made<br />To please his Royal Highness.<br />Pushing his wife aside, he hurried<br />Out in pride and fineness!<br /><br />The baker got his next. He flung<br />His board upon the floor,<br />And leaving all his ovens full<br />Dash [sic] pell mell out the door.<br />The gardener read the note, threw down<br />His tools and even faster<br />Rushed off; the hose left to itself<br />Worked ruin and disaster<br />Among the beds, while through the gate,<br />Left wide, the chickens scurried<br />And ate up all the seeds and bulbs<br />Unscolded and unhurried.<br /><br />The blacksmith got his message last—<br />’Twas twenty after two—<br />“My! my! I’ll have to hurry up<br />To get my work all through!”<br />He muttered and blew up his fire<br />And hammered blow on blow,<br />And not till every horse was shod<br />Did he prepare to go.<br />He begged his young assistant to<br />Keep shop while he was gone,<br />And kissing all his family put<br />His leather jerkin on<br />And set out for the castle. In the<br />Meantime—long before<br />The time appointed came—the other<br />Three met at the door.<br /><br />The King received them kindly.<br />The blacksmith was quite late<br />And when he came the King began:<br />“The minister of state<br />Has gone to see which one of you<br />Has left his own affair<br />In the best manner and to him<br />I’ll trust my crown and cares<br />While I’m away,” Uneasily<br />The baker screwed about,<br />The tailor started for the door,<br />The gardener’s tongue hung out.<br />The blacksmith sat serenely, and<br />No doubt you now have guessed;<br />The King chose him for substitute<br />Because he’d stood the test.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-4967743801184870102023-02-01T18:03:00.004-08:002023-04-02T00:05:13.506-07:00A LITTLE BEAR STORY<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span><br />
Author of <i>Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.<br />
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Published in the <i>Pittsburg</i> (PA) <i>Press,</i> January 17, 1915.</p><p> </p><p>OOO—OOH! Once upon a time there was a little bear just about as big as you, who did not want porridge for breakfast. Every morning he would climb into his high chair and wiggle his nose and shake his head and pound his spoon down on the tray and cry in his little bear voice, “I don’t want porridge for breakfast!” Then his big Bear Mother would get the switch that hung in the corner and cry in her big, deep Mother Bear voice, “Eat up your porridge or—” Then she would shake the switch and the little Bear would gobble up his porridge so fast that it would scald his throat.<br /><br />One morning, while his mother was stirring up the yellow porridge in the big black pot, the little bear slid out of bed and went tiptoeing out of the house on his little bear toes. “I don’t want porridge for breakfast,” cried he in his little bear voice as he ran down the road.<br /><br />And he ran and ran—and RAN until he came to Mother Fox’s house. “Come in,” said Mother Fox, “and have some breakfast with us!” All the little foxes were sitting around the table eating out of yellow bowls. Then Mother Fox brought him a yellow bowl. Ooo-ooh! It was porridge! The little bear sniffed and snuffed and then he cried in his little bear voice, “I don’t want porridge for breakfast!” And he slid down from the table and ran out of the house.<br /><br />And he ran and ran—and ran until he came to Mother Wolf’s house. “Come in,” said Mother Wolf, “and have some breakfast with us!” All the little wolves were sitting around the table lapping out of a big black pan. “Help yourself!” said Mother Wolf. The little bear sniffed and sniffed. Ooo—ooh! It was porridge! “I don’t want porridge for breakfast,” cried the little bear in his little bear voice, and he slid down from the table and ran out of the house.<br /><br />And he ran and ran—and RAN until he came to Mother Lion’s house. “Come in,” said Mother Lion, “and have some breakfast with us!” All the little lions were sitting round the table, but there was NOTHING on the table at all. “Ooo—ooh, what are you going to have for breakfast?” cried the little bear voice. “YOU!” roared the Mother Lion. “YOU!” roared all the little lions.<br /><br />And jumping upon the little bear they GOBBLED HIM ALL UP.<br /> </p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> March 31, 1918<br /><br /><b>How They Do It in Supposyville</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Aho! when old Supposyville<br />Awakes on Easter day, dears,<br />The golden chimes a thousand times<br />Begin to toll and play, dears,<br /><br />The old glad Easter carols, and<br />Each door’s a very bower,<br />With hyacinths and daffodils<br />And roses all in flower.<br /><br />The Queen has seen to that, you know;<br />And on my word, the King<br />Himself has helped the Easter bunny.<br />Rabbits kindly bring<br /><br />Each lad and lass an Easter nest,<br />And even the royal horses<br />Are not forgotten and enjoy<br />Delicious Easter courses!<br /><br />They don’t go ’way on Easter day,<br />But stay home all together,<br />These dear Supposy People and<br />With hearts as light as heather<br /><br />They go to church, and after that<br />In all their togs of spring<br />Hie joyously to call upon<br />Each other and the King!<br /><br />And there upon the palace green<br />The youngsters roll their eggs,<br />And the little live white rabbits hop<br />About and stretch their legs.<br /><br />And all the artists of the court,<br />With paint and brush and jollity,<br />Paint faces on the hard-boiled eggs<br />Of mirth-provoking quality.<br /><br />The Easter Bunny peering from<br />His home on Sugar Hill<br />On all the world looks longest down<br />On dear Supposyville.<br /><br />And chuckles as his telescope<br />Shows all their artless merriment,<br />So free from stress and wickedness,<br />From war and woe and worriment!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-86881885305184336582023-01-01T18:00:00.036-08:002023-04-01T20:57:36.458-07:00MR. WIMBLE'S WOODEN LEG<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></div><div class="poem" style="text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Originally published January 29, 1905. <br /></span></span></p></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p>Mr. Wimble was one of the heroes of the Spanish War. In climbing San Juan Hill, a cannon ball carried away his left leg, and now he was obliged to strap a wooden leg to the stump that remained and so hobbled around with the aid of a cane.</p><p>The government paid him enough pension money to enable him to live frugally, and Mrs. Wimble was such a good manager that she kept the little cottage neat and comfortable and cooked her hero husband dainty meals and cared for him most tenderly.</p><p>She placed a cushioned chair for him on the front porch every morning, where he sat and enjoyed the sunshine and the admiration of the crowd of children that always assembled to look with awe upon his wooden leg and listen enraptured to his tales of war. When he wanted a match to light his pipe, one of the children would eagerly run to fetch it, and it was considered a great honor to any child to be permitted to get the hero a cup of water from the pump.</p><p>At evening Mrs. Wimble helped him into the little parlor, where his slipper was warming beside the stove, and she hung up his hat and waited upon him lovingly, seeing that his place was supplied with the choicest bits she could afford to provide.</p><p>It is really delightful to know how our gallant soldiers are honored when they have suffered for their country.</p><p>Well, our friend Jack Pumpkinhead, one of the queer people from the Marvelous Land of Oz, passed by one day and noticed Mr. Wimble’s wooden leg as he sat upon the porch sunning himself. “Poor fellow!” thought Jack. “I must really do something to relieve him!”</p><p>Jack is a bit stupid (being a Pumpkinhead), but he has a heart of oak, so he went home and performed a magical incantation that a powerful witch in the Land of Oz had once taught him. Mr. Wimble knew nothing of what Jack was doing, and went to bed in a peaceful frame of mind, his good wife unstrapping his wooden leg and hanging it on a peg beside the bed. But during the night the Pumpkinhead!s incantation took effect, causing a new leg of flesh and blood to grow upon the stump of Mr. Wimble’s old leg, so that when he got up next morning he found, to his amazement, that he was just as good a man as he was before he went to war!</p><p>Mrs. Wimble was too astonished to say much. All her husband’s trousers had the left leg cut off, so she had to patch up two pair to make one of them have both legs, and this seemed to her very wasteful.</p><p>While they were at breakfast the pension agent came around and, finding the hero had now two legs, refused to pay him any more money. This made Mrs. Wimble nervous and angry.</p><p>“Get out of here!” she cried, pushing her husband toward the door. “You must find a job, now that you are an able man, and hustle to earn us a living!”</p><p>Poor Mr. Wimble knew not what to do. He had got out of the habit of work, and now found that, instead of being petted and cuddled, he would be called upon to lead a strenuous life. Formerly he had been a bookkeeper, but he knew it would be quite difficult for him to get another position as good as the one he had abandoned to fight for his country.</p><p>As he stood upon the front porch thinking of this, the children came along, but finding that their formerly interesting hero was now just like other men, they passed on their way to school with jeers and jokes at his expense.</p><p>Poor Mr. Wimble! The grocer came up, having met the pension agent, and said: “Now that you are no longer paid by the government, I must have cash in advance for my goods.” And the tailor followed, waving a bill for the last one-legged trouser he had made and demanding his money.</p><p>Then came Jack Pumpkinhead, proud and glad to see the hero with two whole legs, and he told Mr. Wimble of his incantation.</p><p>“Alas!” cried the unhappy man, “why did you interfere with the decrees of Providence? With one leg I was happy and honored; with two I am miserable and despised!”</p><p>“Well,” said Jack, surprised to find his kind intentions had done harm rather than good. “It is easy enough to remove the leg again.”</p><p>“Then do! Do it by all means!” begged Mr. Wimble, anxiously. “It was really shot away in the war, you know; and you had no right to replace it without my consent.”</p><p>So Jack did another incantation that same night, and when Mr. Wimble awoke the following morning he called to his wife:</p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />“Come, Susie, and strap on my wooden leg!” And, sure enough, there was only a stump where his left leg should have been!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />As he sat on the porch that morning, telling stories to an awed group of children while his wife arranged cushions to support his back, Mr. Wimble looked and saw the Pumpkinhead.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">“Thank you, my friend from Oz,” said he. “I’m all right now; but for goodness’ sake, don’t interfere in my affairs again!”</div><p><br /></p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> March 24, 1918<br /><br /><b>Supposyville Prepares for Spring</b><br /><br /></div>The air is balmy with that tender,<br />Fragrant breath of spring—<br />The castle’s in a bustle of<br />Some kind. The Queen and King<br />Are chuckling over yards of silk,<br />Of ribbons, cloth and twillings;<br />Exulting over trimmings, buttons, <br />Lace and chiffon frillings!<br /><br />And in the ballroom, in the garden,<br />In the castle hall,<br />A-sitting on the golden stairs<br />And perching on the wall,<br />Five hundred costume makers stitch<br />And clip and baste and sew,<br />Helped out by all the ladies of<br />The court, while to and fro,<br /><br />The pages and prime ministers<br />Run fetching spools and shears.<br />Oh, what a hum of cheeriness<br />And gayety, my dears.<br />The fiddlers fiddled valiantly,<br />Upon my heels and toes!<br />The King and Queen and court could never<br />Wear out all these clothes!<br /><br />But pshaw—they will not have to, dears,<br />Wear all these suits and frocks.<br />These laceful, graceful bonnets,<br />Waistcoats, dress coats, bows and sox<br />Are given to his subjects by<br />The good Supposy King—<br />So they in proper spirits will<br />Enjoy the gladsome spring.<br /><br />Each man and maid, each lad and lass,<br />Completely is outfitted.<br />No, not a single one of them’s<br />Forgotten or omitted.<br />“You wouldn’t ’spect a flower to<br />Dance lightly on its stem,<br />With half its petals withered and<br />The trees—just look at them!<br /><br />“Decked out all new, the meadows, too.<br />Do you suppose they’d bring<br />With fallen leaves and faded grass<br />The message of the spring?<br />And people are the same, you know;<br />They need a gay renewing;<br />They need to dress for springtime as<br />The trees and flowers are doing!”<br /><br />Thus spoke the dear Supposy King,<br />And he is right, and reasonable,<br />This springtime dressing isn’t pride<br />At all! It’s simply seasonable.<br />Pshaw! pshaw! just now a-thinking<br />Of that dear delicious place,<br />I’d love to hie me hither and<br />Leave neither sign nor trace!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></div><p> </p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-41270573683543226792022-12-01T01:00:00.015-08:002022-12-01T01:00:00.224-08:00SANTA CLAUS TOWN—THE CITY OF CHIMNEYS<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span><span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">B</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span><span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">y Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></span></span></span></span> </span></p><div style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>Speedy in Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>, December 23, 1917.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Heighho! To the North,<br />Where the winter wind blows—<br />To the North, to the North,<br />In the country of snows,<br />Is the City of Chimneys,<br />Old Santa Claus Town;<br />And there isn’t a door<br />In the whole frosty town (really);<br />But of jolly red chimneys<br />A thousand times ten,<br />For the chimneys are doors<br />For the quaint Brownie Men,<br />And for dear old St. Nicholas.<br />Each has a bell<br />Or a knocker, the coming<br />Of company to tell;<br />And when there’s a ring<br />The wee Brownie wives say<br />To the wee Brownie children,<br />“Run now, right away,<br />For the chimney is ringing,<br />And see who is there;<br />But mind that the soot<br />Doesn’t fall in your hair.”<br />And tied to each chimney’s<br />A long-whiskered broom—<br />I declare there’s a chimney<br />For every room<br />In these comical cottages.<br />Just from a hint<br />I imagine they’re all<br />Made of peppermint!<br />Oh, it’s set like a heart<br />In a platter of snow;<br />What a gay little splash<br />Of a town it is, though!<br />The Christmas tree forest,<br />Abloom with gay balls;<br />The darling wee cottages<br />Over whose walls<br />The holly climbs rioting,<br />And the huge shop<br />Where the toys are all make;<br />Pshaw! I never can stop<br />Once I start to relate<br />Of this city of snows;<br />My heart gives a bounce,<br />And away, sir, it goes!<br />But pshaw, I must stop—<br />Merry Christmas! My dear,<br />My duck and my love;<br />And a Happy New Year!<br /> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> March 17, 1918<br /><br /><b>The Supposyville Flag</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Supposy King, one day in spring,<br /> Was sunk in deep reflection.<br />Beside him sat the lovely Queen,<br /> The pink of all perfection.<br />Said he, “My dear, while we have here<br /> A realm of some dimensions,<br />Free from all care and everywhere<br /> Averse to all dissensions,<br />I find we have forgotten something<br /> Which in our position<br />Embarrasses and really is<br /> A serious omission!”<br />“What is it?” laughed the merry Queen;<br /> “Your highness speaks in riddles.<br />I thought we had just everything<br /> From buttonhooks to fiddles!”<br />“We have no flag, no emblem,”<br /> Sighed the King; “these colored banners<br />Are very well but cannot tell<br /> Our hopes, ideals and manners!”<br />The Queen, her needle poised in air,<br /> Grew troubled. “Let’s dispatch<br />A summons to the artists and<br /> Announce an emblem match!”<br />No sooner said than done. In less<br /> Than twenty minutes there<br />The artists of the nation stood<br /> With flowing ties and hair.<br />The King explained the matter and<br /> He begged them to design<br />A flag that would, in color, shape<br /> And message show the fine<br />And happy spirit of the realm.<br /> How paint and charcoal flew!<br />Upon the easels magically<br /> The painted banners grew.<br />One wrought the lovely Queen into<br /> A crest; another took<br />The King’s head; still another chose<br /> A crown and sceptered crook.<br />All worked so busily the King<br /> And Queen were just delighted.<br />Then all at once an idle one<br /> The kindly monarch sighted.<br />“Can you not think of aught to draw?”<br /> Thus spoke the gentle King.<br />The artist gave his brush a toss,<br /> His pencil box a fling.<br />Then leaning down he took a stick<br /> And roughly marked a line<br />Around a spangled flower bed.<br /> “This,” chuckled he, “is MINE!<br />A bit of our own glad green earth<br /> ’Broidered with posies gay.<br />A posy flag I give to dear<br /> Supposyville to-day!”<br />Their majesties were so much charmed<br /> That right upon the spot<br />They chose it for their emblem,<br /> And ’twas lovely, was it not?<br />And when you next behold it<br /> Floating from the turrets high,<br />You’ll surely know the thus and so,<br /> The wherefore and the why!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span><br /></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-83482183097598256292022-11-01T01:01:00.004-07:002022-11-01T01:01:00.216-07:00STRENUOUS BOBBY, WILLIE WHISKERS AND THE BLUE BULL PUP<p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">by W. W. Denslow</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Author of <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory4.shtml"><i>Denslow's Scarecrow and Tinman</i></a>, original illustrator of <i>The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Father Goose: His Book, Dot and Tot of Merryland</i>, etc.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Published May 18, 1902, in the<i> St. Louis Globe-Democrat.</i><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits5hQwTgYgbyqXi5nNlKWLHy-F9xxHfdrnJ_kQfQenLbuHdliqh4dw60Ev5x5gSIsw05J71CBHvVJjWtWm13751qBMc7fHUMzy5M4bjwokbQxo_R3kHcL3DfK9yLK2BlgD9j_eYY0R2tnfE03m2RMKtEEF1_UOJ2T0EdT2YQT1SA475Hh5K1fTJfdhg/s7200/StrenuousBobbyWillieWhiskersandBlueBullPup_1902May18_StLouis%5BMO%5DGlobe-Democrat_WWDenslow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4500" data-original-width="7200" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits5hQwTgYgbyqXi5nNlKWLHy-F9xxHfdrnJ_kQfQenLbuHdliqh4dw60Ev5x5gSIsw05J71CBHvVJjWtWm13751qBMc7fHUMzy5M4bjwokbQxo_R3kHcL3DfK9yLK2BlgD9j_eYY0R2tnfE03m2RMKtEEF1_UOJ2T0EdT2YQT1SA475Hh5K1fTJfdhg/w400-h250/StrenuousBobbyWillieWhiskersandBlueBullPup_1902May18_StLouis%5BMO%5DGlobe-Democrat_WWDenslow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click image to enlarge.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> March 10, 1918.<br /><b><br />Supposyville Has a Wishing Time of It</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Wishing Day set by the King<br />All duly doth arrive;<br />With laugh and jest, dressed in their best,<br />Supposies block the drive.<br />The King’s Highway, the castle green,<br />And sit upon the fences;<br />A shrill blast from the pages and<br />The Wishing Test commences.<br /><br />The Fairies gave the King a wish—<br />He tried and tried and tried,<br />But found himself, the dear old thing,<br />Completely satisfied!<br />The Queen likewise declared herself<br />Without a wish, so now<br />They’ve called the good Supposies up<br />To ask them where and how<br /><br />To use the wish. Well, well, upon<br />My heart! they sat there blinking,<br />All solemnlike and serious,<br />A thinking, thinking, thinking!<br />The King began to look distressed,<br />When not a sound he hears;<br />“They’re out of practice, for they haven’t<br />Wished,” sighed he, “for years!”<br /><br />The whole truth of the matter, dears<br />And ducks, was this alone;<br />In the whole Supposy Kingdom<br />There was not one wee wishbone—<br />No wishbone, dears, among them.<br />“Here’s a pretty howdedo,”<br />Quoth the Queen unto her consort,<br />“Trying to wish has made us blue!”<br /><br />“We must use the wish or else<br />The fairies will be hurt,” said he.<br />“Ahem! I’ll have to try again.<br />Ahem! just let me see.”<br />It was no use; in that delightful<br />Kingdom—there was naught<br />To want or wish for; there they sat<br />And thought and thought and thought.<br /><br />Just glancing o’er the garden wall<br />Their giant neighbor spied ’em<br />Looking so solemn, he called across<br />To know what ’twas that tried ’em.<br />At that the King jumped up and called,<br />“Big neighbor, if you had<br />A wish, what would you wish with it?”<br />“A wish?” quoth he. “Egad!<br /><br />“If wishing were of use at all<br />I’d wish myself a wife,<br />For I’m a social giant and<br />I lead a lonely life!”<br />“Heighho!” the King bounced to his feet<br />And roared with mirth and glee,<br />“I wish our neighbor here a wife<br />As fine and big as he!”<br /><br />A rumble shook the earth; the good<br />Supposies all fell flat,<br />And when they rose—well, what you ’spose?<br />Upon the wall there sat<br />A huge and lovely giant girl,<br />Tremendously delightful.<br />Indeed she was amazingly<br />Good looking and a sightfull.<br /><br />The marriage was arranged and then<br />Was tied upon the spot,<br />And all Supposyville was there.<br />Exciting, was it not?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></span></span> <br /></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-38186673582981277782022-10-31T00:59:00.003-07:002022-10-31T01:01:20.473-07:00THAT “WONDERFUL” CANOE RIDE OF TED AND JACK<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of<i> The Gnome King of Oz, </i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><p>Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> May 7, 1916.</p><p> </p><p>He would go! In spite of all the horrible stories we told him, in spite of all the good advice about the proper place for boys, in spite of everything, in fact, he and Ted quietly went on with their preparations to go from Philadelphia to Cape May by canoe.<br /><br />Their allowance was not very large, and it took quite a bit of planning and self-sacrifice to buy the canned goods, coffee, salt and sugar. But they bought a little at a time and finally one very sultry Monday in the early part of August they started off on the great adventure.<br /><br />“I can’t see why you brought these blankets along, Jack,” Ted complained bitterly, while they were carrying supplies to the canoe. “We’ll never in the world need them!”<br /><br />“That’s all you know about it,” was Jack’s scathing rejoinder, “and you’d jolly well better take good care of them, too; they’re mother’s, and these rubber camping blankets we borrowed won’t feel very soft.”<br /><br />Silently and perspiringly they stored away their provisions and blankets and the suit of clothes they had worn over their bathing suits, but when they were finally seated in the canoe and all was ready for the start their spirits rose. It was only 5 o’clock and the river was really lovely.<br /><br />“Take slow, easy strokes, Ted,” advised Jack, “and we’ll keep inshore on account of the wash from the boats. Take it easy, now! Remember that you’re pretty soft!”<br /><br />Where they were going to spend the night the two had no idea, preferring to “just go until we’re tired and then we can go ashore and make camp on the bank!”<br /><br />By 10 o’clock the sun was very warm, and both boys’ faces, arms and shoulders were a fiery red.<br /><br />“I say! Let’s get under shelter for a little while,” Ted said at last. Jack looked at him and quietly handed him his coat and slipped into his own. The rough serge scratched and rubbed their tender arms and shoulders, but it protected them somewhat and they “stuck” at it, getting occasional rests by letting the canoe drift with the current.<br /><br />Twice they were nearly upset by passing steamers, but Jack saved the day both times by quick action.<br /><br />By 6 o’clock they were both completely exhausted and paddled slowly along the shore to find a place to land and cook their supper. For one hour they searched, but no solid land was in sight—only marshes. There were billions of mosquitoes and green flies, which settled on their sunburned shoulders, and they were forced to stay several yards from the shore while they ate their cold tinned supper.<br /><br />Such a night! Most of it was spent wrapped in the hot suffocating blankets, with a dive overboard when the mosquitoes became too bad. Their muscles, especially Ted’s, ached from the steady paddling, and the sunburned shoulders raised in huge white blisters which burned and throbbed.<br /><br />At the first streak of light they started off again, bound to “be game.” Once they landed and sent postals home, telling what a wonderful trip they were having. They also bought a cup of coffee and these extravagances reduced their money to 17 cents between them.<br /><br />About 5 o’clock in the afternoon the sun went in and a cool damp breeze started up, making it difficult to keep the canoe steady. The river became very rough, and Jack insisted that they keep close to the shore. “We’ll be eaten alive! I simply cannot stand one thing more,” complained Ted and gave his paddle a jerk.<br /><br />Over went the canoe—trousers, money, mother’s blankets, borrowed camping blankets, food and boys all were plunged into the water. Fortunately, both boys were good swimmers and were able to clamber into the canoe again after a struggle, but everything was lost. To make matters worse, it started to rain and chilled the boys to the bone.</p><p>Ted began to shiver and Jack could hear his teeth chattering. Drawing the canoe closer to shore and holding her with one hand by the tall marsh grass, Jack took off his wet coat and wrapped that around his friend.<br /><br />“I w-w-wish we’d ne-ver c-c-come!”<br /><br />Jack wished so, too, but wishing did not help matters at all. Ted tossed and moaned all night, until about 2 o’clock, when he became very still. Strain his ears as he might, Jack could not hear him breathe, and when he reached out a cautious hand (for it was pitch dark) he could feel no sigh of life.<br /><br />“He’s dead! I’ve killed him! What shall I do?” he sobbed over and over to himself. He was a boy who decided things quickly, and pushing out into the current he paddled along blindly, guiding the canoe by lights he could see down the river.<br /><br />By 6 o’clock he reached a settlement, and, after waking up nearly all the people, succeeded in finding a doctor!<br /><br />Ted was not dead! It was simply hunger, exposure, and exhaustion, and a long sleep did wonders for him.<br /><br />The question now was how to get home. They had no money and no clothes (their bathing suits being hardly suitable for traveling). They had suitcases, which they had expressed down to Cape May, but they were just as far from there as they were from home.<br /><br />The doctor finally agreed to let them have the fare to Cape May, and, by helping the baggage master, they were allowed to ride in the baggage car in their scanty clothing.<br /><br />It was Friday when they arrived and they had not had a real meal since Tuesday. A sympathetic friend filled them up on delicious griddle cakes, honey and coffee and they telegraphed home for money.<br /><br />They were the most forlorn boys you could imagine. The blisters had broken and their shoulders and necks were raw. They had lost about 10 pounds and their faces were drawn and white with exhaustion. They simply fell into bed and slept two whole days, only waking long enough to eat.<br /><br />They will never take another canoe trip. It took them a whole year to pay for the blankets they lost overboard, and they have been teased unmercifully. (You know yourself how you would hate that.)<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the<i> Evansville </i>(Indiana)<i> Journal-News, </i>March 3, 1918. <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The King’s Dilemma<br /><br /></b><div style="text-align: left;">Time passes in Supposyville<br />So swiftly and so sweetly<br />’Tis just a wonder that they don’t<br />Lose track of it completely!<br /><br />But what I started out to tell<br />Was of the strangest thing,<br />That happened not so long ago<br />To none less than the King.<br /><br />The sun had just slipped down the steps<br />Of skytown, and the moon<br />Looked out her window yawning ’cause<br />She had to rise so soon.<br /><br />The King was softly treading here<br />And there with bits of cake.<br />“The fairies of the garden now<br />Will soon begin to wake!”<br /><br />He chuckled to himself, when all<br />At once, and in a ring,<br />Up from the ground a hundred of<br />The little people spring.<br /><br />They lightly dance around him.<br />“Merry monarch, for your care<br />And thoughtfulness we grant to you<br />A wish—pray wish it fair!”<br /><br />Then dropping at his feet a little<br />Note of blue that said,<br />“Open when you wish,” away<br />Into the dusk they sped.<br /><br />Not knowing whether he had dreamed,<br />Down sat the kindly King<br />And thought and thought and thought and thought<br />And couldn’t find a thing<br /><br />To wish for. “I will ask the Queen.”<br />They both sat down and thought.<br />“My dear,” thus spoke the Queen at last,<br />“’Tis clear we wish for naught!”<br /><br />And though that may sound funny,<br />As doubtless now it will,<br />Remember what a happy place<br />Is old Supposyville!<br /><br />“Let’s put the wish away until<br />It’s needed” laughed the King.<br />“That might offend the fairies,”<br />Said the Queen. “Suppose we bring<br /><br />Our subjects all together and<br />Let every one suggest<br />A wish.” “Quite right,” the good King beamed,<br />“Of course that will be best!”<br /><br />So lo! a wishing day’s proclaimed,<br />And if I am invited<br />I’ll tell you just what happens—my!<br />Supposyville’s excited!<b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span><b> <br /></b></div></div><p></p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-15780896486598472892022-09-28T21:33:00.005-07:002024-01-23T00:48:59.110-08:00LET'S TRADE MICROBES
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">By L. Frank Baum</span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of<i> Ozma of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">From the unproduced musical comedy <i>The Girl from Oz,</i> circa 1909.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">ELILE:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>They say it’s very wrong to kiss,<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>And dangerous and rude,<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>For microbes linger on the lips—<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>A wild, ferocious brood!<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>And science warns us when lips meet<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The bugs are knocked from off their feet<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>And there and back with every smack<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>They’re tossed and strewed.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">JACK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>Let’s trade microbes!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">POLLY:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>I’ll agree!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">DICK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>Any bug that loves your lips<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Will just suit me.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">JACK:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>Let my-crobes be thy-crobes, and thine<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>I’ll gladly take instead of mine;<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">POLLY:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>I’m not afraid, so let us trade—<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">ALL:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>’Twill just suit me!<br /><br /><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>(Quartette repeats refrain.)<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">JACK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>They’re going to pass a Pure Kiss Law<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>The young folks to allure;<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The kiss and girl will both be chased,<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>We’ll run ’em down for sure.<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>It’s scientific, but it’s queer;<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The Kiss Inspector won’t be near,<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>And antisceptic [<i>sic</i>] lips I fear<br /><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>We can’t endure.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">POLLY:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The festive microbe’s everywhere—<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>He’s even in the hash;<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>He burrows in our prayer-books<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>And clings to all our cash.<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>So what’s the harm if from our lips<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The tiny rascal nectar sips?<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>And if to other lips he skips<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>Why, let him go!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>(Refrain as before.)<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">DICK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>If kissing is contagious, then<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>We can’t escape our fate.<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>It’s up to all courageous men<br /><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>To boldly osculate.<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>It may be deadly dangerous<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>A girlish mouth to madly muss,<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>But it’s a risk that most of us<br /><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>Will undertake.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">JACK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>Let’s trade microbes!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">ELILE:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>I’ll agree!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">DICK:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>Any bug that loves your lips<br /><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span>Will just suit me!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">POLLY:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>The kissing-bug is out of date,<br /><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span>The microbe’s here, so let me state<br /><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>I’m not afraid—<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">ELILE:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Then let us trade---<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">ALL:<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span><span> </span>’Twill just suit me!<br /> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 24, 1918.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>The First Spring Thaw in Supposyville</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />They’re always celebrating<br />In Supposyville. Some reason<br />For happiness and joy they find<br />In every single season!<br /><br />And while the rest of us go grumbling<br />Through each month and year,<br />A-wishing it were summer<br />Or that spring or fall were here,<br /><br />This merry realm picks all the plums<br />It can pick from the present—<br />And really, come to think of it,<br />Their plan is much more pleasant.<br /><br />And, they’re making now the greatest,<br />Biggest fuss you ever saw<br />A-celebrating—bless my heart<br />And heels—the first spring thaw!<br /><br />A party at the castle’s called<br />Without the least delay—<br />If each had made a million<br />He could not appear more gay!<br /><br />“’Tis time to think of gardens,<br />Of planting and new clothes;<br />’Tis time to clean the rust and dust<br />From plowshares, rakes and hoes.”<br /><br />Thus cry the couriers from all<br />The corners of the town,<br />“You’re bidden to the castle.<br />’Tis the order of the crown.”<br /><br />And there the entertainment is<br />Of such a kind and quality,<br />No word of mine can half express<br />The pure delight and jollity<br /><br />With which Supposies plan to meet<br />The coming of the spring.<br />The Queen advises them about<br />Apparel, while the King<br /><br />Sets all the Lords High This and That<br />A-planning garden plots.<br />And each goes home just burdened down<br />With seeds and flower pots,<br /><br />With patterns, muslins, bits of silk—<br />There’s not a thing too small<br />To interest Supposy folk.<br />Dear, how I love them all!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-79158711930508932052022-08-01T01:00:00.018-07:002023-04-02T15:27:30.341-07:00OLIVER ELEPHANT<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span><span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></span></span></span> </span> </span></span></div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>The Hungry Tiger of Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div>As published in the <i>Houston</i> <i>Post,</i> August 1, 1915.<br /><p><br />The jungle school was over. Professor Bear had packed up his belongings and taken himself off on a fishing trip. A family of monkeys had rented the school house for the summer and everyone was very happy—especially Oliver Elephant. Every day he and Tommy Tapir went on a picnic—and they fished and swam and played all the jungle games you ever heard of—and some that you have not!<br /><br />Sometimes Uncle Abner went along and told them one of his stories, of which he a trunk full, I assure you! He was not with them this time, however. “It’s too hot!” he said when Oliver and Tommy asked him to go along—and putting his newspaper over his head he had settled down for a nap in his chair.<br /><br />It certainly was hot—and when it is hot in the jungle, my dears, it is like four Fourth of Julys rolled into one. Tommy and Oliver took turns carrying the lunch, and two or three times they had to stop and refresh themselves with some cold palm leaf tea which Mother Elephant had thoughtfully sent along in a milk bottle. Oliver Elephant, being the stouter, seemed to feel the heat more. He wet his handkerchief in the tea and tied it over the top of his head, and plucking a whole handful of palm leaves, walked along fanning himself vigorously.<br /><br />At last they came to a deep jungle pool, and, dropping their basket, they shed their clothes and plunged in for a swim. “Let’s have a game of cocoa nut pins,” said Tommy Tapir as they scrambled out feeling very much refreshed. Now, cocoa nut pins is a game much like ten pins—except that you use cocoa nuts for balls. They were soon so deeply engrossed in the game that neither noticed the black clouds that were gathering overhead. “I win,” cried Oliver Elephant, who had just knocked over all ten men. “S—s—aa—ay!” For suddenly he realized how dark it had become.<br /></p><p>“Tracks for home!” cried Tommy Tapir, seizing his jacket and falling over a twisted root in his excitement. Before Oliver had time to answer—or Tommy time to pick himself up—it grew dark as ink. The wind shrieked through the trees, bending them double, and rain fell in stinging lashes. Fierce jungle beasts began to rush wildly by. “Tommy,” wailed Oliver Elephant, “where are you?” “Here,” called Tommy faintly. Oliver rushed toward the place where the voice came from but collided violently with a tree and sat down on the lunch basket. “Help!” he shrieked dismally, but no help came.<br /><br />“What’s that?” whispered Oliver Elephant suddenly, for above the shriek of the wind something was crying bitterly. “Better stay where you are!” warned Tommy Tapir, “It might bite you!” “I believe it’s more frightened than I am,” thought Oliver Elephant! And do you know—as soon as he began to think about someone else being more scared than himself—why—he stopped being scared—right off! He felt around cautiously in the dark with his trunk, for the cries seemed very close. The next minute he gave a little jump, for he touched something warm and soft and very wet! “Ugh!” shivered Oliver Elephant, nervously, then all at once he thought of the Perhappsy chaps! “I don’t believe they would be scared to help anyone, and look how much larger and stronger I am,” he thought. Out went his trunk again, and this time it wound tightly around the soft frightened bit of warmness and lifted it out of the pool of water where it was lying!<br /><br />It stopped crying immediately and snuggled close against Oliver’s jacket! “O—w!” screamed Tommy Tapir as a flying stone hit him in the nose. “Can’t you keep quiet!” hissed Oliver Elephant warningly—“do you want to frighten it again?”<br /><br />It had gradually grown lighter—the rain ceased and the wind died down. Very stiffly Tommy Tapir got to his feet and dragged himself over to where Oliver Elephant was sitting on the lunch! Oliver was so surprised that he scarcely noticed Tommy, for curled up close in his trunk was a dear little brown jungle boy. “A Two-leg!” gasped Tommy. “Throw it away, Oliver! Throw it away!” Oliver got slowly to his feet. “It’s tired and wet, and I’m going to take it home!” he said decidedly. And he did!<br /><br />Poor Mother Elephant had been wringing her trunk she was so worried about Oliver. Father Elephant and Uncle Abner had gone for the sheriff, and the whole house was upside down when Oliver Elephant got home. Imagine her surprise when she saw the little baby. She hugged Oliver, then Tommy and then both of them. The little baby she wrapped in her apron and put to sleep in the work basket, after giving it a thimble full of soup. Next day Uncle Abner, who knew a tame Elephant working in the [Two-legs] camp, called him on the vine-o-phone and he came over and got the baby—and everybody was happy, especially Oliver Elephant!<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Originally published in the<i> Evansville </i>(Indiana)<i> Journal-News, </i>February 24, 1918.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><b>How the Supposies Spend St. Valentine’s</b><br /></div><p><br />From every turret, door and house<br />A silken banner’s swung,<br />And all Supposyville with ribbons,<br />Hearts and darts is hung.<br /><br />And Valentines come pattering<br />From unexpected places—<br />Of perfumed paper, candy ribbons,<br />Flowers, dainty laces.<br /><br />The postmen can’t be seen at all<br />Beneath their merry loads,<br />And couriers and messengers<br />Post down the lanes and roads.<br /><br />With tender missives from the Queen<br />And presents from the King,<br />Aho! there is no telling what<br />The merry day may bring!<br /><br />A rhyme absurd, a dickey bird,<br />A book, a ring, a wedding,<br />With faces glowing with delight<br />Supposy folk go treading.<br /><br />These hearty folks delight in jokes,<br />And with this end in view<br />Each tries his neighbor and his friends<br />To outwit and outdo.<br /><br />All day the castle is thrown open;<br />Heart-shaped cakes and tea<br />Are served to all; it would appall<br />A hostess here to see<br /><br />A million cakes melt like snowflakes<br />Before the jolly legions.<br />As for the tea consumed, ’twould cause<br />A riot in these regions.<br /><br />If I could choose the place to spend<br />St. Valentine’s, I’d fill<br />My heart with merry thoughts and hie<br />Me to Supposyville.<i></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-15570733294086764812022-07-01T13:00:00.002-07:002022-07-01T13:05:57.515-07:00SHE GETS HER DANDER UP AND GOES BACK ON POLITICS<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">By L. Frank Baum</span></span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of<i> The Marvelous Land of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Originally published in the <i>Aberdeen Saturday Pioneer,</i> November 1, 1890.<br />Idiosyncratic spelling and punctuation retained.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Yesterday night,” said our landlady, as she set the table carefully, and arranged a knife, fork and spoon beside each boarder’s plate, “were All-halloween an’ there were quite a select party held ter celebrate the event.”<br /><br />“Did you go?” asked Tom, eying the table hungrily.<br /><br />“You bet I did, an’ I’m glad of it, although I feel almost as rocky as the fellers did as went ter Columbia We’nsday night. All the boys was with our party, an’ the fust thing we done was to bob fer apples. As apples is high priced this year everybody laid ’emselves out to git suthin’. Tommy Camburn he bobbed for an appel maked ‘apintment,’ but it had so much Moody grease on it that he couldn’t get hold. Johnnie Drake he bobbed fer another ‘appintment’ appel, an’ cried because he said Jumper had hoodooed it. Jump he bobbed fer an appel marked ‘popularity,’ but it were too smooth fer his teeth. Hank Williams were after a boodle appel and Johnnie Firey fit him so hard they didn’t either of ’em git it. Billy Kidd grabbed a appel marked ‘injipendents truths,’ an’ found it rotton inside, an’ Frank Brown’s ‘speckilation’ appel were as holler as a drum. Slosser wanted the biggest appel they was there, an’ he got his fangs on it, too, but when he opened it, it were full o’ wind and gaul an’ he didn’t seem ter enjoy it much. Elder McBride got his eye on the ‘Pierre’ appel an’ worked like a nailer for it, but when he got it he found it stuffed with bogus checks and mortgaged lots, an’ the dominie looked kinder sad arter that.<br /><br />“Then the boys tried goin’ down cellar backerds with a candle an’ a lookin’ glass. Johnnie Firey nearly fainted when he saw Hank Williams dressed as Fate lookin’ over his shoulder, an’ Judge Crofoot smiled kinder meloncolic at the reflection o’ Johnnie Adams in his lookin’-glass. August Witte got skeert at seein’ Bob Moody smile outer the glass at him, an’ Cholly Howard saw a picter where all the common council was on their knees beggin’ ter him fer help. All Dan Shields saw was a big dollar an’ a packidge of Cholly Harris’ stickers an’ he groaned in speerit because he couldn’t git the dollar.<br /><br />“Finally I got disgusted with the hull thing an’ when Jim Ringrose suggested that it would be more fun to go out and ring door bells, I come home feelin’ as mad as a wet hen.”<br /><br />“It seems to me that that is your natural condition. The world don’t agree with you.”<br /><br />“It may be I’m soured,” snapped our landlady in answer to the impertinent remark of the colonel’s, “but I think it’s most enough to sour anybody, the way this political champaign is a goin’. Take the capital fight, for instance. There’s more dirty work done by the real estate robbers o’ Pierre and Huron in one day than there is by the biggest pack o’ thieves in the country in a hull year. I hain’t got nothin’ agin’ the towns, mind ye, it’s the people as is runnin’ them as is disgustin’ everybody that is anybody. If I had a right to vote next Tuesday I’d jest vote fer Bath fer the capital an’ keep my self respec’. But the wimmin don’t vote yet, er things would be different.”<br /><br />“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, in his mild voice, “that you see fit to criticise people who are only endeavoring to turn an honest penny. But the capital fight is only a small part of the campaign. Now, in politics—”<br /><br />“It’s worse!” she yelled, slamming down the potatoes so fiercely that the dish separated gracefully into several portions, “it’s enuff sight worse. The republicans is chokin’ the pore injipendents, an’ the demicrats is boostin’ up the farmers an’ laughin’ in their sleeve at the muddle things is in. It ain’t their picnic. This ’ere fight is ’atween the injipendents and the republicans, an’ if the grand ole party didn’t have that old war reckerd ter back ’em they’d come outer the little end o’ the horn, too.”<br /><br />“I am aware,” said the colonel, sarcastically, “that you favor the independents, but don’t forget that in the hour of the nations’ peril—”<br /><br />“Fiddlesticks!” cried Mrs. Bilkins, glaring at her opponent, while she brought her clenched fist down plump into the butter dish, “that fight’s been fit thirty year ago! W’ats that got ter do with that ’air McKinley an’ that Silver bill an’ such nonsense? The injipendents is in the right, only I don’t like their kind o’ mud-slingin’ any more’n I do the republicans. It’s a shame fer them to write sech mean things about Johnnie Adams an’ Frank Raymond an’ Jump’ an’ Hank Williams, as has never done no harm to a livin’ critter, an’ only works for the interests o’ their feller men. But it’s just as bad on the other side. Slosser’s paper is so dirty nowadays that you kin hardly read it, an’ the republicans calls my pore friend, Feelyerpaw, a villin an’ pritty near proves it, too! They’ve found out all the wicked things as Loucks an’ Scattergood an’ the other fellers has done when they wasn’t thinkin’ an’ told folks all about it, without considerin’ their feelin’s, an’ even nice, innercent Tom Campburn is gittin’ so he tells stories. Now then, let me ask ye, if there should happen, by any chance to be an honest man left in South Dikoty, what’s he goin’ ter vote fer?”<br /><br />“The grand old party!” exclaimed the colonel.<br /><br />“Independence and the Farmers’ rights!” declared the doctor.<br /><br />“Democracy,” said Tom, “first, last and—”<br /><br />“Nothin’ o’ the sort,” interrupted our landlady, “if he’s really honest, he’ll jest vote fer ekal suffridge, Bath fer capital, an’—”<br /><br />“Well?”<br /><br />“An’ put the rest o’ the tickets inter the fire.”</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Published in the <i>Buffalo</i> (NY) <i>Courier,</i> February 17, 1918.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Day of Inventions in Supposyville</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The King of old Supposyville<br />Believes in all the sciences<br />And does his best to profit by<br />Their practical appliances!<br />To geniuses, forsooth, he lends<br />An all-attentive ear,<br />For, as he says, ’tis they who sweep<br />The paths of progress clear!<br /><br />A day for every kind is set<br />Aside. The one I mention<br />Was that day set for all the men<br />Most given to invention.<br />From east and west they came to put<br />Before the King and Court<br />Discoveries of every kind<br />And size and shape and sort.<br /><br />A prize is offered for the best,<br />The one’s whose demonstration<br />Proclaims it the most practical<br />And useful to the nation.<br />The King with kindly smile and mien<br />Hears each in turn and tries<br />The new inventions—helped, of course,<br />By Solomon Tremendous Wise.<br /><br />To tell them all would take a day,<br />Which I, alas! have not to spare.<br />Suffice to say ’twas some display—<br />Indeed I wish you had been there!<br />Just as the judges all retire<br />To vote upon the winner;<br />Just as the courtiers were about<br />To stop and eat their dinner;<br />Without a hat or coat—unbrushed—<br />A-puffing and a-scurrying,<br />A late inventor man arrived<br />All breathless from his hurrying.<br />“Wait!” called the King, “And what have you<br />Discovered, my dear fellow?”<br />Between his gasps the old man rasps,<br />“A Loseless Umber—ella!”<br /><br />“In fact, an ‘umberella’ that<br />Cannot be lost or taken,<br />Forgot or borrowed, left behind<br />Or otherwisely shaken!”<br />With bulging eyes the judges hear—<br />Their wonder is excusable—<br />An “umberella” of all things<br />Unlost and quite unlosable!<br /><br />Pray show us this remarkable<br />And loseless “umberella.”<br />Alas! the poor inventor turns<br />A sudden sickly yellow.<br />Then cried aloud, “’Tis lost!” He looked<br />Behind and then before,<br />At which loud peals of merriment<br />Rose quickly to a roar.<br /><br />“He’s lost his loseless ‘umberella’—<br />Ha—ho!” The judges all retire,<br />For they had all the evidence that<br />That invention would require.<br />And while he went a posting home,<br />The prize was given to<br />A likely lad, who proved he had<br />A double self-inserting screw!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></span></span></span></span></span> <br /></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-74115744338495401402022-06-01T01:00:00.013-07:002022-06-01T01:00:00.202-07:00OLIVER ELEPHANT SAVES THE DAY<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span><span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></span></span></span> </span> </span></p><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>Kabumpo in Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><p>Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>,</p><p><br /></p><p>Oliver Elephant was far from home. He had been walking all day and the more he walked the more puzzled he grew as to just where he was and as to just how he should get home again! I’m afraid he’d been following his nose, pshaw! I mean his trunk, and as that wasn’t very straight, NO wonder he got lost.<br /><br />It was growing darker and darker and though Oliver wasn’t afraid, still he could not help feeling uneasy. “I’ll just keep straight on, and if I walk far enough I’m bound to come out somewhere!” he decided sensibly. And pretty soon he did come out somewhere. “Seems to be a road!” he mumbled, feeling carefully ahead with his trunk! “Cocoanuts!” he spluttered next minute, for he had caught his toe in something and no sooner had he stepped out than his other foot caught. He peered down anxiously, blinking his little eyes in an endeavor to see what kind of road this was that tripped a fellow up every other step.<br /><br />“Some awful queer animal must have made THESE tracks!” he murmured, scratching his head. But as traveling was much faster here in the open than through the dense jungle he decided to make the best of it, and, accommodating his stride to the queer humps and bumps, managed to get on with tolerable speed.<br /><br />He was in such a hurry that he really went faster than was safe, for at a sudden turn leading across a dry stream the bottom suddenly fell out of the road and when Oliver Elephant came to his senses he found himself wedged tightly between a lot of broken trees, at least he thought they were trees. <br /><br />Two of his feet were held fast and jerk and pull as he might he could not get up. “It was bad enough to be lost without being hung,” groaned Oliver, straining with all his might.<br /><br />“What’s that? My trunk! What’s that?” He flapped his big ears in alarm and listened intently. Coming toward him, though not yet in sight, was some strange and terrible monster. He knew it! For none of the people of the jungle had a voice like this. It was a roar and a swish and a whistling all in one. “Must be the fellow that made these tracks!” thought Oliver, renewing his struggle to free himself. But it was useless. In desperation, Oliver Elephant felt about with his trunk, jerked up a young tree and resolved to do the best he could to defend himself. “At least I can make as much noise!” And I should say he could. Waving the tree he forthwith set up such a trumpeting that the shriek of the other monster was completely drowned.<br /><br />“Throw on the brakes, Mike!—for the love of next week!—what’s ahead?” The train came grinding to a standstill about ten feet from Oliver. Leaning out of the window, the engineer held his lantern and peered into the gloom. “Flagged by an elephant, begorry!” he burst out in astonishment.<br /><br />Oliver was much surprised at the cowardly halt of the great black creature and his wonderment knew no bounds when a lot of two legs began to pour out of its sides and stare at him curiously.<br /><br />“Well, it’s lucky for us that yon big beast was abroad this night!” The engineer wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he looked at the nasty break in the tracks and thought what MIGHT have happened if the train had rolled down the embankment. “Three cheers for his majesty!” cried the fireman, throwing his hat into the air, and all the passengers joined in with a will. Oliver was still very much puzzled, but there was no mistaking the sound of that cheer—it was friendly. These men liked him and though he had always been warned against two legs, something told him that he was safe. So he dropped the tree and waved his trunk politely. At this the two legs went mad with delight. “Let’s help him out! Hurrah for the elephant! Good boy!” The engineer got his ax and the fireman an iron bar. The ladies gingerly offered crackers, which Oliver as gingerly accepted, but found them so much to his taste that he did not notice the engineer and fireman approach. With two or three well-directed blows they had broken the rails that held him suspended in the air. There was another crash—everybody jumped aside and great, gray Oliver rolled down into the dry bed of the stream.<br /><br />Much shaken, he arose, took a long curious look at the puffing black beast and all the cheering two legs, gave a little trumpet of thanks, then swung around and disappeared into the black jungle. For now he knew the way home, for was not the two legs’ country west of his own? Tired and footsore he arrived there at daybreak, and I’ll leave you to imagine what his mother and father and Uncle Abner thought of his adventure.<br /><br />But that was Oliver’s first experience with a railroad.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger, </i>February 3, 1918<br /><br /><b>The Latest Supposyville Proclamation</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Upon my head and heels—and heart!<br />Upon my soul—I never<br />Saw any King so wise and kind—<br />So funny—or so clever<br />As the monarch of Supposyville.<br />His latest proclamation—<br />Is causing just a gale of glee<br />In that delightful nation.<br />One morning fifty couriers—<br />Went clattering down the highways—<br />While fifty more went posting off<br />To all the lanes and byways.<br />Each home and house was entered<br />And in manner short and cursory<br />A Royal Proclamation, dears—<br />Was posted in each nursery.<br /><br />“Whereas—” all proclamations<br />Should start thusly—ducks and dears—<br />“Whereas—a certain state of things<br />Has lately reached my ears—<br />I do appoint a week of rest<br />From play—for all the TOYS.<br />Therefore, take heed, ye nurses,<br />And ye little girls and boys.<br />These toyfolks are my subjects—<br />Same as you—and I’ve reflected<br />Upon their welfare—which I find—<br />Is shamefully neglected.<br /><br />For play to them is work—you know<br />And work to them—is play<br />And taken all in all—they need<br />A good long workaday.<br /><br />Take Punch and Judy—they are tired<br />With their continual strife—<br />And Punch in his short workaday<br />Will make up with his wife.<br />The soldiers need a furlough<br />To hunt up their legs and guns—<br />To polish up their buttons<br />And write comments on the Huns.<br />The members of the wooden circus<br />Want to act like other folks<br />And cease their acrobatic stunts<br />And talk in sense instead of jokes.<br />The dolls would like to clean their teeth<br />And wash and iron their clothes—<br />And comb their hair and do a little<br />Mending—I suppose!<br /><br />The Teddy Bears would like to get <br />Their bearings, trains—their sections—<br />As for the games—they need a week<br />To hunt their lost directions—<br />So—solemnly I do appoint<br />A Workaweek for Toys—<br />In which they may regain their health<br />Their playfulness—and poise.”</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved. </span><br /></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-83287491280448153472022-05-07T21:35:00.054-07:002022-05-07T22:18:01.328-07:00THE MANDARIN AND THE BUTTERFLY<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">By L. Frank Baum</span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of<i> Rinkitink in Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Originally published in <i>American Fairy Tales,</i> 1901.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Illustrations from the <i>St. Louis</i> (MO) <i>Republic, </i>April 14, 1901, and The Sun (New York, NY), March 9, 1913.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">A mandarin once lived in Kiang-ho who was so exceedingly cross and disagreeable that everyone hated him. He snarled and stormed at every person he met and was never known to laugh or be merry under any circumstances. Especially he hated boys and girls; for the boys jeered at him, which aroused his wrath, and the girls made fun of him, which hurt his pride.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljiHpqK6rHMGYRM7-6Qc5EUJSFW9IhH3KVvSJeHF2oRNUi3Q9hIYwPDHxvGw2quaINoqhShq6_esFt55vY42ULtqfudO3bc767rYL28MODLczuW6HrnPLHUHjKbenXyZEFiJYMMT0P-kg5KyBohTkCo6sTtsW_AEoiLlrUUZPnFYbFRW3kIsJWhSAow/s2344/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2344" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljiHpqK6rHMGYRM7-6Qc5EUJSFW9IhH3KVvSJeHF2oRNUi3Q9hIYwPDHxvGw2quaINoqhShq6_esFt55vY42ULtqfudO3bc767rYL28MODLczuW6HrnPLHUHjKbenXyZEFiJYMMT0P-kg5KyBohTkCo6sTtsW_AEoiLlrUUZPnFYbFRW3kIsJWhSAow/w171-h400/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_02.jpg" width="171" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When he had become so unpopular that no one would speak to him, the emperor heard about it and commanded him to emigrate to America. This suited the mandarin very well; but before he left China he stole the Great Book of Magic that belonged to the wise magician Haot-sai. Then, gathering up his little store of money, he took ship for America.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">He settled in a city of the middle west and of course started a laundry, since that seems to be the natural vocation of every Chinaman, be he coolie or mandarin.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">He made no acquaintances with the other Chinamen of the town, who, when they met him and saw the red button in his hat, knew him for a real mandarin and bowed low before him. He put up a red and white sign and people brought their laundry to him and got paper checks, with Chinese characters upon them, in exchange, this being the only sort of character the mandarin had left.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">One day as the ugly one was ironing in his shop in the basement of 263 1/2 Main street, he looked up and saw a crowd of childish faces pressed against the window. Most Chinamen make friends with children; this one hated them and tried to drive them away. But as soon as he returned to his work they were back at the window again, mischievously smiling down upon him.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The naughty mandarin uttered horrid words in the Manchu language and made fierce gestures; but this did no good at all. The children stayed as long as they pleased, and they came again the very next day as soon as school was over, and likewise the next day, and the next. For they saw their presence at the window bothered the Chinaman and were delighted accordingly.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafeS6TbOlEYzkl51xJFbd-QLtUO95CIoOiCpKj_OszzSVULCIDCYDOLLGoSWnPiEcGzrTl2ePqusqdqcGZAO_sbd7x3xEEkKPVO6SvrxYIXb6bzRRv5pN5F2pMjiW3CHv27Lxe5Zbgo2ZaZRnF-H5hzD8mfjRNnrBc45YWr49E9hYTT1KLQGA2frMjg/s2398/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2398" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafeS6TbOlEYzkl51xJFbd-QLtUO95CIoOiCpKj_OszzSVULCIDCYDOLLGoSWnPiEcGzrTl2ePqusqdqcGZAO_sbd7x3xEEkKPVO6SvrxYIXb6bzRRv5pN5F2pMjiW3CHv27Lxe5Zbgo2ZaZRnF-H5hzD8mfjRNnrBc45YWr49E9hYTT1KLQGA2frMjg/w166-h400/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_03.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>The following day being Sunday the children did not appear, but as the mandarin, being a heathen, worked in his little shop a big butterfly flew in at the open door and fluttered about the room.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The mandarin closed the door and chased the butterfly until he caught it, when he pinned it against the wall by sticking two pins through its beautiful wings. This did not hurt the butterfly, there being no feeling in its wings; but it made him a safe prisoner.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">This butterfly was of large size and its wings were exquisitely marked by gorgeous colors laid out in regular designs like the stained glass windows of a cathedral.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great Book of Magic he had stolen from Haot-sai. Turning the pages slowly he came to a passage describing “How to understand the language of butterflies.” This he read carefully and then mixed a magic formula in a tin cup and drank it down with a wry face. Immediately thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own language, saying:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Why did you enter this room?”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I smelled bees-wax,” answered the butterfly; “therefore I thought I might find honey here.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“But you are my prisoner,” said the mandarin. “If I please I can kill you, or leave you on the wall to starve to death.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I expect that,” replied the butterfly, with a sigh. “But my race is shortlived, anyway; it doesn’t matter whether death comes sooner or later.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqeWygp-G9bdeJhKib0FkazPVyEwdNTFucMO0lNhlNsglgZOd4dMjMNold-MneW4n-JZld36QUwi6yfOYHMoI8gcmR1FPh_OdDNsAchjx0U2qksVm9Z4-aNtzFpiE_zTWwqkeQHaCCqi-BUjsGPZlRSTsZ3dvPRvCALo3jyTtLUJDQqUh4rxGuBqvjg/s1800/1913Mar09_%5BNewYorkNY%5DSun_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1375" data-original-width="1800" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqeWygp-G9bdeJhKib0FkazPVyEwdNTFucMO0lNhlNsglgZOd4dMjMNold-MneW4n-JZld36QUwi6yfOYHMoI8gcmR1FPh_OdDNsAchjx0U2qksVm9Z4-aNtzFpiE_zTWwqkeQHaCCqi-BUjsGPZlRSTsZ3dvPRvCALo3jyTtLUJDQqUh4rxGuBqvjg/w400-h305/1913Mar09_%5BNewYorkNY%5DSun_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Yet you like to live, do you not?” asked the mandarin.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful. I do not seek death.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Then,” said the mandarin, “I will give you life—a long and pleasant life—if you will promise to obey me for a time and carry out my instructions.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“How can a butterfly serve a man?” asked the creature, in surprise.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Usually they cannot,” was the reply. “But I have a book of magic which teaches me strange things. Do you promise?”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Oh, yes; I promise,” answered the butterfly; “for even as your slave I will get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill me—that is the end of everything!”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Truly,” said the mandarin, “butterflies have no souls, and therefore cannot live again.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“But I have enjoyed three lives already,” returned the butterfly, with some pride. “I have been a caterpillar and a chrysalis before I became a butterfly. You were never anything but a Chinaman, although I admit your life is longer than mine.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I will extend your life for many days, if you will obey me,” declared the Chinaman. “I can easily do so by means of my magic.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Of course I will obey you,” said the butterfly, carelessly.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Then, listen! You know children, do you not?—boys and girls?”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Yes, I know them. They chase me, and try to catch me, as you have done,” replied the butterfly.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“And they mock me, and jeer at me through the window,” continued the mandarin, bitterly. “Therefore, they are your enemies and mine! But with your aid and the help of the magic book we shall have a fine revenge for their insults.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I don’t care much for revenge,” said the butterfly. “They are but children, and ’tis natural they should wish to catch such a beautiful creature as I am.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Nevertheless, I care! and you must obey me,” retorted the mandarin, harshly. “I, at least, will have my revenge.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Then he stuck a drop of molasses upon the wall beside the butterfly’s head and said:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Eat that, while I read my book and prepare my magic formula.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">So the butterfly feasted upon the molasses and the mandarin studied his book, after which he began to mix a magic compound in the tin cup.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When the mixture was ready he released the butterfly from the wall and said to it:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I command you to dip your two front feet into this magic compound and then fly away until you meet a child. Fly close, whether it be a boy or a girl, and touch the child upon its forehead with your feet. Whosoever is thus touched, the book declares, will at once become a pig, and will remain such forever after. Then return to me and dip your legs afresh in the contents of this cup. So shall all my enemies, the children, become miserable swine, while no one will think of accusing me of the sorcery.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Very well; since such is your command, I obey,” said the butterfly. Then it dipped its front legs, which were the shortest of the six, into the contents of the tin cup, and flew out of the door and away over the houses to the edge of the town. There it alighted in a flower garden and soon forgot all about its mission to turn children into swine.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">In going from flower to flower it soon brushed the magic compound from its legs, so that when the sun began to set and the butterfly finally remembered its master, the mandarin, it could not have injured a child had it tried.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">But it did not intend to try.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“That horrid old Chinaman,” it thought, “hates children and wishes to destroy them. But I rather like children myself and shall not harm them. Of course I must return to my master, for he is a magician, and would seek me out and kill me; but I can deceive him about this matter easily enough.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When the butterfly flew in at the door of the mandarin’s laundry he asked, eagerly:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Well, did you meet a child?”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I did,” replied the butterfly, calmly. “It was a pretty, golden-haired girl—but now ’tis a grunting pig!”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Good! Good! Good!” cried the mandarin, dancing joyfully about the room. “You shall have molasses for your supper, and to-morrow you must change two children into pigs.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The butterfly did not reply, but ate the molasses in silence. Having no soul it had no conscience, and having no conscience it was able to lie to the mandarin with great readiness and a certain amount of enjoyment.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Next morning, by the mandarin’s command, the butterfly dipped its legs in the mixture and flew away in search of children.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When it came to the edge of the town it noticed a pig in a sty, and alighting upon the rail of the sty it looked down at the creature and thought.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“If I could change a child into a pig by touching it with the magic compound, what could I change a pig into, I wonder?”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD59vLNfgsBCZxUYt53ZxfHldEk92jWO6uOirYONIcuHswYYayv8fjmsGGpgjrKQ4ETAS4cACycYnQ9sXfdi17nxe4lbYC9j-MvOfPqRYhWJ_VNzIxcoHNflSaLAIzWY5jAxmxzD0H4YZRmG8-STIilt-Bjj29w0MmGCMNIb02ZlbIdVxJE5bzV-0g9w/s2411/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2411" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD59vLNfgsBCZxUYt53ZxfHldEk92jWO6uOirYONIcuHswYYayv8fjmsGGpgjrKQ4ETAS4cACycYnQ9sXfdi17nxe4lbYC9j-MvOfPqRYhWJ_VNzIxcoHNflSaLAIzWY5jAxmxzD0H4YZRmG8-STIilt-Bjj29w0MmGCMNIb02ZlbIdVxJE5bzV-0g9w/w166-h400/1901Apr14_StLouis%5BMO%5DRepublic_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_04.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Being curious to determine this fine point in sorcery the butterfly fluttered down and touched its front feet to the pig’s nose. Instantly the animal disappeared, and in its place was a shock-headed, dirty looking boy, which sprang from the sty and ran down the road uttering load whoops.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“That’s funny,” said the butterfly to itself. “The mandarin would be very angry with me if he knew of this, for I have liberated one more of the creatures that bother him.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">It fluttered along after the boy, who had paused to throw stones at a cat. But pussy escaped by running up a tree, where thick branches protected her from the stones. Then the boy discovered a newly-planted garden, and trampled upon the beds until the seeds were scattered far and wide, and the garden was ruined. Next he caught up a switch and struck with it a young calf that stood quietly grazing in a field.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The poor creature ran away with piteous bleats, and the boy laughed and followed after it, striking the frightened animal again and again.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Really,” thought the butterfly, “I do not wonder the mandarin hates children, if they are all so cruel and wicked as this one.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The calf having escaped him the boy came back to the road, where he met two little girls on their way to school. One of them had a red apple in her hand, and the boy snatched it away and began eating it. The little girl commenced to cry, but her companion, more brave and sturdy, cried out:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you nasty boy!”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">At this the boy reached out and slapped her pretty face, whereupon she also began to sob.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Although possessed of neither soul nor conscience, the butterfly had a very tender heart, and now decided it could endure this boy no longer.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“If I permitted him to exist,” it reflected, “I should never forgive myself, for the monster would do nothing but evil from morning ’til night.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">So it flew directly into his face and touched his forehead with its sticky front feet.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The next instant the boy had disappeared, but a grunting pig ran swiftly up the road in the direction of its sty.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The butterfly gave a sigh of relief.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“This time I have indeed used the mandarin’s magic upon a child,” it whispered, as it floated lazily upon the light breeze; “but since the child was originally a pig I do not think I have any cause to reproach myself. The little girls were sweet and gentle, and I would not injure them to save my life, but were all boys like this transformed pig, I should not hesitate to carry out the mandarin’s orders.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Then it flew into a rose bush, where it remained comfortably until evening. At sundown it returned to its master.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Have you changed two of them into pigs?” he asked, at once.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I have,” replied the butterfly. “One was a pretty, black-eyed baby, and the other a freckle-faced, red-haired, barefooted newsboy.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Good! Good! Good!” screamed the mandarin, in an ecstasy of delight. “Those are the ones who torment me the most! Change every newsboy you meet into a pig!”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Very well,” answered the butterfly, quietly, and ate its supper of molasses.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Several days were passed by the butterfly in the same manner. It fluttered aimlessly about the flower gardens while the sun shone, and returned at night to the mandarin with false tales of turning children into swine. Sometimes it would be one child which was transformed, sometimes two, and occasionally three; but the mandarin always greeted the butterfly’s report with intense delight and gave him molasses for supper.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">One evening, however, the butterfly thought it might be well to vary the report, so that the mandarin might not grow suspicious; and when its master asked what child had been had been changed into a pig that day the lying creature answered:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“It was a Chinese boy, and when I touched him he became a black pig.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">This angered the mandarin, who was in an especially cross mood. He spitefully snapped the butterfly with his finger, and nearly broke its beautiful wing; for he forgot that Chinese boys had once mocked him and only remembered his hatred for American boys.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The butterfly became very indignant at this abuse from the mandarin. It refused to eat its molasses and sulked all the evening, for it had grown to hate the mandarin almost as much as the mandarin hated children.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">When morning came it was still trembling with indignation; but the mandarin cried out:</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Make haste, miserable slave; for to-day you must change four children into pigs, to make up for yesterday.”</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The butterfly did not reply. His little black eyes were sparkling wickedly, and no sooner had he dipped his feet into the magic compound than he flew full in the mandarin’s face, and touched him upon his ugly, flat forehead.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Soon after a gentleman came into the room for his laundry. The mandarin was not there, but running around the place was a repulsive, scrawny pig, which squealed most miserably.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHdyD-Fv0FntiNcaMkexx4HzFzpV8tMan-sKYGOs1jhjYIJkCfxH4sENHEHusf85SZxEJqttf9eY0x7nHyG4NMxKtQrDaoRvCcDO9D_K_QNo2DKiqOTLM7UiBug73cQgsh7QRK3RYU0bfzpJ-qoC-Z88HbdV_R4n9TiQDg2GrPQuHVJ_YBuKcKFEsvQ/s1700/1913Mar09_%5BNewYorkNY%5DSun_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1485" data-original-width="1700" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHdyD-Fv0FntiNcaMkexx4HzFzpV8tMan-sKYGOs1jhjYIJkCfxH4sENHEHusf85SZxEJqttf9eY0x7nHyG4NMxKtQrDaoRvCcDO9D_K_QNo2DKiqOTLM7UiBug73cQgsh7QRK3RYU0bfzpJ-qoC-Z88HbdV_R4n9TiQDg2GrPQuHVJ_YBuKcKFEsvQ/w400-h350/1913Mar09_%5BNewYorkNY%5DSun_LFBaum_MandarinandtheButterfly_illustration_03.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The butterfly flew away to a brook and washed from its feet all traces of the magic compound. When night came it slept in a rose bush.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s1600/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="1296" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1vYisVcQ2ob0r9ma0uhSTU-Gj8d7UPLQptGV_pgDE1NRyJaF1-e52dj3WDh-IM1czNZM993Yv9ld7h-PC5CXT1-KLMna_AhM4wBKpxdu9c5I88FA5GjKiZk3YCqrNG4QFyPuC5ljh9js/s400/SupposyvilleIllustration_1917Nov11_Baltimore%255BMD%255DSun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> January 27, 1918.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><b><span><span><span></span></span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span><span><span>The King of Supposyville Puts a Stop to It!</span></span></span></b><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">In that merry model kingdom</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Of Supposyville, the snow</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">And ice have made the walking</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Rather treacherous, you know!</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The streets are steep and hilly</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">And the king looks with dismay</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">At his subjects sprawling here and there</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Upon the icy way —!</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“Go to,” said he. “This will not do!</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sir Solomon, get hence!</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Devise a plan, my good old man,</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">At once and hang expense.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">“I do not choose my subjects shall</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Be broken into pieces.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">And I shall take no comfort, sir,</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Until this falling ceases!”</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sir Solomon, without a bit</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Of hesitation, rose—</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">An hour saw the strangest change</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">One ever could suppose.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sir Solomon he “hung expense,”</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The roads took on strange hues,</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The lanes and highways blossomed forth</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">In greens and reds and blues.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">My dears and ducks, before an hour</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The castle clock had tolled</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">A hundred miles and more of rich,</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Bright carpets were unrolled!</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">A hundred carpet-sweeper lads</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Plied brooms to keep them clear</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">And to and fro the homefolk go</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Without a fall or fear.</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">The king in all complacency</span></span></span></span><br /><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Resumes his comfort and his tea.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-63764570850162890242022-04-01T01:00:00.050-07:002022-04-01T01:00:00.203-07:00OLIVER ELEPHANT AND “TWO LEGS”<span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span><span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">By Ruth Plumly Thompson</span></span></span></span></span> </span> </span><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;">Author of <i>Pirates in Oz</i>, <a href="http://hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory5.shtml">"The Wizard of Pumperdink"</a>, <a href="http://www.hungrytigerpress.com/ozstory/ozstory3.shtml">"King, King! Double King!"</a>, etc.</div><div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"> </div><p>Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>,</p><p> </p><p>Oliver Elephant was sitting under a tree wondering what was keeping Tommy Tapir, when suddenly a rushing sound reached his ear. Tommy himself, running at top speed, soon emerged. “Two legs! Two legs!” gasped Tommy, clattering past Oliver. And two legs is elephant for men. Up humped Oliver Elephant and pounded after Tommy as fast as he could go. And he hadn’t gone very far before he came to a stretch of ground that did not look exactly right. He paused uncertainly and called to Tommy, but Tommy was out of sight. “If he got across it, don’t see why I can’t,” he murmured, and, suiting the action to the word, plunged ahead.<br /><br />He reached the middle in safety, then quite suddenly the whole bottom dropped out of things and Oliver fell through. Down, down, THUMP! went the big little elephant. As soon as he got his breath he looked around. He was in a deep, stony pit, much too deep for him ever to climb out of. He suddenly remembered all the stories Uncle Abner had told him of two legs carrying off elephants to perform in the circus or in a zoo. These thoughts were so very alarming that poor Oliver burst into tears. He ran round and round the bottom of the pit trumpeting for dear life and pretty soon the scared head of Tommy Tapir looked over the edge. “You’re always getting into trouble!” he wailed dismally. “Oh, what SHALL we do!”<br /><br />“Big people always get into trouble—little fellows can slip out of everything,” choked Oliver, miserably. “Go for help, Tommy; no use standing there looking at me. Go, GO!” Tommy went. In about a month or so, it seemed to Oliver, he came puffing back, Oliver’s whole family at his heels.<br /><br />“Tusks, trunks and walrus hides!” exploded Uncle Abner in dismay.<br /><br />“Two-leg prints!” hissed Father Elephant. “We’ve GOT to get him out of here!”<br /><br />“Don’t speak, don’t move—wait!” Uncle Abner held up his trunk solemnly—“I want to think!” An anxious silence ensued. Then “I have it!” rumbled Uncle Abner triumphantly. “We’ll fill up one side of the pit with tree trunks and Oliver can climb out over them. HERE GOES!”<br /><br />Up came a tree and down it went, hitting Oliver squarely on the head. “Waugh!” screamed Oliver. “What are you trying to do?”<br /><br />“Dodge!” commanded Uncle Abner, sending down another. “You can’t expect to be rescued without some discomfort!” Oliver dodged and what with Mother Elephant and Father Elephant and Uncle Abner Elephant pitching trees as fast as they could poor Oliver got bumped and scratched every little while. But one side of the pit was filling rapidly and Oliver, dragging the trees about, was able to make a sloping runway to the top.<br /><br />With many slips and slides and much help from above, he finally dragged himself to the edge, just in time, too. For Uncle Abner, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, heard a crackling in the brush behind them. “They’ve come! Hurry, run, run for your lives!” he screamed, and, waiting for no second invitation, the whole elephant family, with Tommy Tapir close at their heels, went galumping through the jungle.<br /><br />And that’s how there comes to be one elephant less in the circus, and somehow I am glad. Are not you?</p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> January 13, 1918<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Iron Law of the King of Supposyville</b><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The Supposies have no prison,<br />’Cause they really have no crimes,<br />But even these dear jolly folks<br />Will go astray at times.<br /><br />The King, the mildest and the kindest<br />One you ever saw,<br />Has one pet theory and one very<br />Stern and fast iron law.<br /><br />To break it means a summons<br />To the court; the sentence meted<br />Is awfully queer—just nowhere, dear,<br />Are criminals so treated.<br /><br />This is the law, ’tis posted high<br />Where every one may see,<br />Done under hand and seal and mark<br />Of his high majesty.<br /><br />“Know ye that any man or child<br />With wet feet will be taken<br />Before the doctor of the court<br />And sentenced to be shaken!<br /><br />“And he who goes sans overshoes<br />On rainy, snowy days,<br />Shall be arrested and compelled<br />To change his lawless ways.”<br /><br />Each season doth the King provide<br />A pair of overshoes<br />For every subject; but, of course,<br />We all are prone to lose<br /><br />These necessary articles;<br />And often nine or ten<br />Are taken and severely shaken—<br />That’s not all, for then<br /><br />They have to pay the penalty—<br />A full week spent in bed<br />With mustard plasters on the chest,<br />Hot water bags at feet and head!<br /><br />Perhaps a law like that would be<br />A good thing for us, too;<br />Think I’ll make a trip to Washington<br />And see what I can do!<i><br /></i></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span><br /></p>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-434332737899932173.post-19396261215134971052022-03-01T00:00:00.002-08:002022-03-01T00:00:00.199-08:00WE'RE HAVING A HELL OF A TIME<p><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By L. Frank Baum</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Author of <i>The Emerald City of Oz, <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Boy-Fortune-Hunters-in-Yucatan-htp-bfh5.htm">The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan,</a> <a href="http://www.shop.hungrytigerpress.com/Daughters-of-Destiny-htp-dod-hc.htm">Daughters of Destiny,</a></i> etc.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;">From <i>The Uplift of Lucifer,</i> first performance Oct. 23, 1915, originally published 1963.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scene: An ante-room of Hades<br />Quartet</span></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>IMP OLITE, THE DEVIL’S FAMILIAR:</i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">When we’ve taken sev’ral glasses</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like a bunch of reckless asses</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re having a hell of a time.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">When we’re flirting with a woman</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">With an object very human</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re having a hell of a time.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">If we’re playing whiskey-poker</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">And the pot’s a reg’lar soaker</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">And we go home with a penny or a dime;</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">If we try to kill the Ump,</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">When the home team gets a bump,</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then we’re having a hell of a time!</span></span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>IMP OLITE, IMP OSTER, IMP ASHUNT, AND IMP RUDENT:</i><br />We’re having a hell of a time, my boys,<br />We’re having a hell of a time.<br />We’re all Imps of Satan,<br />And Hades is waitin’,<br />To show us its fireworks sublime.<br />At torments and blisters our fingers we snap;<br />For hot tongs and pincers we don’t care a rap;<br />Though we hate a hot clime<br />We are all feeling prime<br />And we’re having a hell of a time.<br /><br /><i>IMP OLITE, THE DEVIL’S FAMILIAR:</i><br />When poor devils go to battle,<br />And the big guns roar and rattle,<br />They’re having a hell of a time.<br />When you’re bathing at the beaches<br />With a half a dozen peaches<br />You’re having a hell of a time.<br />When our tailor comes collecting<br />And the sheriff we’re expecting<br />And our club checks to an awful figure climb<br />We don’t lie around and mope<br />But remember—here’s the dope—<br />That we’re having a hell of a time.<br /><i><br />IMP OLITE, IMP OSTER, IMP ASHUNT, AND IMP RUDENT:</i><br />We’re having a hell of a time, my boys,<br />We’re having a hell of a time.<br />We’re all Imps of Satan,<br />And Hades is waitin’,<br />To show us its fireworks sublime.<br />At torments and blisters our fingers we snap;<br />For hot tongs and pincers we don’t care a rap;<br />Though we hate a hot clime<br />We are all feeling prime<br />And we’re having a hell of a time.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Originally published in the Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger,</i> January 6, 1918.<br /><br /><b>Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise to the Rescue</b><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise<br />Looked at the swiftly falling snow,<br />Piled to the step tops, whirling on<br />In drifted masses down below;<br />“A little bit’s all right,” said he,<br />“But stars, ’twould take no wizard<br />To see that this is bound to be<br />A good old-fashioned blizzard.”<br /><br />Supposyville was sound asleep,<br />And only here and there a light<br />Shone dimly through the falling snow<br />To keep the guard against the night;<br />Sir Solomon himself dozed off,<br />Then rose and brewed a cup of tea<br />Glanced out. My stars! My sakes!<br />Supposyville was swallowed up!<br /><br />Wiped out completely and as neatly<br />As if it never had been there;<br />Buried deep, and fast asleep<br />Beneath the drifts. He tore his hair;<br />Bethinking of its scarceness, this<br />He ceased, and strode about;<br />“Two weeks or more ’twill be before<br />They’ll ever get themselves dug out.<br /><br />“Who’ll feed the horses in the barns,<br />Or milk the cows?” he fumed;<br />“Why, folks may starve.” At this thought he<br />The tearing of his hair resumed;<br />But finally his agitation<br />Gave way to frantic concentration;<br />And ere an hour had passed a plan<br />Had come to this inventive man.<br /><br />A burning glass of wondrous strength<br />He pointed toward the town;<br />And with a ray, whose name and fame<br />If known would bring to him a crown,<br />He set to work, my dears and ducks;<br />Next minute, underneath the snow,<br />Supposyville awakened, rubbed<br />Its eyes; no wonder, though.<br /><br />For from its turrets, roofs and spires,<br />A very flood came pouring;<br />The houses shook, and down the street<br />Great torrents went a-roaring;<br />All lights went out, and in the dark<br />They shook with apprehension;<br />And thought of more calamities<br />Than I’ve the time to mention.<br /><br />But, pshaw! Daylight revealed<br />A state of things you’ll hardly credit.<br />“Unbelievable!” Sir Solomon<br />Himself it was who said it;<br />For there stood old Supposyville,<br />Wet and draggled, it is true,<br />But all the snow had melted and<br />Run off, while round it, whew!<br /><br />Piled mountain high the drifts arose;<br />A month they took to melt;<br />I’ll leave to you to guess just how<br />Relieved the kingdom felt,<br />And how they cheered Sir Solomon<br />And sent him many gifts;<br />For rescuing them thusly<br />From the blizzard and the drifts.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.</span> <br /></div>ericshanowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879686211456482942noreply@blogger.com