MISS FORTUNE

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

Illustrated by Salvador Baguez.
Published in the Los Angeles Times Sunday Magazine, February 25, 1934.


“You make me sick!” fumed the dark-haired girl, stirring her tea impatiently. “I should think you’d be worried to death.”

“Something’ll happen,” insisted the red-haired girl cheerfully. “Something always happens. Look!” Expertly she turned her cup upside down, drained out the tea and gazed intently at the fortune the leaves had left in the bottom. “I see a tall stranger coming in the evening time. I see a roll of real bills; money, Nance, money! And here’s a foreigner handing me an honest to roses bouquet!”

“Really, Mollie, you’re incorrigible!”

“No, just Irish!” Setting down the teacup Mollie regarded her visitor with a mischievous twinkle. But it kindled no answering gleam in the practical eye of her friend.

“Your tall man is probably a collector; your roll, a wad of gas and coal bills; the foreigner, an Italian trying to sell you a bunch of bananas.” Having cryptically spoken her mind on the subject and having helpfully eaten all the cake and toast, Nance pushed back her chair. “I’m awfully short myself, but if I can do anything—” Her voice trailed away indefinitely and glancing around with a little shudder she took her efficient departure.

As the door of the small gift shop closed Mollie allowed herself the luxury of a sigh. And well might she sigh, for between Mollie and the wide world there was but one small dime.

“Anyway, it’s new!” The girl peered anxiously into the cash drawer to see if it were still there, then walking about softly began to clear away the dishes. Beautifully enough Mollie’s adventure had started. The tiny house on the edge of the Philadelphia slums, that was to furnish atmosphere and interest, had gayly been leased. The lamp shades, jolly little dogs and mottoes Mollie had been gathering all summer took their place on the shelves of the small front room that was the shop.

At first all had gone well. Friends attracted by the novelty of the location and by Molly’s gay self came in troops. But alas, more to talk than to buy. An overstock of Christmas novelties, and understock of cash, an unexpected flood of bills, a sudden falling off of customers, and Mollie found herself in mid-January with no capital to renew her wares and not even enough money to pay up her debts and return to the small town from which she had set out so bravely to make her fortune.

As for the neighborhood that was to have furnished atmosphere and interest, it exhaled instead and awful elixir of smoke, garlic and garbage. Too proud to admit defeat, Mollie held her small red head high and vowed to herself that she’d stick. But today, in spite of her gay jests, Mollie’s spirits had begun to droop and there was a tiny panic in the mere thought of tomorrow.

“Some folks,” murmured the girl whimsically, “some folks, cat dear, might call this tea, but tonight we’ll be calling it dinner!” Jock, huge and black, waved his tail just enough to let Mollie know that it was all right with him, then leaped into a chair and surveyed the table hungrily.

“She’s left you no cake and precious little milk, but don’t you care; tomorrow you shall have a fine fish!” As if reassured by this brave promise puss gravely lapped up his saucer of milk and Mollie, having finished her task of clearing away, lit a bright candle and set it in the tiny window. “To light luck to our door!” she whispered rather wistfully into the silky ear of Jock, who had curled up on the counter. “Something’s going to happen, cat dear, something has to happen!”

But the long winter afternoon slipped gayly by and nothing did. Footsteps went maddeningly up and down the narrow street, but no one turned in to inquire the price of the peasant dolls in the window nor to buy a tea cozy for Aunt Susan. As the shadows grew longer and longer Mollie’s sewing dropped into her lap and she gazed pensively out into the dusk. A soft slap against the door made her jump up and, scurrying across the room she flung it open.

“Why, it’s the foreigner!” chuckled Mollie as a swarthy youth distributing samples nodded pleasantly from the next step—“and the roses!” Scooping up the small box of breakfast food Mollie ran back into the shop. “The milkman still trusts us and here’s breakfast, Your Honor!” Waving the bright package at the cat and unnaccountably cheered, Mollie skipped back to her sewing. Even the candle seemed to flicker more brightly after that, and when a moment later the latch of the door was lifted and a tall stranger strode in Mollie was not even surprised.

“It’s himself!”  breathed the girl softly. The stranger removed his hat and cleared his throat in the manner of a man who has disagreeable work ahead of him.

“Good evening,” said Mollie demurely. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Expecting me!” The stranger eyed her uncomfortably, then took a quick survey of the shop.

“Sure, and I saw you in my teacup!” Leaning her elbows on the little counter, Mollie’s merry blue eyes smiled into the anxious brown ones.

“But you see—” The brown eyes grew more anxious still, and fumbling in his coat pocket the young man brought out a bundle of paper. “You see, I’m a collector and this—”

“I knew,” confided Mollie, clasping her hands in delight, “I knew the minute I set eyes on you that you were a collector. Would it be antiques or pictures that you’re collecting?” With a slight gasp the young man returned the wad of papers to his pocket and after a long look into Mollie’s vivid little face decided that it would be pictures.

In a flash Mollie had whisked to the back of the shop, returning in a moment with a small, dingily framed landscape. “We haven’t many right now, but this—this goes so to the heart!” Snatching the candle from the window Mollie held it close to the painting. First the young man looked at the landscape and then at Mollie. And whether one or both went to the heart it was hard to tell. Reluctantly at last he tore his gaze from the girl and fastened it again upon the landscape. To his amazement he discovered it was a good picture. Great Scott, more than that! Taking the candle from Mollie he examined it with growing excitement.

“Where did you get this?” His voice was so sharp Mollie jumped. At first she was inclined to make up a beautiful story about it being in her family for years and years. But something in the earnest brown eyes brought out the truth. A young English chap, confided Mollie, who had rented her second story for a studio and then gone on the rocks, had left it instead of rent.

“Some rent!” The young man gave a low whistle. “Do you realize, young lady, that this is a genuine Corot? Look at the signature! I know a lot about pictures myself, but I’d like to show this to a friend of mine. Do you care?” Puzzling over just what a Corot might be, for Mollie’s knowledge of art was rather of the lamp shade and embroidery variety, she shook her head, and the stranger, muttering incoherent promises, rushed out of the shop.

It never occurred to Mollie that he might not return. It never occurred to the young man either, and before the little Dutch clock had ticked off an hour he was back with an excited gentleman in a fur coat. Would she accept $2000 for the landscape?

Would she? Mollie clapped her hand to her head and sank wearily into a chair; then as the tall stranger signaled vigorously for her to accept the man’s offer she nodded her head. “But the English lad shall have half,” murmured Mollie in a daze of disbelief. And now the fur-coated angel had actually made out the check and gone and Mollie and the tall stranger were alone.

“Well, Miss King,” sighed the collector regretfully, “I suppose I must be going too.” But there was no conviction in his voice nor in the bewildered nod Mollie gave to this statement. And seeing her so puzzled and happy, what was there for him to do but stay and tell her a bit about the life of Corot, the artist chap, and from that how easy it was to drift into the life story of another chap, who was doing quite well in the collecting line, working his way up through the various departments of his father’s firm.

Indeed it was hours later that the door of the little shop really closed behind him and not then, till he had added another picture to his collection, the picture of Mollie herself that had perched so saucily on the mantel beside the Dutch clock.


*   *   *   *   *   *   *
“Well?” The matter-of-fact voice of Nancy made Mollie look up with a start from her account book the next morning.

“Woman!” cried Mollie, dancing across the shop. “It all came true!”

“What came true?” Nancy stared in amazement at this new and exuberant Mollie.

“The fortune! Girl, dear, the fortune!” Snatching the check from the drawer Mollie waved it over her head, and it was quite fifteen minutes before Nancy had the story straight.

“And are you going to buy some new stock and start again—are you going to—?”

“Maybe!” Speculatively Mollie chewed her pencil, glancing sideways at the empty spot beside the Dutch clock. “Maybe, but I’m thinking perhaps there might be other plans.”

And let it be said that “other plans” were indeed actively brewing, at that very moment, in certain other quarters.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 25, 1917.

The Secret Sorrow of the Queen

The daffodils are nodding
In the gardens and the hedges
And showing Spring’s first signal greens
Along their blushing edges.
The air is soft and teasing and
All in Supposyville
Are happy, ’cepting one, the Queen—
The lovely Queen is ill.
The sweetest singers cheer her not,
The garden makes her sigh,
And when no one’s about to hear,
She murmurs sadly, “WHY?”
The doctors first look at her tongue,
Next listen to her heart,
Then feel her pulse and shake their heads
And solemnly depart.
The wise men come in tens and fives,
The poor King is distraught,
And everywhere throughout the land
A remedy is sought.
But just as things are at their worst
A wrinkled dame declares
She’ll cure the Queen—Nine footmen tall
Conduct her up the stairs!
She whispers but one word. The Queen
Sits up and claps her hands;
Out from her apron comes a box—
“BEGONE!” the Queen commands.
The twelve attendants go at once,
Then trembling with delight
She opens the box and, dears and ducks,
The wise old dame was right!
A lovely bonnet, dainty as a
Rainbow after showers,
She’s brought a new spring bonnet,
Ribbons, bits of lace and flowers!
“I don’t mind my crown in winter!”
Sighed the Queen, “but in the spring
I’ve got to have a bonnet. Now
Do you suppose the King
Would mind if I put by my jeweled
Crown until the fall?”
“Of course he wouldn’t, dearie.
Why, he wouldn’t mind at all!”
Just then the King himself appeared—
I can’t describe the way
The Queen looked in that bonnet—
First the King had naught to say,
But gazed in speechless wonderment.
“You’re twice a Queen in that!
Sweet Pozy, put your crown away
And wear that lovely hat!”
And now on fair and balmy days
Queen Pozy wears her bonnet
Which is quite as it should be, dears,
The more I think upon it.
And all Supposyville kneels to
The bonnet, bending down
Thrice deeper than they ever bent,
Sweethearts, to her gold crown.

Copyright © 2019 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE DANCING LESSON

Verse and illustration by John R. Neill
Author of The Runaway in Oz, The Wonder City of Oz, Lucky Bucky in Oz, etc. 

Originally published in The Sunday Magazine, December 25, 1904

Click on image to enlarge.

“To be a society beau
Good manners you clearly must kneau,”
Said the maitre de danse
With a flourish from France
As he gracefully stood on his teau.

The children advanced in a reau
And gracefully courtesied leau,
And when they succeeded
In doing as he did
They cried in their rapture: “Heau-Heau!”

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 18, 1917.

The Invasion of Supposyville

What happened in that Kingdom

Of Supposyville last week
Is really so remarkable
I hesitate to speak
About it. Still I might as well
Tell you, sweethearts, I s’pose,
’Cause every single person
In the Maybe Kingdom knows!
’Twas the time when all Supposyville
Turns out to promenade,
Just 3 o’clock, but scare had the
Procession gone a rod
Before the tramp of heavy feet,
The sound of beating drums,
The tooting of a hundred horns
To all the company comes!
The gates are opened in a trice
And all Supposyville
Turns out to see AN ARMY HUGE
A-charging down the hill.
The Queen dispatched her cooks with haste—
“A FEAST and lemonade,
How nice of them to call on us
And what a fine parade!”
The lads and lassies clap their hands
And all stand in a row
And wave their ’kerchiefs and the
Children fairy kisses blow.
The trumpeter toots on his horn,
The Queen’s pet tickle bird
Flies off to meet the army.
’Fore a man could say a word
He’d flown beneath each chin and flicked
His tickle feathers lightly;
Each soldier man tried not to grin
But roared at last outrightly.
Before the Captain’s face is straight
Enough to thunder, “CHARGE!”
The cooks approach, the first one armed
With an apple pie SO large,
So juicy and delectable
The army is distraught,
Broke ranks, advanced. Not for the Kingdom,
For the PIE they fought!
“Why, there is plenty, plenty more,
You famished men, ne’er fear;
We’ve lemonade and apple pie
For every soldier here,”
The Queen assured them, while the Captain
Tried to frown a frown,
And say, “Go to, we’ve conquered you!”
Instead, he just sat down
On a chair a page brought. Never, dears,
Were soldier men so treated;
At 6 o’clock they marched away
Delighted, and defeated.
“How can one fight an enemy
Who fills you up with PIE?”
The Captain chuckled to his men,
“No use at all to try!”
And on the records that he keeps
He wrote this sentence down:
“We cannot capture them, because
We’re captured by the town!”

Copyright © 2019 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

OLIVER ELEPHANT GOT EVEN

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

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 20, 1914. 


One day Oliver Elephant and his cousin, Tommy Tapir, were walking through the deep forest together. They were going after cocoanuts. Tommy was such a happy little chap that he could not help singing the song that his mother sang to him in the morning. This is it:

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy Tapir,
If you’re good as you can be,
You can have some bread and ’lasses
And some ginger snaps for tea.”

Oliver Elephant didn’t have much of a voice, but he rumbled tumpty, tum tum under his breath. He swung his trunk to and fro and felt that the world was a very nice place for little elephants. So you see, they both were happy.

Pretty soon they came to the tall cocoanut trees. “Oooh,” sighed Oliver Elephant, shutting one eye. “Ummmm,” chuckled Tommy Tapir, licking his chops. Then Oliver and Tommy both began picking up the cocoanuts that were lying on the ground. Tommy pushed his into a pile with his nose and Oliver picked his up in his trunk. After they each had about twenty, I guess, they sat down to rest. “Betcha I can eat mine faster than you,” aid Oliver Elephant. “Betcha can’t,” said Tommy Tapir. “All right now,” said Oliver, “when I count three we’ll start.”

“One—two—three,” sang out Oliver Elephant. Whackety—bang!! Down came a cocoanut on Oliver Elephant’s head, and at the same minute another bounced on Tommy Tapir’s nose. “Ooooooh,” screamed Oliver Elephant. “Ouch,” screamed Tommy, jumping up and kicking over all his cocoanuts. You see it was mighty surprisesome getting cocoanuts on the outside when you’re expecting them on the in.

“Huh—who did that,” screamed Oliver Elephant. “Huh—who—” began Tommy Tapir. But just then down came a whole shower of cocoanuts. Bang!! Bump!! Bump!! They hit Oliver Elephant on the head and on the trunk and on the foot—and—oh—they just hit him EVERYWHERE. They hit Tommy Tapir, too. “Run away, run away, come again some other day,” sang two voices and two bad little monkeys stuck their heads out of the leaves and made faces at Oliver and Tommy. “Come down here, and I’ll shake you to pieces,” roared Oliver Elephant. “If I ever get hold of your tail—” said Tommy Tapir. “Ha, Ha,” laughed the monkeys, and shook the trees till cocoanuts came down like a hailstorm on poor Oliver and Tommy.

Now I don’t want you to think that Oliver and Tommy weren’t brave. They were. I don’t believe even you could have stood all those cocoanuts bumping on top of you without running. “I’ll get even—I’ll get even—I’ll get even” sobbed Oliver Elephant over and over as he ran off home. I don’t know what Tommy Tapir said.

“What’s the matter?” asked his big kind mother as he came plunging in the door. Then he told her about the bad little monkeys. “But I’ll get even—I’ll get even,” he kept sobbing. His big kind mother didn’t say much, but she tied his poor bumped head up in a big palm leaf. Then she went and got her hat. “Where are you going?” asked Oliver, looking out from under the palm leaf. “To help you get even,” said his mother. Then she whispered a few words in Oliver’s big ear and went along down the road.

Pretty soon the bad little monkeys saw her coming and they hid behind their mammy, ’cause they surely thought they were going to get—well, what little folks usually get when they are very bad indeed. Oliver Elephant’s mother just knocked very gently on the tree and said, “I just came over to see whether you and the boys wouldn’t take supper with us.” And their mammy, who didn’t know how naughty they had been, said, “Why, we’d love to.” Then Oliver Elephant’s mother went home and she and Oliver had a big laugh together.

Soon the bad little monkeys and their mammy came knocking at the door, and when their mammy saw Oliver Elephant with his head all tied up, she threw up her hands. “Oh, what is the matter with big little Oliver Elephant?” Then the two little monkeys began to shiver and shake and hang their heads, but Oliver Elephant’s mother just shook her head. “Oliver Elephant has had a very sad accident,” and that’s all she did say. Then Oliver Elephant got out all his best toys for the monkeys to play with (they didn’t feel much like playing), and after a while Tommy Tapir came over. His head was tied up, too. “Oh, what’s the matter with Tommy Tapir?” cried the bad little monkeys’ mammy again. “He’s had a very sad accident,” said Oliver Elephant’s mother, and that’s all she did say. Then she showed the boys how to play the games she used to play when she was a little elephant, and they all played “tails up and tails down” till tea time.

For tea they had the most delightful things. I can’t remember just what, and every time the two little bad monkeys looked at Oliver’s and Tommy’s bandaged heads they felt SO ashamed that they never threw cocoanuts at anybody again. So you see that Mother Elephant’s way of getting even was best.

(Oliver Elephant has just told me that the two little monkeys said they were sorry. I am very glad of this.)

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 11, 1917.

 

More About Supposyville

Now in Supposyville there lived,
Besides the king and queen,
Enough Supposyvillers to
Count up to umpty steen!
And all of them were happy.
Well, no wonder, in a town
Where posies sprang up everywhere
And none knew how to frown;
Where every maid and lad could dance
And every one could sing,
And every week the whole sweet town
Went calling on the king.
The queen would order cakes and tea,
And what a time they had;
No wonder that they all, I say,
Were good and never bad!
But one night as they frolicked
At the Court Supposy ball,
A rumbling sounded out of doors
That fairly shook the hall!
The king took off his crown and stood
Upon his tippy toes
To look out of the casement.
“Mercy! What do you suppose?”
Each murmured to the other.
OPEN burst the door and then
In strode a pirate and his crew.
“My, what delightful men!”
The king exclaimed, and hurried up
Before a dirk was drawn,
And clapped the chief upon the back,
Was e’er such goings on?
The chieftain muttered to his mates;
Ere they knew how or why
There they were, dancing with the rest,
If anything, more spry.
The queen pressed on the scalawags
The choice of all her roses,
For in this quaint, queer country
Every one, you know, supposes
Each person to be just as nice
As he or she is—WHEW * *
Those pirates were embarrassed so
They scarce knew what to do;
They stood it for an hour,
Then they left without a spoon.
“With such goings on I’m blessed if I
Could take a chipped doubloon!”
The chieftain rumbled as he pushed
The boat out from the shore;
“If all the world were like that town
I’d be a rogue no more!”

Copyright © 2019 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SONG for the AL MALAIKAH NOBLES

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in the Los Angeles Times, Sunday, May 30, 1909.

[The nobles of the Al Malaikah Temple at Los Angeles’s Shrine Auditorium planned to attend the Shrine convention in Louisville, Kentucky. L. Frank Baum wrote the following lyrics for them to sing while traveling to the convention.]

(Tune, “Dixie.”)

Oh, way Southwest, in the land of posies,
Oranges, olives, nuts and roses,
We’re away, today, to play, and be gay.
Our Arab Patrol is Malaikah’s hope.
We’re the pride of the blue Pacific Slope,
Hold on, hold on, hold on to the rope.
We’ve traveled far to Dixie,
Zem zem, Zem zem,
Our lemons we can recommend,
But we never hand one to a friend,
Zem zem, Zem zem,
We’re glad we’ve come to Dixie,
Zem zem, Zem zem,
We’re here to capture Dixie.

We are here for fun, we are on the run,
For a stein for a Shriner every one,
Look away, hooray, yea, yea, happy day;
We are Angeles from Los Angeles,
We’re Billikens from the western seas,
We can stand hot sand, with any band, in the land;
We’ve come to join the conclave,
Zem zem, Zem zem,
In Louisville, we’ll get our fill
Of “con” and “clave,” we surely will
Zem zem, Zem zem;
Hurrah for the Louisvillians!
Zem zem, Zem zem,
We’ll shout for Louisville.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 4, 1917.

The Riddle of the Princess of Supposyville

’Way off a year or so from here
And a hundred miles besides,
In the kingdom of Supposyville
A princess fair resides.
At least, she was a princess
At the time she made the riddle.
But here I am as usual
Starting off ’way in the middle!
Well, knights in plumes rode up and down
Before her castle gate,
And many a king would give his crown
To marry her, folks state.
The princess, just as sweet and kind
As she is fair, is harassed
By twenty thousand suitors,
Till no wonder she’s embarrassed.
So, calling all her councilors,
She tells them to decree
That who can guess her riddle
Will be chosen speedily!
“Have not all princesses by riddles
Since the world began
Arranged such matters?” she inquires.
They quite approve the plan.
And on a certain day they come
By hundreds to the court,
The merchants, sailors, dukes and lords
And men of every sort!
Then, on a golden dais steps
The princess, lightly dances,
Her every bow and turn the company
More and more entrances.
And next, before they’ve caught their breath,
The lovely princess sings.
Each note drops like a rose leaf,
And each heart that hears takes wings!
Now stops the princess suddenly.
“My riddle—listen well!
What man would hark not to my voice
Nor note my dancing—tell?
Nor wed me, though I asked him over
Twenty times?” No notion
Had most of them, and what a noise
Arose and what commotion!
“A Hottentot!” guessed one; another
Called out boldly, “I
Like not your singing, princess,
And your dancing’s awkward, FIE!
And think’st that I would marry
Any one who asked me to?”
“I don’t like flattery,” quoth she,
“But have you answered true?”
Both this and that was guessed till every
One but ONE had missed—
And there the lovely princess stood
Unwon and all unkissed.
Then stepped the last one forward
And the last one was a king!
And bless my heart and heels! He guessed
The riddle off first thing!
“No man,” said he, “could be so rude,
So stupid, so unkind,
Unless, fair princess, he were deaf
And dumb and likewise BLIND!”
Yes, they were wedded on the spot
And all the bells are ringing—
And if you listen carefully
You’ll hear the princess singing.

Copyright © 2018 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE PARTY OF THE SOLOMON SQUIRRELS!

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Captain Salt in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard in Oz, and The Wish Express, etc. 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 23, 1916.


“I’m that disappointed I could just cry!” Mrs. Solomon Squirrel rocked jerkily backwards and forwards in the kitchen rocker, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron. Solomon was still peering through his spectacles at a telegram that had just been left by a sparrow messenger boy. “Ice unsafe, cannot cross the pond sorry to miss the party, Suzanne Squirrel.” “Couldn’t we postpone it, my dear?” ventured Solomon timidly. “Postpone it!” wailed Mrs. Squirrel throwing up her paws. “With all the nuts cracked and all the cakes and pies made—how you do talk, Solomon!” “It was only a suggestion, my dear!” Solomon reached apologetically for his hat and muttering something about “business appointment” hurried out of the house—I mean tree. He could not bear to see Mrs. Squirrel unhappy. She had worked so hard over the party, too, and here Suzanne, her husband and six children were not going to get there.

He was so worried and upset that he hardly spoke to Jack Rabbit’s Uncle John as he passed his door and the poor old rabbit gentleman was quite hurt, for Solomon always stopped and told him all the tree news and he told Solomon all the ground news. He had a choice bit this morning, too, about Henry Hedgehog’s new waistcoat. But Solomon was thinking of everything else but waistcoats just then. He whisked along down to the pond to see for himself whether the ice had broken up. “What in the world did Suzanne want to live on the other side of the pond for? Hadn’t he often offered to find her a tree near them?” He tapped the ice sharply with his cane, then shading his eyes with the newspaper, stared across. Sure enough, there was a great crack in the centre and a big sign reading, “Danger! Keep off!”

The sight was very depressing and the more he thought of the cupboard full of cakes and the pantry full of nuts and pies the worse he felt. “We’ll be eating ’em for the rest of the winter, for Sarah will never allow ’em to be wasted!” he reflected sadly. “Eating what for the rest of the winter?” said a voice behind him so suddenly that Mr. Squirrel dropped his cane with a crash. “Ha! Ho! Ho! Ha!” laughed two jolly voices and Solomon’s cousins, Benjamin and Jonathan Beaver, slapped him heartily upon the back. Solomon was so relieved to see some one to whom he could tell his troubles that he cheered up wonderfully.

“To (sic) bad! Too bad!” sympathized Benjamin when they had heard all about it. “Shouldn’t wonder if the thaw lasted a considerable spell!” observed Jonathan, squinting at the sun knowingly. “Come along, Ben, we’ve a deal of wood to cut today.” Benjamin didn’t answer for he was staring across the pond as if he saw something mighty interesting over there. “What is it?” questioned Solomon, shading his eyes with the paper again. “An idea!” chuckled Benjamin, rubbing his paws together. Then giving Solomon a poke in the ribs that left him breathless, he pointed to the tree under which they were standing. Still Solomon looked mystified. But Jonathan seemed to know immediately what the idea was. “Fine!” he exclaimed, pulling off his coat!

Then Benjamin got on one side of the tree and Jonathan on the other and they gnawed and gnawed with their sharp teeth till, my goody two shoes, down it came with a crash and fell across the pond, making the finest bridge you ever saw! And Solomon Squirrel was so delighted he threw his hat up in the air and cheered for dear life. Then he shook paws with both his cousins, clapped his hat on again and scampered across to tell Suzanne and the family that they could come to his wife’s party.

All in a flutter he rushed back again to tell Mrs. Solomon Squirrel the good news. So they both put on aprons and all the little Solomon Squirrels put on aprons and in three whisks of a tail the table was set and everything was right again. At 2 o’clock Suzanne Squirrel and her family, all dressed in gray fur coats, might have been seen stepping daintily over the beavers’ bridge on their way to the party. And I’m very glad it all turned out so happily, aren’t you!

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson  

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, April 17, 1921

The Forgetful Poet’s Puzzles

The Forgetful Poet surely mixed himself up last week with a wakesap instead of a knapsack and tame flowers ’stead of wild flowers and woods overhead and sky underfoot. Then he used sang for trudged and trudged for sang, and left out today entirely—but for all of that it was a very fine poem HE says.

[This is the final installment of "The Forgetful Poet." There won't be any answers next time. Look for a NEW continuing feature: Supposyville Stories!]

Copyright © 2018 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE CORONATION

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WHEN OLIVER ELEPHANT DIDN'T MIND HIS MOTHER

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Hungry Tiger of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard in Oz, and The Wish Express, etc. 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 13, 1914.


ONCE—once, BIG little Oliver Elephant didn’t mind his mother. Think of that!

“Now don’t go beyond the tall cocoanut trees, Oliver Elephant!” his big kind mother said shaking her trunk at him; and

“Don’t go beyond the tall cocoanut trees!” His GREAT BIG FATHER had said. putting up his ears; and

“Don’t go beyond the tall cocoanut trees!” his GREAT BIG UNCLE ABNER had said. Then his big kind mother went on stirring up the huge hay pudding she was making for lunch—and his big father—and his big Uncle Abner—they went hunting—and big little Oliver Elephant went out to play.

Pretty soon he came to that part of the forest where the tall cocoanut trees were. It was very dark and tangled beyond, but Oliver Elephant thought it looked very INTERESTING. And the more he looked the more interesting it seemed to grow. All at once a bright green snake went daring between the tall cocoanut trees right into the dark tangle beyond, and before Oliver Elephant knew what he was about he was running lumpety lump lump lump! after it. It went shooting and darting ahead and Oliver ran and ran and ran—till he was a great big long ways from his big kind mother. The forest got deeper and deeper and DEEPER and darker and darker and DARKER! And first thing you know little Oliver Elephant fell over a tangly vine and hurt himself dreadfully. Then he began to feel frightened. “Oooh! what big black shadows there are here!” said he. “Oooh! How still it is here!”

THEN—suddenly he heard footsteps. Pat! pat! pat!—pat! pat! pat! They were coming straight for HIM! Oliver Elephant flapped his big ears and rolled his little eyes—and wished he could see his big kind mother. Then from the opposite direction came other footsteps. Pat! pat! patter! Pat! pat! patter! The trees began to sigh—“whooooooooh! And the branches began to crack—and Oliver just held his breath. Who do you ’spose was coming? I’d better tell you right away. It was MRS. SHAGGY LION—and MRS. TABITHA TIGER. They were on their way to market, too!

“Br-rrAH!” roared Mrs. Shaggy Lion, stepping out of the shadows.

“Gr-ruuF!” growled Mrs. Tabitha Tiger. Then they both set down their market baskets and looked at Oliver Elephant.

“I’ll take his HEAD!” roared Mrs. Shaggy Lion, and “I’ll take his trunk and his two front legs!” rumbled Mrs. Tabitha Tiger “M—m! What a fine elephant pie ’twill make!” roared Mrs. Shaggy Lion, licking her chops; and “Oooh! what a lumpety chumpety elephant stew I’ll have!” purred Mrs. Tabitha Tiger, rolling her green eyes.

Poor Oliver Elephant was so sca—red that he could not even swallow. “ELEPHANT PIE!” “ELEPHANT STEW!” Oh, why hadn’t he minded his mother!

Now Mrs. Shaggy Lion and Mrs. Tabitha Tiger were so sure of little Oliver Elephant that they stood talking about how the little shaggy lionesses loved elephant pie—and how the little tigresses loved elephant stew. Besides they wanted to rest before they started to divide Oliver up into heads and trunks and things—UGH!

But fortunately some one was listening. I’ll tell you who! One of the little brown wood elves who look after the little wild children same as the good fairies look after you! He heard all this talking about elephant pie and such—and he leapt up Oliver’s trunk and he crept into Oliver’s ear and whispered just ONE word—then he flew away.

“And how’s Mr. Shaggy Lion?— ” began Mrs. Tabitha Tiger—but here Oliver Elephant came crashety smashing into them and HEAD over TAILS over MARKET BASKETS went Mrs. Shaggy Lion and Mrs. Tabitha Tiger—bump! BUMPETY BUMP! BUMP!—and all they ever saw of Oliver Elephant was a cloud of sticks and dust! The little word that the elf had whispered was this—“RUN!”—and he did! He ran and ran and ran and never stopped till he came all dusty and tired to his own house. There stood his big kind mother with the tears running down her trunk in bucketfuls ’cause she thought he was LOST! But when she saw him coming—she was so glad to see him that she forgot how naughty he had been and she threw her trunk around his neck and hugged and hugged him. So did his big father and his uncle Abner Elephant. And after that—Oliver Elephant always minded his mother.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson  

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, April 3, 1921.

The Forgetful Poet’s Puzzles

The Forgetful Poet’s Easter poem was all very well as far as it went, but, as usual, our forgetful friend left out half of the words. They were ears, snow and know it.

Spring

Oh, skates and tops, and jumping ropes,
Oh, marbles, balls and kites!

They’re here. Oh, spring, I rise to -----
Of all your dear delights.

The trees are gay with lovely grass,
The fields are full of leaves,

And little birds sing high and low
And twitter in the -----.

It’s time to gard a planten,
And be happy as a king.

My hair is gray, but, oh, I say,
I just adore the -----.

Some of the words in these verses seem a bit twisted to me. How do they strike you? That trees full of grass, for instance! Oh, well, the dear soul is so enthusiastic he’s got himself a little mixed.

[Answers next time.]

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