A SHADOW CAST BEFORE

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Originally published in The Philosopher, December 1897.


I am valet to his Majesty the Emperor. My family has served the royal household for nearly two centuries, and we regard the record with pardonable pride.

On my breast glitters an order to possess which many a nobleman would willingly forfeit his wealth, and the Great Emperor himself pinned it there!

I won it in this way.

Entering my master's room one morning to arouse him and serve his customary cup of chocolate, I found him in an especially happy mood, and he entertained me with a goodly number of harmless witticisms as I busied myself over his toilet.

While standing near the dressing table, which was covered with a broad cloth whose folds reached the carpet, I observed the drapery move, as though disturbed from beneath the table. The first time I thought it was my fancy, as no draught could penetrate the room, but as again the cloth swayed perceptibly, I walked to the table and raised the cover while I peered beneath.

The sight that met my gaze was so terrible and unexpected that I gave an involuntary cry.

Squatting under the table was a dark, hunched-backed figure, with evil eyes glowing like two coals, and grasping in its hand a long double-edged dirk!

Hearing my exclamation His Majesty asked, "What is it, you rascal?"

To act promptly is one of the attributes of my family. Without replying to the Emperor I quickly reached beneath the table to clutch and draw forth the vile assassin. My hand met with no resistance; the fellow eluded me. Seizing the edge of the table I thrust it violently aside, and at the same time threw myself bodily upon the spot where the intruder must be.

There was no one there, and I sprawled upon the floor full of consternation and cutting so ridiculous a figure that His Majesty lay back and roared in merriment.

"You ass! You idiot!" he gasped, between fits of laughter, "what in God's name are you trying to do?"

But I pass over my master's reproaches, the more readily that they seemed fully deserved. For although I searched every portion of the chamber, the man had positively disappeared. And when I came to reason upon the matter calmly, I saw how impossible it was that any intruder could have gained access to the royal apartments.

Still, the incident impressed me.

One week later the Emperor was playing at quoits in the garden and I stood by to return the rings as he cast them. Finally a quoit, having alighted upon its edge, rolled briskly without the court and stopped at the edge of a cluster of low shrubs.

Stooping over to secure the errant quoit my eyes penetrated the leafy foliage beside it, and I plainly saw concealed therein the figure of the hunch-back, again clasping the murderous-looking knife and scowling as his dark eyes met mine.

A number of the Emperor's body guard stood a few paces away.

Keeping close watch of the bushes and determined that this time the villain should not escape me, I beckoned the soldiers to my side.

In an instant they had surrounded the shrub, while my eyes remained fastened upon the hunch-back. In one brief sentence I explained the position of the assassin, and at my word half a score of pikes were thrust into the bushes.

I own I expected to see them withdrawn reeking with the scoundrel's blood, and my amazement was supreme when the figure of the man vanished before my very eyes, and the pikes met with no resistance whatever!

Again I was forced to endure the ridicule of the courtiers and the soldiery, while my royal master angrily chided me as a visionary fool and intimated that I was fast outgrowing my usefulness.

Another week rolled away and one afternoon I accompanied his Majesty upon his daily ride. On our return to the palace my master dismounted, nodded gaily to the vast throng of subjects that stood by to gaze upon his benignant features, and started to walk up the avenue either side of which was densely lined with people eager for a near view of the Great Emperor.

I was but a step behind him when I saw, a few paces in advance, the mis-shapen form and scowling face of the hunch-back. His right hand was thrust within his bosom, and I knew intuitively that his fingers grasped the double-edged knife.

As we reached the fellow I pressed to the Emperor's side, and at the same instant the hunch-back sprang forward with a bound.

The sharp blade flashed in his uplifted hand, and that moment might have been my master's last. But I had been forewarned. In an instant my hands clutched the villain's throat, and the blow intended for the Emperor penetrated my breast as I bore the assassin to the ground.

He did not leave the spot alive; for, as the Emperor lifted me in his own august arms, a dozen pikes pinned the would-be murderer to the earth.

It is true I was never able afterward to serve my dear master in person, but he sees that my life wants nothing to render it more bright or contented, and if ever I am tempted to deplore my uselessness, one glance at the glittering order upon my breast restores my peace of mind.

I have since decided that the shadow of the calamity which threatened my master was cast before, and twice I was permitted in an occult way, to perceive the murderer, in order that when the event transpired I might preserve for Europe and for Christendom the greatest ruler of my time.



THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 7, 1920.

Puzzle Corner

The poem that the Forgetful Poet told with flowers is given below. How many did you get?

Sweet William rose and donned his clothes,
  A coxcomb gay was he.
"I'm very poor and so, alas,
  Must marigold," said he.

Sweet William called on Marguerite.
  She blushed a rosy pink,
And when he aster to be his
  Sat down to sigh and think.
But when he asked her poppy, dears,
  He said it would disgrace him,
And lest he left at four o'clock
  The dogwood surely chase him.

This week he's going to say it with vegetables and I'm sure you'll enjoy supplying the blanks in his verses.

The rain ----- on the housetop
  And the roof began to -----,
So ----- have it mended
  The beginning of the week.

The ----- cent moon shines in the sky
  The time is merry spring,
When a lad is apt to -----
  With an eighteen ----- ring.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2014 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE FORGETFUL POET

  By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 29, 1920.     The Puzzle Corner

The cities in last week’s verses were Brest, Nice, Flushing and Adelaide.

Spring is coming. The Forgetful Poet feels it already, and as he has been reading everywhere a line telling folks to “Say it with flowers” he says he thinks he will. Can you read what he has said with flowers?

A Flower Tale
 
----- ----- ----- and donned his clothes;
A ----- gay was he.
“I’m very poor and so, alas,
Must -----,” said he.
----- ----- called on -----.
She blushed a rosy -----
And when he ----- to be his,
Sat down to sigh and think.
But when he asked her -----, dears,
He said it would disgrace him
And lest he left at -----
The ----- surely chase him.

You’ll have to think over the flower names till you find one that will fit the young gentleman and lady in this rhyme. I’ll tell you that the next to last blank should be filled in by a timely flower.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2015 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

AN OLD, OLD STORY

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Grampa in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the PhilAdelphia Public Ledger, December 21, 1919.


Oh, once, this happened years ago
   In brave old London Town,
A little worn-out lad, who swept
   The gentry's chimneys down,

Fell fast asleep, on Christmas Eve,
   Beside a chimney tall;
And dreamed he was invited
   To the children's Christmas ball!

Poor little sweep - so sound asleep!
   The snow came drifting down,
The midnight stage went rattling by
   And through the silent town

The carol singers went their rounds
   And, hark! Their joyous singing
Awoke the bells, and set the silver
   Christmas chimes all ringing!

But still the weary sweep slept on,
   But, sh - h - , just as the stars
Winked out and morning poked her head
   Through night's dark window bars,

That dear old saint, who loves all children,
   In his magic sleigh,
Came clattering o'er the roof tops and,
   My dears and ducks - well, say!

He trimmed the broom of that poor laddie
   With the finest toys,
And then, without a bit of fuss
   Or making any noise,

He lifted him into his sleigh
   And whisked off toward the Pole,
And from that day to this, sweethearts,
   Though don't you tell a soul,

He's been adopted by St. Nick,
   And goes with him each year,
To help him fill the stockings and
   To sweep the chimneys clear!

And, though that happened years ago,
   He never will grow old -
No one does who believes in Kriss,
   Or so I have been told!


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 22, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The cities hidden in the Forgetful Poet's verses last week were: Nancy, Nome and Berne. A ribbon might run if it were a fast color.

Now rub up your location bump and see whether or not you can find these cities:

A part of the body
Will give a French town,
A port that the soldier boys
Know up and down.

Another city of fair France
You'll have, sirs, in a trice,
If you can find the word that means
Quite pleasant. 'Course it's -----

And a name for water rushing
Gives the old Dutch town of -----,
And a maiden's name that's pretty
Gives a large Australian city.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

NOVEMBER and Other Verse

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Originally published in Father Goose's Year Book, 1907.


November

This is the month the football game
Puts wars and rioting to shame.
And moral mortals sink so low
They bet which way the game will go?

Our gentle maidens all adore
The champion who sheds most gore,
And laugh with innocent delight
To see the long-haired fellows fight.

And if a shudder you behold
It's 'cause the weather's beastly cold;
To freeze and shiver every one
With joy submits, to see "the fun."


The North wind doth blow
And we shall have snow
And what will the robber do then, poor thing?
He'll "hold up" a few,
And the whole police, too,
And relieve you of your diamond ring - poor thing!


There was a crooked man
Who was crooked all the while.
He beat his crooked neighbors
In an easy, crooked style.
He delved in crooked politics
And cast a crooked vote,
And now the crooks respect him
As a man of crooked note.


The lady gave a wail
For a man walked up her trail;
Said he: "Great Scott!
As like as not
There's no moral to this tale!"


The perfume on a lady's gown
Suggests the darling meant
No matter whether asked or not
She'd surely give a-scent.


"Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold;
Here's wifey's letter I forgot -
Three days old!"


"Race suicide," said Mr. Jinks,
"I'm guilty of, I know;
For I bet my money on a nag
That never had a show.
'Twas sure a matter of disgrace
To squander money so:
You'd hardly call the thing a race -
'Twas suicidal, though!"


Rolling billiard-balls gather no salary.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 15, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet's Valentine I am sure, most of you unriddled. He meant to say that your eyes shone like stars and to ask you to be his Valentine.

SEVERAL CITIES

In France there is a city, dears,
That lots of people fancy.
It has a girl's name, strange to say,
The pretty name of ------.

In Alaska where a lot
Of Eskimos are at home
Is a city with a small elf's name,
And this one is called ------.

When logs are lit what do they do?
If you can answer this
You'll have a town in Switzerland
That tourists seldom miss.

And what kind of ribbon might run a race?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

LAND O' PATCH

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Hungry Tiger of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 16, 1921.


Patch is a country half-way between the Fairy and Witch Lands, and being neither one nor the other is rather a mixed-up sort of place. The King is mixed up, too, for his mother was a witch and his father a Fairy, and sometimes he is very wicked and bad indeed, so that the people of Patch call him King Cross Patch.

They never know what to expect. One minute he is as good and kind a monarch as a people could want, and next thing he is in a temper, ordering everybody into the tower. The Witches made all manner of fun of him for not being altogether bad, and the Fairies visited him often and begged him to take a magic draught that would make him altogether good. But King Cross Patch couldn't make up his mind. He rather enjoyed making up to people for his unkind spells and "if I were always good I should never have any fun at all," he thought to himself.

So things went on in a very uncomfortable fashion for the poor Patches. One day a man would have a farm and the next day it would be snatched away from him. And it really seemed of no use to be industrious and thrifty, for when the King was in a temper the good fared as badly as the wicked. So the people grew lazy and discontented and the Kingdom of Patch very patchy, indeed.

Two or three times the King was on the point of accepting the Fairies' draught, but each time his bad witch temper spoiled his good resolutions, and one day in a fit of rage he ordered his three sons beheaded. No sooner were the words out, before the King could have bitten his tongue off. I'll tell you why. There is in Patch an ancient law that says that the King's commands once given must be carried out or on the third day afterward the Kingdom of Patch will be destroyed forever.

Never before had the King ordered any one's death. Wicked as he was, he knew that he would regret it and try to fix matters too late. But this time his bad temper got the best of him.

He ran around the palace in a frenzy, tearing out lock after lock of his hair.

The princes, who were delightful young chaps, begged him not to be disturbed, that they would willingly go to their death to save the country. At this the Queen fainted away entirely and the whole court was thrown into confusion. The King, without waiting for his golden chariot, dashed off to Fairyland to ask the Fairies' advice, but the Fairies refused to help him. Then he rushed off to the Witches, but they only roared with glee and said that at last he was as wicked as they themselves and to come over before the kingdom was destroyed.

The poor King, at his wits' end and cursing his wicked temper heartily, returned to the palace and shut himself up with the wise men. They must find a way out of it. And the old wise men thought and thought the whole night through, for they were very fond of the young princes. But when the morning came they could still think of no way out of the difficulty.

"Chop off our heads and be done with it!" said the princes, touched by King Cross Patch's grief, "but promise to take the Fairies' draught and become good hereafter, so that a thing like this may not happen again!"

The King merely wrung his hands and implored the wise men to think harder, which they did. And that night, just as the first star peeked out of the sky, the oldest wise man came running to the King.

"What were your Majesty's exact words?" he asked excitedly.

"You shall all three be beheaded before night!" moaned the King.

"Then the edict cannot be carried out; the command is impossible," exulted the old man, hopping up and down. "No one can make a man's head into a bee's head, leastwise unless they are wizards - and as there are no wizards in the kingdom the command cannot be carried out!"

For a minute the King did not understand. Then all at once he began to shout, too. But before he told any one else he ran over to Fairyland as fast as he could patter and swallowed the magic draught. And thence afterward King Cross Patch was known as the Kind King Cross Patch. And certainly the decree could not be carried out - for no one can be beeheaded except a bee.



THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 8, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet says he wrote this valentine just for you

Will you be my ------?
You are sweet as a duck
And as pink as a lily!
Your nose is a rose -
(Pshaw, this sounds a bit silly.)

Your eyes shine like - dear me
Now what is the word?
It's escaped me entirely,
How simply absurd!

Will you be - will you be -
Now I seem to forget
What I want you do be,
My poor head's all upset.
   (Did you ever?)

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE DUMMY THAT LIVED

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Originally published in American Fairy Tales, 1901.

In all Fairyland there is no more mischievous a person than Tanko-Mankie the Yellow Ryl. He flew through the city one afternoon - quite invisible to mortal eyes but seeing everything himself - and noticed a figure of a wax lady standing behind the big plate glass window of Mr. Floman's department store.

The wax lady was beautifully dressed, and extended in her stiff left hand was a card bearing the words:

"RARE BARGAIN!
This Stylish Costume
(Imported from Paris)
Former Price, $20
REDUCED TO ONLY $19.98."
This impressive announcement had drawn before the window a crowd of women shoppers, who stood looking at the wax lady with critical eyes.

Tanko-Mankie laughed to himself the low, gurgling little laugh that always means mischief. Then he flew close to the wax figure and breathed twice upon its forehead.

From that instant the dummy began to live, but so dazed and astonished was she at the unexpected sensation that she continued to stand stupidly staring at the women outside and holding out the placard as before.

The ryl laughed again and flew away. Anyone but Tanko-Mankie would have remained to help the wax lady out of the troubles that were sure to overtake her; but this naughty elf thought it rare fun to turn the inexperienced lady loose in a cold and heartless world and leave her to shift for herself.

Fortunately it was almost six o'clock when the dummy first realized that she was alive, and before she had collected her new thoughts and decided what to do a man came around and drew down all the window shades, shutting off the view from the curious shoppers.

Then the clerks and cashiers and floorwalkers and cash girls went home and the store was closed for the night, although the sweepers and scrubbers remained to clean the floors for the following day.

The window inhabited by the wax lady was boxed in, like a little room, one small door being left at the side for the window-trimmer to creep in and out of. So the scrubbers never noticed that the dummy, when left to herself, dropped the placard to the floor and sat down upon a pile of silks to wonder who she was, where she was, and how she happened to be alive.

For you must consider, dear reader, that in spite of her size and her rich costume, in spite of her pink cheeks and fluffy yellow hair, this lady was very young - no older, in reality, than a baby born but half an hour. All she knew of the world was contained in the glimpse she had secured of the busy street facing her window; all she knew of people lay in the actions of the group of women which had stood before her on the other side of the window pane and criticised the fit of her dress or remarked upon its stylish appearance.

So she had little enough to think about, and her thoughts moved somewhat slowly; yet one thing she really decided upon, and that was not to remain in the window and be insolently stared at by a lot of women who were not nearly so handsome or well dressed as herself.

By the time she reached this important conclusion, it was after midnight; but dim lights were burning in the big, deserted store, so she crept through the door of her window and walked down the long aisles, pausing now and then to look with much curiosity at the wealth of finery confronting her on every side.

When she came to the glass cases filled with trimmed hats she remembered having seen upon the heads of the women in the street similar creations. So she selected one that suited her fancy and placed it carefully upon her yellow locks. I won't attempt to explain what instinct it was that made her glance into a near-by mirror to see if the hat was straight, but this she certainly did. It didn't correspond with her dress very well, but the poor thing was too young to have much taste in matching colors.

When she reached the glove counter she remembered that gloves were also worn by the women she had seen. She took a pair from the case and tried to fit them upon her stiff, wax-coated fingers; but the gloves were too small and ripped in the seams. Then she tried another pair, and several others, as well; but hours passed before she finally succeeded in getting her hands covered with a pair of pea-green kids.

Next she selected a parasol from a large and varied assortment in the rear of the store. Not that she had any idea what it was used for; but other ladies carried such things, so she also would have one.

When she again examined herself critically in the mirror she decided her outfit was now complete, and to her inexperienced eyes there was no perceptible difference between her and the women who had stood outside the window. Whereupon she tried to leave the store, but found every door fast locked.

The wax lady was in no hurry. She inherited patience from her previous existence. Just to be alive and to wear beautiful clothes was sufficient enjoyment for her at present. So she sat down upon a stool and waited quietly until daylight.

When the janitor unlocked the door in the morning the wax lady swept past him and walked with stiff but stately strides down the street. The poor fellow was so completely whuckered at seeing the well-known wax lady leave her window and march away from the store that he fell over in a heap and only saved himself from fainting by striking his funny bone against the doorstep. When he recovered his wits she had turned the corner and disappeared.

The wax lady's immature mind had reasoned that, since she had come to life, her evident duty was to mix with the world and do whatever other folks did. She could not realize how different she was from people of flesh and blood; nor did she know she was the first dummy that had ever lived, or that she owed her unique experience to Tanko-Mankie's love of mischief. So ignorance gave her a confidence in herself that she was not justly entitled to.

It was yet early in the day, and the few people she met were hurrying along the streets. Many of them turned into restaurants and eating houses, and following their example the wax lady also entered one and sat upon a stool before a lunch counter.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" said a shop girl on the next stool.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" repeated the dummy, and soon the waiter placed them before her. Of course she had no appetite, as her constitution, being mostly wood, did not require food; but she watched the shop girl, and saw her put the coffee to her mouth and drink it. Therefore the wax lady did the same, and the next instant was surprised to feel the hot liquid trickling out between her wooden ribs. The coffee also blistered her wax lips, and so disagreeable was the experience that she arose and left the restaurant, paying no attention to the demands of the waiter for "20 cents, mum." Not that she intended to defraud him, but the poor creature had no idea what he meant by "20 cents, mum."

As she came out she met the window trimmer at Floman's store. The man was rather near-sighted, but seeing something familiar in the lady's features he politely raised his hat. The wax lady also raised her hat, thinking it the proper thing to do, and the man hurried away with a horrified face.

Then a woman touched her arm and said:

"Beg pardon, ma'am; but there's a price-mark hanging on your dress behind."

"Yes, I know," replied the wax lady, stiffly; "it was originally $20, but it's been reduced to $19.98."

The woman looked surprised at such indifference and walked on. Some carriages were standing at the edge of the sidewalk, and seeing the dummy hesitate a driver approached her and touched his cap.

"Cab, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," said she, misunderstanding him; "I'm wax."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and looked after her wonderingly.

"Here's yer mornin' paper!" yelled a newsboy.

"Mine, did you say?" she asked.

"Sure! Chronicle, 'Quirer, R'public 'n' 'Spatch! Wot'll ye 'ave?"

"What are they for?" inquired the wax lady, simply.

"W'y, ter read, o' course. All the news, you know."

She shook her head and glanced at a paper.

"It looks all speckled and mixed up," she said. "I'm afraid I can't read."

"Ever ben to school?" asked the boy, becoming interested.

"No; what's school?" she inquired.

The boy gave her an indignant look.

"Say!" he cried "ye'r just a dummy, that's wot ye are!" and ran away to seek a more promising customer.

"I wonder what he means," thought the poor lady. "Am I really different in some way from all the others? I look like them, certainly; and I try to act like them; yet that boy called me a dummy and seemed to think I acted queerly."

This idea worried her a little, but she walked on to the corner, where she noticed a street car stop to let some people on. The wax lady, still determined to do as others did, also boarded the car and sat down quietly in a corner.

After riding a few blocks the conductor approached her and said:

"Fare, please!"

"What's that?" she inquired, innocently.

"Your fare!" said the man, impatiently.

She stared at him stupidly trying to think what he meant.

"Come, come!" growled the conductor, "either pay up or get off!"

Still she did not understand, and he grabbed her rudely by the arm and lifted her to her feet. But when his hand came in contact with the hard wood of which she was made the fellow was filled with surprise. He stooped down and peered into her face, and, seeing it was wax instead of flesh, he gave a yell of fear and jumped from the car, running as if he had seen a ghost.

At this the other passengers also yelled and sprang from the car, fearing a collision; and the motorman, knowing something was wrong, followed suit. The wax lady, seeing the others run, jumped from the car last of all, and stepped in front of another car coming at full speed from the opposite direction.

She heard cries of fear and of warning on all sides, but before she understood her danger she was knocked down and dragged for half a block.

When the car was brought to a stop a policeman reached down and pulled her from under the wheels. Her dress was badly torn and soiled, her left ear was entirely gone, and the left side of her head was caved in; but she quickly scrambled to her feet and asked for her hat. This a gentleman had already picked up, and when the policeman handed it to her and noticed the great hole in her head and the hollow place it disclosed, the poor fellow trembled so frightfully that his knees actually knocked together.

"Why - why, ma'am, you're - killed!" he gasped.

"What does it mean to be killed?" asked the wax lady.

The policeman shuddered and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"You're it!" he answered, with a groan.

The crowd that had collected were looking upon the lady wonderingly, and a middle-aged gentleman now exclaimed:

"Why, she's wax!"

"Wax!" echoed the policeman.

"Certainly. She's one of those dummies they put in the windows," declared the middle-aged man.

The people who had collected were [line of text missing] -eral shouted: "You're right!" "That's what she is!" "She's a dummy!"

"Are you?" inquired the policeman, sternly.

The wax lady did not reply. She began to fear she was getting into trouble, and the staring crowd seemed to embarrass her.

Suddenly a bootblack attempted to solve the problem by saying: "You guys is all wrong! Can a dummy talk? Can a dummy walk? Can a dummy live?"

"Hush!" murmured the policeman. "Look here!" and he pointed to the hole in the lady's head. The newsboy looked, turned pale and whistled to keep himself from shivering.

A second policeman now arrived, and after a brief conference it was decided to take the strange creature to headquarters. So they called a hurry-up wagon, and the damaged wax lady was helped inside and driven to the police station. There the policeman locked her in a cell and hastened to tell Inspector Mugg their wonderful story.

Inspector Mugg had just eaten a poor breakfast, and was not in a pleasant mood, so he roared and stormed at the unlucky policemen, saying they were themselves dummies to bring such a fairy tale to a man of sense. He also hinted that they had been guilty of intemperance.

The policemen tried to explain, but Inspector Mugg would not listen, and while they were still disputing in rushed Mr. Floman, the owner of the department store.

"I want a dozen detectives, at once, inspector!" he cried.

"What for?" demanded Mugg.

"One of the wax ladies has escaped from my store and eloped with a $19.98 costume, a $4.23 hat, a $2.19 parasol and a 76-cent pair of gloves, and I want her arrested!"

While he paused for breath the inspector glared at him in amazement.

"Is everybody going crazy at the same time?" he inquired, sarcastically. "How could a wax dummy run away?"

"I don't know; but she did. When my janitor opened the door this morning he saw her run out."

"Why didn't he stop her?" asked Mugg.

"He was too frightened. But she's stolen my property, your honor, and I want her arrested!" declared the storekeeper.

The inspector thought for a moment.

"You wouldn't be able to prosecute her," he said, "for there's no law against dummies stealing."

Mr. Floman sighed bitterly.

"Am I to lose that $19.98 costume and the $4.25 hat and - "

"By no means," interrupted Inspector Mugg. "The police of this city are ever prompt to act in defense of our worthy citizens. We have already arrested the wax lady, and she is locked up in cell No. 16. You may go there and recover your property, if you wish, but before you prosecute her for stealing you'd better hunt up a law that applies to dummies."

"All I want," said Mr. Floman, "is that $19.98 costume and - "

"Come along!" interrupted the policeman. "I'll take you to the cell."

But when they entered No. 16 they found only a lifeless dummy lying prone up on the floor; its wax was cracked and blistered, its head was badly damaged, and the bargain costume was dusty, soiled and much bedraggled. For the mischief-loving Tanco-Mankie had flown by and breathed once more upon the poor wax lady, and in that instant her brief life ended.

"It's just as I thought," said Inspector Mugg, leaning back in his chair contentedly. "I knew all the time the thing was a fake. It seems sometimes as though the whole world would go crazy if there wasn't some level-headed man around to bring 'em to their senses. Dummies are wood an' wax, an' that's all there is of 'em."

"That may be the rule," whispered the policeman to himself, "but this one were a dummy as lived!"



THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 1, 1920.
 
The Forgetful Poet just rushed in to say that the Arctic ocean has a relation - because there's his Ant - (aunt) - arctic, you know.

And the Shoe University was Oxford, of course, and coal takes nearly all man earns when it burns.

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE TALE OF THE ENCHANTED BROOM

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Speedy in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Phildelphia Public Ledger, May 30, 1920.


Once upon a time two girls were left alone in the world with only a tumble-down cottage and a crooked-horned cow. No, that is not quite all; for to Elsa, their old grandmother had left a long-handled broom and to Ellen a stout scubbing brush.

"Fie!" said Ellen the day after the funeral, and, picking up the scrubbing brush, hurled it out of the window.

"I'm going to sell the cow, sister, and go to the city to find pleasant work. You may stay here and drudge if you care to!" Elsa said nothing, for she knew Ellen would have her way. After Ellen had gone she sat sadly down by the hearth and wept. It would have been better had she cleaned up the cottage, but, no one to scold her if she did not - what was the use? Pretty soon there came a knock at the door. It was a weary traveler and his wife riding through the village on their way to the city.

"Can we rest here, my good girl?" asked the man; but his wife looked round the untidy room and pulled him out.

"I will not stay in such a place!" said she. They both turned away, and Ellen [sic] saw the man slip a piece of silver back in his purse.

"Ah, how unfortunate I am!" wailed Elsa, and started to weep again. There was only a moldy loaf of bread in the cupboard, and after that was gone she would surely starve. That night a neighbor called and found Elsa still sitting by the hearth.

"Sorrow is well enough, but it will not get you far in the world," said the old lady, looking at her reprovingly.

"Now I am old and you are young. If you will clean out my cottage every day I will give you a fine cow, and you may make butter and sell it in town."

"I'm no drudge," said Elsa, suddenly, and away went the old lady in a huff. At this the broomstick standing in the corner fell to the floor with a crash. The second day Elsa had eaten the last of the loaf.

"No one cares whether I starve!" groaned poor Elsa.

"I do," said a queer little voice, and Elsa looked all around the room, but not a soul was in sight.

"Here I am," said the same voice, and Elsa found that it came from the broom.

"Why don't you clean up?" asked the broom. Elsa was cross and hungry, and when she found it was nothing but a broom talking she gave it a push with her foot and flung herself on the floor. By night time she was hungrier than ever.

"I'll starve! I'll starve!" she wailed dismally.

"No, you won't! No, you won't!" persisted the patient broom.

"I'll help you! I'll help you!" Elsa poked her fingers in her ears, but the broom kept calling till at last she tumbled across the room determined to toss it out the window. But no sooner had her fingers closed on the handle than the broom began to sweep.

"Maybe I will go to the old lady's," murmured Elsa, pleased with the light way the broom slid over the floor. At this the broom gave a little skip, and before she realized it Elsa had swept out the whole cottage. And just as she finished a knock came on the door. It was the same traveler and his wife, this time on the way back.

"How cozy it looks here," sighed the little lady. "Can we remain all night, my dear, and cook our supper over your fire?" And not only did they stay, but invited Elsa to share supper with them, and before they went off in the morning left a goldpiece behind them. Away to the old lady's skipped Elsa with her broom, and so diligently did she work that there was soon a great demand for her services.Moreover, wherever that broom swept old carpet became new and old floors polished and fine. So it was not long before Elsa was rich - rich enough to buy a big, handsome cottage and to invite Ellen backfrom the city to live with her. And not only did they have twenty frocks apiece, but ice cream every day. Ellen searched everywhere for the lost scrubbing bush, but it never was found, which is a pity, for I think it was enchanted, too; though the broom said over and over, "Industry was the only magic to overcome misfortune!"


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 25, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet begs to state that the minutes of a meeting are red (read) and the some stockings can tell time because they have clocks.

"And now," says he, "what ocean has a relation?"

What shoe, now guess
  This rhyme for me,
Will name a
  University?     (In England)

What is it takes
  Most all man earns,
And is alive, sirs,
  When it ------?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.