LIST OF CHAPTERS
The Great Elixir
Over the door appeared a weather-worn sign that read: "JULES
GROGRANDE, BAKER." In one of the windows, painted upon a sheet of
cardboard, was another sign: "Home-made Bread by the Best Modern
Machinery." There was a third sign in the window beyond the doorway, and
this was marked upon a bit of wrapping-paper, and said: "Fresh
Gingerbread Every Day."
When you opened the door, the top of it struck a brass bell
suspended from the ceiling and made it tinkle merrily. Hearing the
sound, Madame Leontine Grogrande would come from her little room back of
the shop and stand behind the counter and ask you what you would like to
purchase.
Madame Leontine--or Madame Tina, as the children called her--was
quite short and quite fat; and she had a round, pleasant face that was
good to look upon. She moved somewhat slowly, for the rheumatism
troubled her more or less; but no one minded if Madame was a bit slow in
tying up her parcels. For surely no cakes or buns in all the town were
so delicious or fresh as those she sold, and she had a way of giving the
biggest cakes to the smallest girls and boys who came into her shop, that
proved she was fond of children and had a generous heart.
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened
the door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted
the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were sure
to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies and
doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and show-cases
were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too; and because all
the goods were fresh and wholesome the bakery was well patronized and did
a thriving business.
The reason no one saw Monsieur Jules in the shop was because his
time was always occupied in the bakery in the rear--a long, low room
filled with ovens and tables covered with pots and pans and dishes (which
the skillful baker used for mixing and stirring) and long shelves bearing
sugars and spices and baking-powders and sweet-smelling extracts that
made his wares taste so sweet and agreeable.
The bake-room was three times as big as the shop; but Monsieur
Jules needed all the space in the preparation of the great variety of
goods required by his patrons, and he prided himself on the fact that his
edibles were fresh-made each day. In order to have the bread and rolls
ready at breakfast time he was obliged to get up at three o'clock every
morning, and so he went to bed about sundown.
On a certain forenoon the door of the shop opened so abruptly
that the little brass bell made a furious jingling.
An Arab dashed into the room, stopped short, looked around with a
bewildered air, and then rushed away again and banged the door after him.
Madame looked surprised, but said nothing. She recognized the
Arab to be a certain Ali Dubh, living in the neighborhood, who was
accustomed to purchase a loaf from her every morning. Perhaps he had
forgotten his money, Madame thought.
When the afternoon was half over he entered again, running as if
fiends were at his heels. In the center of the room he paused, slapped
his forehead despairingly with both palms, and said in a wailing voice:
"They're after me!"
Next moment he dashed away at full speed, even forgetting to
close the door; so Madame came from behind the counter and did it
herself. She delayed a moment to gaze at the figure of Ali Dubh racing
up the street. Then he turned the corner of an alley and disappeared
from view.
Things did not startle Madame easily; but the Arab's queer
behavior aroused in her a mild curiosity, and while she stood looking
through the glass of the door, and wondering what had excited the man,
she saw two strange forms glide past her shop with a stealthy motion and
proceed in the same direction Ali Dubh had taken.
They were also Arabs, without a doubt; for although their forms
were muffled in long cloaks, the turbans they wore and the glint of their
dark, beady eyes proclaimed them children of the desert.
When they came to the alley where Ali Dubh had disappeared, the
two strangers were joined by a third, who crept up to them with the sly,
cat-like tread Madame had noted, and seemed to confer with them.
Afterward one turned to the east, a second continued up the street, and
the third stole into the alley.
"Yes," thought Madame, "they are after Ali Dubh, sure enough.
But if they move so slowly they are not likely to catch the poor fellow
at all."
Now, Madame knew very little of her queer customer; for although
he made a daily visit to the bakery for a loaf and a few cakes, he was of
a gloomy disposition, and never stopped for a chat or a bit of gossip.
It was his custom to silently make his simple purchases and then steal
softly away.
Therefore his excited actions upon this eventful day were really
remarkable, and the good lady was puzzled how to explain them.
She sat late in the shop that evening, burning a dingy oil lamp
that swung in the center of the room. For her rheumatism was more
painful than usual, and she dreaded to go to bed and waken Monsieur Jules
with her moanings. The good man was slumbering peacefully upstairs--she
could hear his lusty snores even where she sat--and it was a shame to
disturb him when he must rise so early.
So she sat in her little room at the end of the counter, trying
to knit by the light of a flickering candle, and rocking back and forth
in her chair with a monotonous motion.
Suddenly the little bell tinkled and a gust of air entered the
shop, sending the mingled odors of baked stuff whirling and scurrying
about the room in a most fragrant manner. Then the door closed, and
Madame laid down her knitting and turned to greet the new-comer.
To her astonishment, it proved to be Ali Dubh. His brown cheeks
were flushed, and his glittering black eyes roamed swiftly over the shop
before they turned full upon the Madame's calm face.
"Good!" he exclaimed, "you are alone."
"It is too late for trade. I am going to bed presently," said
Madame.
"I am in great trouble, and you must help me," returned the Arab,
hastily. "Lock your door and come with me into your little room, so that
no one can see us through the street windows."
Madame hesitated. The request was unusual, and she knew nothing
of the Arab's history. But she reflected that if the man attempted
robbery or other mischief she could summon Monsieur Jules with a cry.
Also, her interest had been aroused by Ali Dubh's queer behavior during
the day.
While she thought the matter over the Arab himself locked the
street door and hurried into the little room, where Madame composedly
joined him a moment later.
"How can I help you?" she asked, picking up her knitting again.
"Listen!" said the Arab. "I must tell you all. You must know the
truth!" He put his hand in a pocket of his loose robe and drew out a
small flask. It was no bigger than two fingers and was made of pure
gold, upon which strange characters had been richly engraved.
"This," said the Arab, in a low, impressive voice, "is the Great
Elixir!"
"What does that mean?" asked Madame, glancing at the flask
doubtfully.
"The Great Elixir? Ah, it is the Essence of Vitality, the Water
of Life--the Greatest Thing in all the World!"
"I don't understand," said Madame.
"Not understand? Why, a drop of the priceless liquid which this
Golden Flask contains, if placed upon your tongue, would send new life
coursing through your veins. It would give you power, strength, vitality
greater than youth itself! You could do anything--accomplish
wonders--perform miracles--if you but tasted this precious liquid!"
"How odd!" exclaimed Madame, beginning to feel bewildered. And
then she asked: "Where did you get it?"
"Ah! that is the story. That is what you must know," answered
Ali Dubh. "It is centuries old, the Great Elixir. There is no more of
it in all the world. The contents of this flask came into the keeping of
the Ancestor of the Chief of my Tribe--whom we call a Sheik--and has been
handed down from father to son as an heirloom more priceless than
diamonds. The Chief of my Tribe, its last owner, carried the flask
always hidden in his breast. But one day, when he and I were hunting
together, a mad camel trampled the Sheik to his death, and with his last
breath he gave the Great Elixir into my keeping. The Sheik had no son,
and the flask was really mine. But many other Arab Sheiks longed for the
treasure and sought to gain it. So I escaped and wandered over the
world. I came here, thinking I was safe from pursuit. But they have
followed me!"
"All the way from Arabia?" asked Madame.
"Yes. To-day I saw them. They know my lodgings. They are
secretly hidden near, and before morning I know they plot to kill me and
secure the Great Elixir. But for a time I have escaped them. I came
here unseen. You must help me. You must take charge of the Great Elixir
and keep it safely for me."
"Nonsense!" cried Madame, becoming aroused at last.
"Do not say that, I beg of you," exclaimed the eager Arab. "You
are honest--I know you are! And they will never suspect you of having the
Golden Flask."
"Perhaps not," said Madame, "and then, again, they may. My
business is to tend the shop, and I am not going to get myself killed by
a lot of desperate foreigners just to oblige you, Monsieur Ali Dubh!
Take your Great Elixir to some one else. I don't want it."
For a minute the Arab seemed in despair. Then his face suddenly
brightened.
"You suffer from rheumatism, do you not?" he asked.
"Yes, it's pretty bad to-night," she replied.
"Then I will cure it! I will cure your pains forever if you will
keep my precious Elixir in secret until I come to reclaim it."
Madame hesitated, for just then she had a very bad twinge indeed.
"You think you can cure my pains?" she asked.
"I know it!" declared the Arab. He put his hand in a pocket and
drew out another flask--a mate to the one containing the Great Elixir;
only this was made of solid silver instead of gold.
"This flask," said Ali Dubh, "contains a positive cure for
rheumatism. It will not fail. It never has failed. Take it and use it
to make yourself well. Five drops in a bowl of water are enough. Bathe
well the limbs that ache, and all pain will be gone forever. Accept it,
gracious Madame, and keep for me the other flask in safe hiding until my
enemies have gone away."
Madame was a practical woman, and it seemed an easy thing to do
as the Arab desired. If she could get relief from those dreadful pains
it would be well worth while to undertake a little trouble and
responsibility by caring for Ali Dubh's other and more precious flask.
"Very well," said she. "I agree."
The Arab's face flushed with joy.
"Good," he cried; "I am saved! Guard well my precious flask--the
one of gold. Show it to no one--not even to your good husband. Remember
that diamonds and rubies could not buy the Great Elixir--the marvelous
Essence of Vitality. As for the silver flask, I give it to you freely.
Its contents will cure all your ailments. And now, good night, and may
Allah bless you!"
Swiftly he stole from the room, unlocked the street door and
vanished into the darkness. And Madame sat looking thoughtfully at the
flasks.
The Two Flasks
Presently she remembered that the front door was yet unlocked. So
she trotted out into the shop, bolted the door securely, drew down the
curtains, and put out the dim light that had burned over the counter.
Then Madame returned to the little room and looked at the two flasks
again.
Aside from her rheumatism the good lady had one other physical
weakness; she was color-blind. That is, she could seldom distinguish one
color from another, and was quite liable to think blue was green and
green was yellow. Many people have this trouble with their eyes; but it
never had bothered Madame especially in waiting upon her customers.
Now, however, when she came back into her room and gazed at the
two flasks upon her table, she had no idea which one was of gold and
which of silver, for the weakness of her eyes prevented her from telling
them apart by means of their color.
"Let me see," she murmured; "this must be the flask which the
Arab first drew from his pocket. No--I think this was the one." But the
more she hesitated the more confused she became, and in the end she told
herself honestly that she had not the faintest clue to guide her in
knowing which flask contained the Essence of Vitality and which the cure
for rheumatism.
And the pains were now so bad that she was anxious to cure them
without a moment's delay.
The engraving on the two flasks was nearly the same; and if some
of those queer foreign characters really differed, Madame did not know
it. Also in size and shape the flasks were exactly alike. Truly Madame
was in a fine quandary, and there seemed no way of getting out of it with
safety.
She had almost decided to hide both flasks until the Arab
returned, when several sharp twinges of pain caught her and made her long
most earnestly for relief. If she went to bed now she would be sure to
suffer all night, and in one of the flasks was a sure cure.
"I'll guess at it, and take the chances!" declared Madame,
firmly. And then, choosing at haphazard, she hid the silver flask behind
the mirror and put the gold one in her pocket. Afterward she picked up
the lamp and walked as silently as possible through the short passage
that led to Monsieur Jules' bake-room.
The big place was still and dark, and the little lamp only
brightened a small part of it. But Madame did not care for that. Those
pains were getting extremely hard to bear, and she had even ceased to
care whether or not she had selected the right flask.
Taking a brown bowl from the shelf she drew it nearly full of
water and then placed it upon a corner of the long, white mixing-table,
beside the lamp. Next she took the golden flask from her pocket.
"How much did the Arab say to put in the water?" she wondered,
pausing in perplexed thought. "I declare, I've actually forgotten! But
he said it was sure to cure me, so I may as well use all the flask
contains. For, after I am cured, I shall not need any more of it."
Reasoning thus, Madame removed the stopper and poured into the
bowl every drop of that precious Elixir which Ali Dubh had prized more
than life itself, and which his wild countrymen had come all the way from
Arabia to America to possess. For generation after generation the
priceless liquor had been preserved with jealous care, and now the
baker's wife was rubbing it upon her limbs in an endeavor to cure the
pangs of rheumatism!
She used very little of the contents of the bowl, after all. The
touch of the Elixir upon her skin, although it was diluted with so much
water, sent a glow of exhilaration throughout all her stout body.
The pains were suddenly eased, and Madame began to feel as light
and airy as a fairy, in spite of her great mass of flesh.
It occurred to her that she would like to dance; to run and
shout, to caper about as she used to do as a girl. But soon her shrewd
common sense returned, and she told herself this was but the effect of
the wonderful medicine, and that the wisest thing she could do was to go
to bed and sleep soundly while she might.
Being still somewhat bewildered, the good woman picked up the
lamp, and, leaving the bowl containing the Elixir standing upon the
table, mounted the stairs with lighter steps than she had known in years.
Five minutes later she was in bed, snoring as loudly as Monsieur
Jules himself.
The Gingerbread Man
The baker awoke at three o'clock, and soon afterward came
downstairs yawning and rubbing his eyes in his accustomed manner. For it
is a real hardship to arise in the middle of the night and go to work,
and Monsieur Jules sometimes regretted he was such a skillful baker; for
any other profession would have allowed him to sleep until daylight. But
the bread and rolls and gingerbread must be fresh and warm by breakfast
time, or the people would be sadly disappointed; and the only possible
way to get them ready was to start the work at three o'clock.
First, he lighted the big swinging lamps, which made the room
bright as day, and then he built the fires in the great furnaces.
Presently these last were roaring in a very business-like manner, and as
soon as he heard the roar Monsieur Jules began to whistle. It was his
custom, and kept him from getting lonesome while he worked.
Next he kneaded the bread, formed it into loaves, and placed them
in long rows upon the slabs--ready for the oven. The rolls were then
mixed and kneaded, and it took a longer time to get them ready than it
had the bread, for they were small and quite daintily shaped. But at
last the important task was completed, and while they were rising and the
ovens heating, Monsieur mixed his gingerbread and cakes.
Somehow, the work progressed very swiftly this morning, and after
a time the baker found he had a good hour to spare before the ovens would
be ready.
Then a sudden idea struck him.
"Why, to-day is the Fourth of July," he thought, "and that is a
National Holiday. I think I will make a fine gingerbread man, such as I
used to make in Paris, and put it in the shop window to attract
attention. These Americans like enterprise, and they have never seen a
gingerbread man, for I have not made one since I came to this country."
With Monsieur Jules, to think was to act, and scarcely had he
spoken these words when he began to gather his material together for a
great batch of gingerbread dough. For he resolved that the man he was
about to make should be big enough and fine enough to arouse the wonder
of all beholders.
He began by filling a great bowl with flour, and then rubbed into
the flour some butter and lard. "That will make it short," said
Monsieur, "although it is to be a tall man." Then he added some molasses.
"He will be a sweet fellow," thought the baker, smiling at his own
pleasantries. Then he shook in the ginger and several fragrant spices,
and began mixing the dough into one great mass.
"It is too stiff," reflected the baker, a few moments later. "My
man must not be stiff, for that would render him disagreeable." He
laughed at the whimsical thought, and glancing around, saw the brown bowl
that Madame had left sitting upon a corner of the table. It was nearly
full of the precious liquid, and Monsieur Jules, with his mind intent
upon his work, never stopped to wonder how it came there. Perhaps he
thought he had himself unconsciously filled the bowl with water. Anyway,
he dumped all of the Essence of Vitality--the Great Elixir which could
never be duplicated in all the world--into the mass of dough he was
preparing for his gingerbread man!
Monsieur merely noticed that the dough had now become the proper
consistency, and mixed easily.
Whistling merrily, he presently spread the huge batch of dough
upon the big table and began rolling it and working it into the shape he
desired.
Ah, but Monsieur Jules Grogrande was a true artist, although a
baker! Under his skillful hands the gingerbread man slowly but surely
took form; and the form was fully as large as that of a well-grown
fourteen-year-old boy. But it was by no means a boy that Monsieur was
forming with such care; it was, rather, the figure of a typical French
gentleman, such as may seldom be met with elsewhere than on the
boulevards of Paris. It was interesting to watch the figure grow:
interesting, of course, to Monsieur Jules, as there was no one else in
the bake-room to see.
The man appeared to be dressed in excellent fashion. Monsieur
made him a collar and shirt-front of white bread dough, which looked very
beautiful in contrast to the brown gingerbread-dough of his clothes.
Then with a lump of dough, carefully kneaded, he formed the man's
necktie, making a very artistic bow indeed. A waistcoat of fashionable
cut was next added. The buttons on the man's coat were white lozenges,
and to represent shoes the baker mixed his dough with licorice, until the
shoes seemed as black and shiny as if freshly polished.
You would have loved to see, could you have been present, the
delicate skill with which the clever baker carved the hands and fingers
of his man, using a small but sharp knife, and patting and rounding each
dough finger into proper shape. He even clipped from a sheet of
transparent celluloid the finger-nails, and pressed them carefully into
the dough at the ends of the fingers. Who but Monsieur would ever have
thought of such a thing?
But, after all, it was upon the face that the baker exercised his
best skill. As a sculptor forms his models out of clay, so Monsieur
pressed and squeezed and molded his pliant dough, until every feature of
the gingerbread man became wonderfully lifelike. Of course the face was
made of the white dough, with just a trifle of the pink coloring mixed
into it to make it resemble real flesh. But the wavy hair that
surrounded the face was of gingerbread-dough, as its brown color, after
it had been baked, would be quite natural and lifelike.
Among the things brought from Paris by the Grograndes was a pair
of excellent glass eyes, and Monsieur Jules rummaged in a drawer until he
found them, and then pressed them into the dough face. And now it
positively seemed that the gingerbread man was looking at you, and the
eyes lent its face a gentle and kindly expression.
"There's something lacking, however," murmured the baker, looking
at his work critically. "Ah, I know--it's the teeth!"
Teeth for a gingerbread man! But nothing was easier to
represent, once their absence was noted. Between the lips of the man our
baker pressed two rows of small white candies, and it was wonderful to
remark the pleasant smile that now lent its charm to the face.
With a sigh of satisfaction in the result of his work, the baker
at last declared his gingerbread man ready for the oven.
"And it is my masterpiece!" cried Monsieur Jules, proudly.
"Never, even in Paris, have I seen so perfect a man of dough. He is well
worthy to have a name, and I will call him John Dough, which will be
appropriate, indeed!"
But the great ovens were now glowing brightly, so Monsieur filled
them with bread and rolls, and watched them carefully until the big and
little loaves were all done to a turn. The cakes and cookies came next,
and by the time that dawn arrived the front shop was stocked with heaps
of the warm, fresh-smelling loaves and rolls, and trays of delicious
cakes and buns, hot from the ovens.
Then the baker came back to his gingerbread man, which he first
placed gently upon a great iron slab, and then slid it all into the open
door of a perfectly heated oven.
With great anxiety Monsieur watched the oven. The dough was
properly mixed, the workmanship was most excellent. Would the baking
turn out to be as perfect as the rest? Much good dough may be spoiled in
the baking. None knew that better than Jules Grogrande.
So he tended the oven with nervous care, and finally, at exactly
the right moment, the baker threw open the oven door and drew out the
sheet of iron upon which the great and grand gingerbread man rested.
He was baked to perfection!
Filled with pride and satisfaction, Monsieur bent admiringly over
his great creation; and as he did so, the gingerbread man moved, bent his
back, sat up, and looked about him with his glass eyes, while a wondering
expression crept over his face.
"Dear me!" said he, "isn't it very warm and close in this room?"
The Great Elixir had accomplished its purpose. The wonderful
Essence of Vitality, prized for centuries and closely guarded, had lent
its marvelous powers of energy, strength, and life to a gingerbread man!
And all through the stupidity of a baker's wife who was color-blind and
could not distinguish a golden flask from a silver one!
Monsieur Jules, who knew nothing of the Arab's flasks, or of the
Great Elixir, glared wildly into the glass eyes of the gingerbread man.
He was at first sure that his own eyes, and also his ears, had played him
a trick.
"John Dough--John Dough!" he cried, "did you speak? Merciful
heavens! Did you speak, John Dough?"
"I did," said the gingerbread man, struggling to rise from the
slab, "and I declare that it is warm and close in this room!"
Monsieur Jules gave a scream of terror. Then he turned and fled.
A moment later he staggered into the shop, tossed his hands above
his head, and fell in a heap upon the floor--being overcome by a fainting
spell.
Madame, who had just come downstairs and opened the shop, gazed
upon her husband's terrified actions with an amazement that prevented her
from moving a limb or uttering a sound.
What in the world could have happened to Jules?
Then she received the greatest shock of her life.
From out the door of the bake-room came a gingerbread man, so
fresh from the oven that the odor of hot gingerbread surrounded him like
a cloud. He looked neither to right nor left, but picked Monsieur's tall
silk hat from off a peg and placed it carelessly upon his own head. Next
he caught up a large candy cane from a show-case, stepped over the
prostrate body of the baker, and so left the shop, closing the front door
behind him.
Madame saw him passing the windows, stepping along briskly and
swinging the cane in his left hand.
Then the good lady imitated her husband's example. She gave a
shrill scream, threw up her hands, and tumbled over unconscious.
John Dough Begins his Adventures
Now, when John Dough left Madame Grogrande's shop and wandered up
the street, he was reeking with the delightful odor of fresh gingerbread.
Indeed, he was still so hot from the oven that I am positive you could
not have held your hand against him for more than a second. The Great
Elixir had brought him to life, and given him a certain standing in the
world; but during the first half-hour of his existence John Dough was
very hot-headed. Also he was hot-footed, for he discovered that, by
walking fast, the contact with the fresh morning air drew the heat from
his body and made him feel much more comfortable.
One virtue lent by the Great Elixir was knowledge, and while John
Dough felt that he possessed unlimited knowledge (having had an overdose
of the Elixir), he could not very well apply it to his surroundings
because he lacked experience with the world, which alone renders
knowledge of any value to mankind. John Dough could speak all
languages--modern and classic. He had a logical and clear mind--what is
called a "level head," you know; and this was coupled with good sense,
fair judgment, and a tangled mass of wisdom that had been dumped into him
in a haphazard fashion. But these rare qualities were as yet of no use
to our man because he had acquired no experience. It was like putting
tools into a scholar's hands and asking him to make a watch. John Dough
might accomplish wonders in time, if he did not grow stale and crumble;
but just now he was the freshest individual that ever came out of a
bake-room.
It was still early morning, and most folks were in bed. A
prowling dog smelled the gingerbread and came trotting up with the
intention of having a bite of it; but John Dough raised his candy cane
and hit the dog a clip on the end of its nose that sent the animal in
another direction with its tail between its legs. Then, whistling
merrily, the gingerbread man walked on. He knew no tune whatever, but he
could whistle, and so he managed to express an erratic mixture of notes
that would have made Herr Wagner very proud.
His flesh (or bread, rather) was cooling off beautifully now. He
was growing hard and crisp and felt much more substantial than at first.
The baker had made him light and the Elixir had made him strong and
vigorous. A great future lay before John Dough, if no accident happened
to him.
Presently some one said, "Hello!" John stopped short, for in
front of him stood a bright-eyed boy with a piece of lighted punk in one
hand and a bunch of firecrackers in the other. It was Ned Robbins, who
had been up since daybreak celebrating the Glorious Fourth.
"You skeered me at first," said the boy, with a look of amazement
that he tried to cover with a laugh.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," returned John Dough, politely.
"Been to a masquerade?" asked Ned, staring hard at the
gingerbread man.
"No, indeed," replied the other. "I am not disguised, I assure
you. You see me as I am."
"G'wan!" exclaimed Ned. But he could smell the gingerbread, and
he began to grow frightened. So he touched the punk to the fuse of his
biggest firecracker, dropped it on the ground at the feet of John Dough,
and then turned and scampered up an alley as fast as he could go.
The gingerbread man stood still and looked after Ned until the
cracker suddenly exploded with a bang that caused John's candy teeth to
chatter. His whole body was terribly jarred and he nearly fell backward
in the shock of surprise. Then he, also, started to run. It was not
fear, so much as ignorance of what might happen next, that caused him to
fly from the spot; but he ran with a speed that was simply wonderful,
considering that his limbs were of gingerbread. Truly, that Arabian
Elixir was a marvelous thing!
Bang! He had run plump into another group of boys, knocking two
of them over before they could get out of his way. His silk hat was
jammed over his eyes and the candy cane struck the wheel of a toy cannon
and broke off a good two inches from its end.
As he pulled off his hat he heard a shout and saw the boys all
scrambling for the broken end of the candy cane. One of them grabbed it
and ran away, and the others followed in a mad chase and were soon out of
sight.
John Dough looked after them wonderingly. Then he drew himself
up, pulled down his fine vest, sighed at discovering a slight crack in
his shirt-front, and walked slowly along the street again. His first
experience of life was not altogether pleasant.
"Good gracious!" said a voice.
He paused, and saw a woman leaning over a gate beside him and
glaring at him in mingled surprise and terror. She held a broom in her
hand, for she had been sweeping the walk. John lifted his hat politely.
"Good morning, madam," said he.
"Why, it's really alive!" gasped the woman.
"Is a live person so very unusual?" asked John, curiously.
"Surely, when he's made of cake!" answered the woman, still
staring as if she could not believe her eyes.
"Pardon me; I am not cake, but gingerbread," he answered, in a
rather dignified way.
"It's all the same," she answered. "You haven't any right to be
alive. There's no excuse for it."
"But how can I help it?" he asked, somewhat puzzled by this
remark.
"Oh, I don't suppose it's your fault. But it isn't right, you
know. Who made you?"
"Jules Grogrande, the baker," he said, for he had read the name
over the door.
"I always knew there was something wrong with those Frenchies,"
she declared. "Are you done?"
Before he could reply she had drawn a large straw from the broom
and stuck it several inches into his side.
"Don't do that!" he cried, indignantly, as she drew out the bit
of broom again.
"I was only tryin' you," she remarked. "You're done to a turn,
and ought to make good eating while you're fresh."
John gazed at her in horror.
"Good eating!" he cried; "woman, would you murder me?"
"I can't say it would be exactly murder," she replied, looking at
him hungrily.
"To destroy life is murder!" he said, sternly.
"But to destroy gingerbread isn't," she rejoined. "And I can't
see that it's cannibalism to eat a man if he happens to be cake, and
fresh baked. And that frosting looks good. Come inside while I get a
knife."
She opened the gate and tried to grab John Dough by an arm. But
he gave a sudden backward leap and then sped down the street at a furious
run, looking neither to right nor left in his eager flight.
Luckily, he was not in the center of the town, but near the
outskirts, and the houses were few and scattered.
By and by he saw a deserted barn near the roadside. The door was
half open and sagged on its hinges, so it could not be closed.
John darted into the barn and hid behind some hay in the far
side. He was thoroughly frightened, and believed he must avoid mingling
with the people of the town if he would escape instant destruction.
A knife! A knife! The word kept ringing in his ears and filled
him with horror. A knife could slice him into pieces easily. He
imagined himself sliced and lying on a plate ready for hungry folks to
eat, and the picture made him groan aloud.
All through the day he kept securely hidden behind the hay.
Toward evening he decided to revisit the bakery. It was a difficult
task, for he had passed through many streets and lanes without noticing
where he was going, and it grew darker every minute. But at last, just
as he was beginning to despair, he saw a dim light in a window and read
over the door the sign: "Jules Grogrande, Baker."
He opened the door so softly that the little bell scarcely
tinkled. But no one would have heard it had it rung loudly, for there
was a confused murmur of fierce voices coming from the little room Madame
usually occupied.
John Dough skipped behind the counter, where he could see into
the room without being seen himself.
Around the little table stood the Arab, Monsieur Jules, and
Madame, and they were all staring angrily into each other's faces.
"But the flask!" cried Ali Dubh. "Where is my precious flask?"
"It is here," said Madame, reaching behind the mirror and drawing
forth something that glittered in the lamplight.
"But this is the silver flask--the cure for rheumatism,"
exclaimed the Arab. "Where is my Golden Flask--containing the priceless
Elixir of Life?"
"I must have made a mistake," said Madame, honestly; "for my eyes
are so queer that I cannot tell gold from silver. Anyway, the contents
of the other flask I emptied into a bowl of water, and rubbed my limbs
with it."
The Arab shouted a despairing cry in his native tongue and then
glared wildly at the woman.
"Was it the brown bowl, Leontine?" asked Monsieur Jules,
trembling with excitement.
"Yes," she answered.
"Where is it? Where is it?" demanded the Arab, in a hoarse
voice. "The precious liquor may yet be saved."
"Too late, Monsieur," said the baker, shaking his head, sadly.
"I used the contents of the bowl to mix the dough for my gingerbread
man."
"A gingerbread man! What do you mean?" asked Ali Dubh.
"I baked a man out of gingerbread this morning," said Monsieur
Jules, "and to my horror he came alive, and spoke to me, and walked out
of the shop while he was still smoking hot."
"It is no wonder," said the Arab, dolefully; "for within him was
enough of the Great Elixir to bring a dozen men to life, and give them
strength and energy for many years. Ah, Monsieur and Madame, think of
what your stupidity has cost the world!"
"I do not comprehend," said Madame, firmly, "how the world has
ever yet been benefited by the Great Elixir, which you and your selfish
countrymen have kept for centuries corked up in a golden flask."
"Bismillah!" shouted the Arab, striking himself fiercely across
the forehead with his clinched fist. "Cannot you understand, you stupid
one, that it was mine--mine!--this Wonderful Water of Life? I had planned
to use it myself--drop by drop--that I might live forever."
"I'm sorry," said Monsieur; "but it is your own fault. You
forced my wife to care for the flask, and you would not let her tell me
about it. So, through your own stupidity, I used it in the gingerbread
man."
"Ah!" said Ali Dubh, an eager gleam in his eyes, "where, then, is
that same gingerbread man? If I can find him, and eat him, a bit at a
time, I shall get the benefit of the Great Elixir after all! It would
not be so powerful, perhaps, as in its natural state; but it would enable
me to live for many, many years!"
John Dough heard this speech with a thrill of horror. Also he
now began to understand how he happened to be alive.
"I do not know where the gingerbread man is," said Monsieur. "He
walked out of my shop while he was quite hot."
"But he can be found," said the Arab. "It is impossible for a
gingerbread man, who is alive, to escape notice. Come, let us search for
him at once! I must find him and eat him."
He fairly dragged Monsieur and Madame from the room in his
desperation, and John Dough crouched out of sight behind the counter
until he heard them pass through the door and their footsteps die away up
the street.
The talk he had overheard made the gingerbread man very sad
indeed. The bakery was no safe home for him, after all. Evidently it
was the Arab's intention to find him and insist upon eating him; and John
Dough did not want to be eaten at all.
Therefore his enemies must not find him. They were no safer to
meet with than the awful woman who wanted to cut him into slices; and he
was learning, by degrees, that all men were dangerous enemies to him,
although he had himself the form of a man.
He left the bakery and stole out into the street once more,
walking now in the opposite direction from that taken by the Arab and the
Grograndes.
As he hurried along he met with few people on the streets; and
these, in the dark, paid little attention to the gingerbread man; so
gradually his spirits rose and his confidence in his future returned.
By and by he heard a strange popping and hissing coming from the
direction of the square in the center of the town, and then he saw red
and green lights illuminating the houses, and fiery comets go sailing
into the sky to break into dozens of beautiful colored stars.
The people were having their Fourth of July fireworks, and John
Dough became curious to witness the display from near by. So, forgetting
his fears, he ran through the streets until he came to a big crowd of
people, who were too busy watching the fireworks to notice that a
gingerbread man stood beside them.
John Dough pressed forward until he was quite in the front row,
and just behind the men who were firing the rockets.
For a time he watched the rush of the colored fires with much
pleasure, and thoroughly enjoyed the sputtering of a big wheel that
refused to go around, merely sending out weak and listless spurts of
green and red sparks, as is the manner of such wheels.
But now the event of the evening was to occur. Two men brought
out an enormous rocket, fully fifteen feet tall and filled with a
tremendous charge of powder. This they leaned against a wooden trough
that stood upright; but the rocket was too tall to stay in place, and
swayed from side to side awkwardly.
"Here! Hold that stick!" cried one of the men, and John Dough
stepped forward and grasped the stick of the big rocket firmly, not
knowing there was any danger in doing so.
Then the man ran to get a piece of rope to tie the rocket in
place; but the other man, being excited and thinking the rocket was ready
to fire, touched off the fuse without noticing that John Dough was
clinging fast to the stick.
There was a sudden shriek, a rush of fire, and then--slowly at
first, but with ever-increasing speed--the huge rocket mounted far into
the sky, carrying with it the form of the gingerbread man!
Chick, the Cherub
The rocket continued to send out fiery sparks of burning powder
as it plunged higher and higher into the black vault of the heavens; but
few of these came in contact with John Dough, who clung to the far side
of the stick and so escaped being seriously damaged. Also the rocket
curved, and presently sped miles away over land and sea, impelled by the
terrible force of the powder it contained. John fully expected that it
would burst presently, and blow him to bits amid a cloud of colored
stars. But the giant rocket was not made in the same way as the other
and smaller ones that had been fired, the intention being merely to make
it go as high and as far as possible. So it finally burned itself out,
but so great was the speed it had attained that it continued to fly for
many minutes after the last spark had died away.
Then the rocket began to take a downward course; but it was so
high up, by that time, that the stick and the empty shell flew onward
hour after hour, gradually nearing the ground, until finally, just as a
new day began to break, the huge stick, with John Dough still holding
fast to its end, fell lightly upon an island washed on all sides by the
waves of a mighty sea.
John fell on a soft bush, and thence bounded to the ground, where
for a time he lay quite still and tried to recover his thoughts.
He had not done much thinking, it seems, while he was in the air.
The rush of wind past his ears had dazed him, and he only realized he
must cling fast to the stick and await what might happen. Indeed, that
was the only thing to be done in such an emergency.
The shock of the fall had for a moment dazed the gingerbread man;
and as he lay upon the ground he heard a voice cry:
"Get off from me! Will you? Get off, I say!"
John rolled over and sat up, and then another person--a little
man with a large head--also sat up and faced him.
"What do you mean by it?" asked the little man, glaring upon John
Dough angrily. "Can't you see where you're falling?"
"No," answered John.
It was growing lighter every minute, and the gray mists of
morning were fading away before the rising sun. John looked around him
and saw he was upon a broad, sandy beach which the waves of a great sea
lapped peacefully. Behind was a green meadow, and then mountains that
rose high into the air.
"How did you happen to be where I fell?" he asked, turning to the
little man again.
"I always sleep on the sands," replied the other, wagging his
head solemnly. "It's my fad. Fresh air, you know. I'm called the
'Fresh-Air Fiend.' I suppose you're a new inhabitant. You seem rather
queer."
"I'm made of gingerbread," said John.
"Well, that certainly is unusual, so I've no doubt you will be
warmly welcomed in our Island," replied the man.
"But where am I?" asked John, looking around again with a puzzled
expression.
"This is the Isle of Phreex," answered the other, "and it is
inhabited by unusual people. I'm one, and you're another."
He made such a droll face as he said this that the gingerbread
man could not resist smiling, but it startled him to hear another laugh
at his back--a sound merry and sweet, such as a bird trills. He swung
around quickly and saw a child standing upon the sands, where the rays of
the sun fell brightly upon its little form. And then the glass eyes of
the gingerbread man grew big, and stood out from his cake face in a way
that fully expressed his astonishment.
"It's a Vision!" he exclaimed.
"No, it's the Cherub--whom we call Chick," answered the big-headed
man, carelessly.
The child had fair hair, falling in fleecy waves to its shoulders,
but more or less tangled and neglected. It had delicate features, rosy
cheeks, and round blue eyes. When these eyes were grave--which was
seldom--there were questions in them; when they smiled--which was
often--sunbeams rippled over their blue surfaces. For clothing the child
wore garments of pure white, which reached from the neck to the ankles,
and had wide flowing sleeves and legs, like those of a youngster's
pajamas. The little one's head and feet were bare, but the pink soles
were protected by sandals fastened with straps across the toes and ankles.
"Good morning," said John, again smiling and hoping he had not
stared too rudely. "It gives me great pleasure to meet you."
"My name's Chick," replied the child, laughing in sweet trills,
while the blue eyes regarded the gingerbread man with evident wonder.
"That's a funny name," said John.
"Yes, it is funny," the child agreed, with a friendly nod. "Chick
means a chicken, you know. But I'm not a chicken."
"Of course not," returned John. "A chicken is covered with
feathers. And you are not."
At this Chick laughed merrily, and said, as if it were the
simplest thing in the world: "I'm the Incubator Baby, you know."
"Dear me, I hadn't the least idea of it," John answered gravely.
"May I ask what an Incubator Baby is?"
The child squatted down in the sand, hugged its chubby knees, and
uttered peal after peal of joyous laughter.
"How funny!" it gurgled; "how funny that you don't know what the
Incubator Baby is! Really, you must be fresh-baked!"
"I am," said John, feeling rather ashamed to acknowledge the fact,
but resolving to be truthful.
"Then, of course, you are very ignorant," remarked the Fresh-Air
Fiend, rubbing his big head complacently.
"Oh, as for that," said John, "I acquired, in course of
manufacture, a vast deal of ancient learning, which I got from an Arabian
Elixir with which the baker mixed me. I am well posted in all events
down to the last century, but I cannot recall any knowledge of an
Incubator Baby."
"No, they're a recent invention," declared the big-headed man,
patting tenderly the child's golden curls. "Were you, by any chance, at
the Pan-American Exposition? Or the Louisiana Purchase Exposition?"
"No," answered John. "My knowledge was corked up about then."
"Well," continued the man, "there were a good many Incubator
Babies at both those expositions, and lots of people saw them. But Chick
is the first and only Original Incubator Baby, and so Chick properly
belongs in the Isle of Phreex."
Chick jumped up, made a stiff bow, and with eyes sparkling with
mischief exclaimed: "I'm six years old and quite strong and well."
"Tut-tut, Chick!" remonstrated the big-headed man; "it was more
than two years ago you were taught to make that speech. You can't be
always six years old, you know."
The little sprite enjoyed the joke so much that John was forced
to laugh in sympathy. But just then a thought struck him, and he asked,
a little nervously:
"Do you like gingerbread?"
"I don't know," replied Chick. "Are you gingerbread?"
"I am," said John, bravely.
"Then I like gingerbread," the child declared; "for you smell
sweet and look kind and gentle."
John didn't know whether to accept this as a compliment or not.
He was sorry to learn that he smelled sweet, although to be called kind
and gentle was grateful praise.
"Some folks," he remarked, timidly, "have an idea they like to
eat gingerbread."
"I couldn't eat you," the child said, seriously, "because, being
the Incubator Baby, I have to be very careful of my diet. You might not
agree with me."
"I'm sure I couldn't agree with any one who ate me," John
declared. "For, although as yet I have had no experience of that sort,
it seems to me a very undesirable fate."
"Very true," remarked the big-headed man.
"Let's be friends!" exclaimed Chick, coming close to John and
taking his soft brown hand in a firm clasp. "I'll take care of you."
John looked down at the merry little elf in positive wonder.
"We'll be friends, all right," said he; "but instead of your
taking care of me, Chick, I'll take care of you."
"Oh, there you are entirely wrong," broke in the big-headed man.
"Chick's a privileged character in the Isle of Phreex, and the only one
of us who dares defy our awful kinglet. And in case of danger--"
"Danger!" cried John, with a start. "Is there danger here, too?"
Chick's laughter rang out at the foolish question, but the man
replied seriously:
"There is danger everywhere, to those who are unusual, and
especially in the Isle of Phreex, where we are at the mercy of a horrid
kinglet. But come; we must go and report your arrival to that same
graceless ruler, or we shall all be punished."
"Very well," said John, meekly.
But as he took Chick's hand and turned to depart the Fresh-Air
Fiend uttered an exclamation of annoyance, and said:
"Here's bad luck already! The Failings are coming this way."
As he spoke a noise of shouting and chattering reached their
ears, and presently several people came around a corner of rock and stood
before John and his newly found friends.
"It's the Brotherhood of Failings," whispered the big-headed man.
"Look out for them, or they'll do you a mischief."
"Don't worry; I'll take care of you," said Chick, pressing the
dough hand.
John stared at the new-comers, and they returned the compliment
by staring at him. A queerer lot of folks could seldom have been seen
together.
"This is the Blunderer," said the Fresh-Air Fiend, indicating a
short, fat man who was clothed in glittering armor and bore a lance over
his shoulder. The Blunderer acknowledged the introduction by bowing.
"And here is the Thoughtless One," continued the man, pointing to a tall,
lean man who was clothed in chamois-leather and carried a wide-mouthed
blunderbuss under his arm.
"Look out for the gun," said Chick; "he never knows whether or
not it is loaded."
"And here are the Disagreeable, and the Unlucky, and the
Sorrowful, and the Ugly, and the Awkward," continued the big-headed man,
pointing out each Failing in turn. "Their peculiarities you will have no
trouble to discover. Indeed, on all the Isle of Phreex, there is no one
more unpleasant to meet with than this same lot of Failings."
At this the Brothers all bowed, saying at the same time:
"We are proud of ourselves!"
At that instant the Awkward tripped over his own toes and fell
against the Blunderer, who tumbled headlong and thrust his slim lance
straight through the body of John Dough.
"Oh!" cried Chick, greatly horrified.
"I told you so!" growled the Fresh-Air Fiend, pulling out the
lance hastily. "Tell me, John Dough, are you dead, or are you just
dying?"
"Neither one," said John, ruefully pushing together the hole that
the lance had made; "but it doesn't add to my personal appearance to be
prodded in that fashion. I'm made of gingerbread," he explained, turning
to the man in armor.
"I beg your pardon! I really beg your pardon!" said the
Blunderer, greatly distressed at what he had done. "I had no intention
of hurting you."
"He means well," said the Incubator Baby; but that doesn't help
much."
"He won't last long in this Island," grunted the Bad-Tempered,
referring to John Dough.
"Being made of gingerbread, he can't be expected to last,"
remarked the Disagreeable, smiling in a way that made John shudder.
"He shall have my protection," said the Blunderer. "It's the
least I can do to make amends. Here--put on this armor!"
He hastily began stripping off the plates of metal, and placed
the steel helmet over the head of the gingerbread man.
"No, no!" exclaimed John. "I don't want to wear all that
hardware."
"But you must!" cried the Blunderer. "It's the only way you can
escape accident in this awful Island."
"That's true enough," agreed the big-headed man. "I advise you
to wear the armor, my gingerbread friend."
So John submitted to being dressed in the armor, and no sooner
had the plates been strapped upon him than the wisdom of the act was
apparent. For there came a rush and whirl of sound, and suddenly a great
monster swept over the sands at the very spot where they stood. It sent
the Brotherhood of Failings sprawling in every direction, while the
Incubator Baby flew to the water's edge, and John Dough's armor-clad body
was knocked down and pressed into the soft sand until it was level with
the surface.
But presently Chick came back and made the others dig him out and
set him upon his feet again, and then it was seen that no one had been
seriously injured.
"What was it?" asked John, gazing in amazement at the place where
the monster had disappeared in the distance.
"It's the one-wheeled automobile," answered the Sorrowful, "and
unless it gets smashed mighty soon the Isle of Phreex will be an Isle of
Cripples. I don't understand why they license the thing."
"Why, to make room for new arrivals, of course," declared the
Disagreeable. "But it was lucky for the Pudding Man that he happened to
be dressed in steel."
"I am not pudding, if you please," said John, indignantly. "I
beg you to remember that I am gingerbread."
"It's all one," remarked the Thoughtless, "your cake is dough,
anyhow."
"Let us return to the castle," the Ugly said. "Our Kinglet
should be introduced to his new subject."
So they all started off across the green, Chick leading the
gingerbread man, until they came to a path leading upward through the
rocks, along which they began to ascend. John had much difficulty in
keeping out of the way of the Awkward, who tripped and stumbled
constantly, while the Blunderer insisted upon taking the wrong path, and
the Bad-Tempered stopped twice to fight with the Disagreeable and the
Thoughtless. At last, however, they reached the top, which proved to be
a broad plain of rock, upon which stood a great castle with many tall
spires and grim towers and glittering minarets.
While they paused for John Dough to admire the view, and that
they all might get breath, a sharp voice said near them:
"You're late, you lot of Failings, and the Kinglet will scold."
John looked around, and saw perched upon a point of rock beside
the path a most curious looking creature.
"Don't stare!" it said, with a laugh. "I don't, and I've got a
dozen eyes to your one. Let me introduce myself. I'm the Prize Potato
from the Centerville Fair."
Indeed, John now noticed a big blue ribbon twined around the
middle of the potato, and on the ribbon was printed in gold letters:
"First Prize."
"Some day you'll sprout," said the Disagreeable, "and then you
won't have so many eyes."
The Prize Potato winked its numerous eyes, one after the other,
in a droll fashion, and answered:
"Some day you'll meet with an accident, my dear Failing; but when
you're planted in the ground you'll not sprout at all. That's where I'm
your superior, for I'm perpetual. Every one of my eyes is good for a
half-peck of potatoes, at least."
"Unless you're boiled with your jacket on," remarked the Ugly,
with a sour smile.
"Come, come! Let us go on," interrupted the little man with the
big head. "Our Kinglet doubtless awaits us."
When they had gone a few steps farther the Incubator Baby paused
to say: "Some one is following us, and it's a stranger."
This remark caused John to look around, and immediately he
stopped short with an expression of horror upon his frosted face. For
there, turning the corner of the rocky path, was Ali Dubh the Arab. The
fellow at once uttered a yell of joy and triumph, and drawing his
gleaming knife he rushed upon John Dough with great eagerness.
The gingerbread man had given up all hope of escape and stood
tremblingly awaiting his foe when Chick suddenly grasped the Blunderer's
lance and tripped the Arab so neatly with it that Ali Dubh fell his full
length upon the path and broke his knife-blade into a dozen pieces. But
he squirmed forward and was about to bite into John's leg when the
big-headed man came to the rescue and threw a handful of pebbles into the
Arab's open mouth, and so prevented him from doing the gingerbread man
any damage.
"He seems dangerous," remarked the Blunderer. "Let's tie him up,
before he hurts some one."
So while the Arab was coughing the pebbles out of his mouth, the
Brotherhood of Failings bound his hands and feet with strong cords, so
that he could not move.
"He's mine!" shouted the Arab, as soon as he could speak. "He
belongs to me. I claim him for my own."
"There's no harm in that," replied the Fresh-Air Fiend. "But one
of the laws of this Isle is that no person shall be injured by any one
except the kinglet. And every one here must obey the laws. So, unless
you promise not to carve or to eat this man of gingerbread, who is now a
subject of our kinglet, we must lock you up in prison."
"I'll eat him as soon as I have the chance. I have a right to do
so," cried the Arab.
"You're a bad man!" said Chick, stamping one small foot
indignantly.
"I'm not," answered Ali Dubh, "I'm a good man. And I paid Jules
Grogrande fifty cents for this gingerbread imitation of a man, who is
mixed with my own magic Elixir. Also I paid a witch nine dollars to
transport me to wherever the gingerbread man might be--which is right
here--that I might take possession of my own property. So I've got him,
and he's paid for, and he's mine, and I claim the right to eat him
whenever I please."
"You'll do no such thing," declared Chick. "Why, John Dough is
alive, and no one has a right to make him dead and then eat him--even if
he is paid for!"
"Don't worry, my Cherub," said the big-headed man, soothingly;
"we'll go at once and lock this Arab in a strong room of the castle, so
that he can't possibly escape."
Chick smiled sweetly at this promise; but the Arab scowled and
said, grimly:
"Never mind. My time will come. Some day I shall surely eat
that gingerbread man, in spite of this Cherub and all the rest of you."
This defiance made the Brotherhood of Failings and the big-headed
man so angry that they at once dragged Ali Dubh away to the castle, and
John Dough and Chick followed after, hand in hand, and feeling quite safe.
Presently they came to a great archway that led into the
courtyard of the castle. Having passed through this arch, the
gingerbread man saw groups of the most astonishing people, who were
busying themselves over extraordinary tasks, such as building machines,
boiling strange-smelling chemicals in queer pots, drawing curious
designs, and like occupations. A sudden crash announced that the
Blunderer had fallen into the middle of a delicate machine and smashed it
into bits. Before they could pull him out the Unlucky One ran against
the whirling arm of a windmill and was tossed halfway across the
courtyard, while the Awkward One upset a boiling kettle and set every one
to coughing who inhaled the odor of the compound that was spilled upon
the ground.
To John's surprise no one seemed much worried over these
accidents. Even the victims joined in Chick's merry laughter, and those
of the Failings who had escaped disaster calmly proceeded to lock up the
Arab in a cell that had a strong iron grating for a door, and fastened
with a huge padlock.
Afterward they all entered through a second arch into the great
hall of the castle.
This was a long, wide room with a tiled floor, and walls that
were covered with many trophies, such as armor, spears, battle-axes, and
swords of ancient design.
At the farther end was a raised platform upon which stood a
gorgeous throne. Back of the throne was an electric sign, flashing one
letter at a time, and reading: "What is Home without a Kinglet?" Over the
throne was suspended an enormous crown--big enough for a giant--which
sparkled with gems. Beside the throne a very fat man sat in a chair so
low that his knees nearly touched his chin. He wore a short red coat, a
wide white vest, and blue knee-breeches, and all were embroidered in
gold. The fat man's eyes were closed and he seemed asleep.
Within the throne sat the kinglet, propped upon purple cushions,
so that he would fit it better. For the kinglet was a small boy with a
long, freckled face, blue eyes, a pug nose, and black hair banged across
his forehead, and hanging in lank, straight locks far down over his
shoulders. He wore an ermine cloak lined with purple, and bore in his
hand a scepter with a jeweled ball at one end, while beyond the ball
projected a small golden knob. The kinglet's slim legs were crossed
under him like those of a Turk, and he seemed very frail and delicate.
However, when the Failings and the Fresh-Air Fiend and Chick and
John Dough entered, the kinglet's brow was puckered into a frown, and his
blue eyes fairly flashed fire.
"Odds Zooks!" he cried, as they all knelt before the throne, "why
have you dared to wait until this hour to pay me your devoirs?"
Then he leaned down and prodded the fat man with the knob of his
scepter, so that the sleeper started and opened his eyes. "Is that
right, Nebbie? Is 'devoir' a kingly word?" he demanded.
"Absolutely kingly, your Majesty," said the fat man, yawning.
"It was used by King Arthur and Richard Coeur de Leon."
"Very well!" said the kinglet, proudly. Then he turned again to
the kneeling group before him. "Why don't you answer me?" he exclaimed.
"Why are you so late in paying me your boudoirs?"
"Devoirs, your Majesty!" said the fat man, hastily.
"I said 'devoirs'!" returned the kinglet, turning upon him in
anger.
"We are late because we did not get here sooner," said the
Awkward; "and we could not get here sooner because we were late."
"So!" shrieked his Majesty, with blazing eyes. "Now by my
halidom--" he paused suddenly, and turned to the fat man, prodding him so
fiercely that he jumped several feet into the air. "Is 'halidom' the
right word, Nebbie?"
"Sure," said the fat man, nodding emphatically.
"What does it mean?" asked the kinglet.
"What does halidom mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, a halidom is a halidom," said the fat man, thoughtfully;
"and belongs to kings."
"But what is it?" persisted the kinglet, impatiently.
"It's a--a--a sort of a royal prerogative, and is usually painted
red," returned the fat man, and immediately resumed his seat and closed
his eyes again.
The kinglet sighed, and turned anew to the Failings.
"Let me see, he remarked; "where was I?"
"You were by your halidom, your Majesty," suggested the
Blunderer.
"Oh, yes." Again the long freckled face took on a frown. "By my
halidom, churl--" He stopped to glance at the fat man.
"Churl is all right," mumbled Nebbie, without opening his eyes.
"By my halidom, churl, you shall either swallow my scepter or die
the death!"
"What death?" asked the Blunderer, trembling.
"The one that makes people dead," replied the kinglet, sternly.
"Choose, then, varlet--" ("Varlet is good," said Nebbie, quickly, to
avoid a thrust) "whether to swallow my scepter or die the death!"
The Blunderer glanced at the scepter, the jeweled ball of which
was nearly as large as his head.
"I'll swallow the scepter," he said.
"Good," cried the king, and held it toward him.
"But not now," added the Blunderer, hastily; "I'll take my time
about it. You didn't say when, you know."
The kinglet turned red with rage. "Now, by the royal Juggernaut
of Jowl--" he began.
"If I should swallow it now," continued the Blunderer, calmly,
"you would cease to be a kinglet; for a kinglet without a scepter is
nothing but a flibberjig."
"What!" shrieked his Majesty, jabbing the fat man furiously.
"That's right," declared Nebbie, groaning and rubbing his fat
side dolefully. "A kinglet without a scepter is a flibberjig, and I'll
be black and blue by to-morrow morning!"
"Well," said his Majesty, after considering the matter, "I forbid
you, Sir Blunderer, to swallow my scepter until I give you leave."
Then his eye fell upon John Dough and Chick, who were standing at
one side of the Failings, and immediately the little kinglet looked
surprised, and then curious, and then annoyed. But perhaps the annoyed
look was because Chick laughed in the royal face in a way that was
certainly disrespectful, and even John Dough didn't look at all humble.
"Here, you Chick; behave yourself," commanded the kinglet.
"I won't," said Chick, pouting two pretty lips.
"Well, this kingdom existed at one time without an Incubator
Baby, and I believe we could spare you now. I'll have your saucy head
cut off," declared the kinglet.
"I dare you!" said Chick, making a face.
"There's a nice child, I must say!" retorted the kinglet,
scowling. "But what can we expect of a baby that has no parents and no
proper bringing-up? Bah! I'm ashamed of you, Chick!"
"Don't you dare say anything against my Incubator!" cried Chick,
angrily. "I guess I've had as good bringing-up as you have, you
disagreeable kinglet, you!"
His Majesty was at first about to retort with equal anger; but he
suddenly changed his mind and turned to John Dough.
"Who are you, stranger?" he asked. "And why are you wearing the
Blunderer's armor?"
So much disrespect had been shown this kinglet by his subjects
that John was about to reply lightly to these questions; but to his
surprise Chick grasped his hand and whispered to him to make a low bow
and to be very careful what he said. So the gingerbread man stepped
forward and addressed his Majesty with great ceremony.
"Oh, most puissant and serene kinglet!" he began; "I am called
John Dough, because I am made of gingerbread; and I came to your Isle
because I could not help it."
The kinglet looked upon the stranger with a kindly expression.
"'Puissant and serene'!" he murmured. "Evidently, John Dough,
you are a person of wit and intelligence, such as are most welcome to the
Isle of Phreex. Kneel thou at my feet."
John knelt, as commanded, and the kinglet at once dealt him a
sharp blow upon the Blunderer's helmet with the heavy end of the royal
scepter. It dented in the steel plate, and would have crushed the
gingerbread man's head had it not been so well protected by the helmet.
"I dub you Knight of Phreex," said his Majesty. "Rise, Sir John
Dough--villain no longer, but noble and favored among my subjects!"
John stood up and bowed, although he was slightly dazed by the
force of the blow.
"Long live the gentle Kinglet of Phreex," he managed to say. And
Chick clapped two chubby hands with glee, and whispered: "Well done, my
friend!"
"You please me, Sir John," remarked the little kinglet, swelling
out his chest complacently. "I wish all the people of Phreex were so
polite and discerning." Then he looked around and inquired: "Where's Sir
Austed Alfrin, the Poet Laureate?"
Immediately a drapery parted, and a man with a pale, thin face and
long black hair entered and saluted his Majesty with profound respect.
The Poet had a bandage over one eye and hobbled as if lame in one leg.
He was clothed all in black, and his long frock coat had grease spots
down the front of it.
"Have you made me a sonnet to-day?" demanded the little kinglet.
"Yes, my royal Master," answered the Poet; and, pompously
unrolling a scroll, he read in a loud, falsetto voice, these lines:
"There is a wise Kinglet of Phreex,
Whose wit is so great that it leaks;
His brain isn't big,
But who cares a fig
While wisdom from him fairly reeks?"
"Now, that's not so bad," said his Majesty, reflectively. "But
can't you make it a little stronger, Sir Poet?"
"I'll try," replied Austed Alfrin; and after penciling some words
on his tablets he read as follows:
"The Goddess of Wisdom felt sad;
And when asked why she whimpered so bad,
Said: 'There's one, it is true,
Who knows more than I do--
And the Kinglet of Phreex is the lad!'"
"Now that," said his Majesty, "strikes me as being real poetry.
How does it strike you, Sir John Dough?"
"It's fairly good," replied the gingerbread man; "but it hardly
does you justice."
"The Poet doesn't dare do his Majesty justice," said the
Disagreeable Failing. "If he did, there would soon be no Poet."
"There's something in that, too," said the kinglet. "But now,
Sir Austed, write me a sonnet on my new subject, Sir John Dough."
The Poet sighed and began writing on his tablets; and presently
he read this:
"The Kinglet of Phreex, it is said,
Has a Knight made of stale gingerbread;
We could eat him, but yet
The dyspepsia we'd get
Would soon make us wish we were dead."
"That," said John, indignantly, "is rank libel; and if your
Majesty will loan me your scepter, I'll make an end of this Poet in seven
seconds by the clock."
"You have my permission to make mince-meat of him," replied the
kinglet, cheerfully.
"Mercy! mercy, my lord!" screamed the Poet, falling upon his
knees before John and hastily wiping the verse off his tablets, "give me
one more chance, I beg of you!"
"Very well," said the gingerbread knight. "But if it's no better
than the last you shall be discharged. Is it not so, your Majesty?"
"Quite so," laughed the kinglet.
The Poet nervously scribbled another set of lines, which he read
in a voice that trembled with fear:
"The Gingerbread Man is so sweet,
To eat him would be a rare treat;
He's crisp and well spiced,
And you'd find, were he sliced,
That the eggs in him cannot be beat!"
"That's better," said John, "but I'm not sure about the eggs, as
I did not pay much attention when I was mixed. However, this sincere
tribute to my excellence will save you from my displeasure, and you may
go free."
The Poet did not wait an instant, but ran from the hall as fast
as his legs would carry him.
The kinglet now dismissed the Failings, who left the royal
presence quarreling and threatening one another, and making so much noise
and uproar that the gingerbread man was glad to see them go.
"Aren't they nice?" asked the kinglet, looking after them. "I'd
like to drown them all in the castle moat, like kittens; but every king,
they say, has his Failings, so I suppose I must keep mine."
He sighed, and continued: "But what did the Poet's sonnet say
about your being crisp and well spiced, and rather good eating were you
sliced?"
"Don't pay any attention to that, your Majesty!" said John,
hastily.
"But why not?" persisted the kinglet. "I declare, Sir John,
there's something about you that makes me hungry whenever I look at you.
I don't remember having eaten any gingerbread since I was a boy--ahem!--I
mean since I came to rule over the Isle of Phreex. Ho there, my guards!
Fetch me a knife!"
John was now trembling with terror; but Chick said to the
kinglet: "Your Majesty forgets that you are to have pancakes and
maple-syrup for tea. What's the use of spoiling your appetite, when you
know the gingerbread man will keep good for weeks?"
"Are you sure?" asked the kinglet, anxiously. "Are you sure
he'll keep? Won't he get stale?"
"Of course not," answered the child. "He's the kind of
gingerbread that always keeps good. And you mustn't forget he'll be a
credit to the Isle of Phreex; for whoever saw a live gingerbread man
before?"
"Nobody," declared the kinglet, positively. "You're right, my
Cherub; I'll save the gingerbread man for another meal, and in the mean
time I can show him off before my people. We pride ourselves, Sir John,
on having a greater variety of queer personages than any other kingdom in
existence."
"Then you ought to be careful of them, and not permit them to be
eaten," said John, still anxious. But the kinglet did not seem to hear
him.
"Pancakes and maple-syrup!" muttered his Majesty, longingly.
"Dear me, Chick; I wish tea were ready now."
"So do I," said Chick, laughing; for John Dough was safe from
being eaten just then, whatever might be his future fate, and the child
had saved him by the mention of the cakes and syrup.
But now a sudden hubbub was heard at the door, and in rushed a
number of the royal guard wheeling a big platform on which was seated a
woman so exceedingly fat that she appeared to be much wider than she was
long.
"Here! what's the trouble with Bebe Celeste?" asked the kinglet,
frowning.
"She has lost two ounces, your Majesty," puffed one of the guards,
wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his coat sleeve.
"Two ounces!" shouted the kinglet. "Now, by the toga of
Samson--by the way, Nebbie, did Samson wear a toga?" He punched the fat
man so severely that Nebbie gave a roar of pain before he answered.
"He wore several, your Majesty!"
"Then, by the several togas of Samson, Bebe Celeste, how dare you
come before me two ounces shy?"
"I didn't come; I was brought," said the fat woman, in a wheezy
voice.
"She was weighed in the balance and found wanting," said the
guardsman.
"What was she wanting?" asked the kinglet.
"Two ounces, your Majesty."
The ruler rubbed his pug nose with one finger, in a reflective
manner.
"Bebe," said he, "you've been exercising again. You're trying to
reduce!"
The woman began to cry. "'Tain't my fault, your royal giblet--"
"Kinglet, woman!" said the fat man, without opening his eyes.
"Your royal kinglet, I didn't mean to lose a single flutter o'
flesh. But my dog Duo got to quarreling with himself and I got exercised
in my mind--"
"Oh, the loss is in your mind, is it?" interrupted the King. "I
wouldn't mind the loss if I had not forbidden you to exercise at all,
even in your mind."
"I couldn't help it, your fudgesty--"
"Majesty, woman!" said the fat man, sleepily.
"My dog Duo got to quarreling--"
"Bring us the dog, varlets, churls, and vassals!" screeched the
kinglet, in his shrill voice.
The guards stumbled over each other to obey; and presently they
returned leading such a curious animal that John Dough stared at it in
amazement.
It was a dog, without doubt; or rather, it was a dog's body with a
head and two legs at either end of it. So that when one end walked
forward the other end had to walk backward, and that made the back end
growl angrily. But the same end was not always the back end of the dog;
for first one head, and then the other, would prove strongest, and drag
the curious animal forward.
When this double dog, which was named Duo, was brought in, both
heads were snarling and barking in a very noisy manner. But however much
enraged they were, they could never get together to do one another
mischief.
"Be silent!" yelled the kinglet, annoyed at the clamor.
But the dog's heads paid no attention to the command.
"Very well," said his Majesty; "I'll put a stop to your noise for
good and all! Here, you guards, fetch me the Royal Executioner!"
The fat lady began crying anew at this, and presently the door
opened and a young girl entered the hall. She was clothed in simple
robes of pure white, over which her loose brown hair flowed in a soft
cloud. Her eyes were large and dark and very gentle in expression, and
her cheeks were fair as a lily. In one hand the maid bore a long sword,
the naked blade of which shone brightly in the light. In the other hand
was a sharpening-stone, and as she bowed before the kinglet she rubbed
the stone gently against the keen edge of the blade.
Although the dog's heads were still quarreling, and Bebe Celeste
still weeping, it was upon John Dough that the Royal Executioner first
turned her eyes.
"I hope it isn't this one, your Majesty!" she said, in a voice of
disappointment; "for he won't bleed at all, being made of cake."
"I beg your pardon," exclaimed John, hastily. "I am not cake,
but gingerbread."
"It's just the same," she answered, sighing, "you wouldn't bleed
if I cut you into bits."
"Why are you so bloodthirsty?" asked John, looking reproachfully
into the girl's gentle eyes.
"Because I'm the Royal Executioner, I suppose," she answered.
"I've held the office ever since my father was destroyed by an
earthquake, but I've never yet executed a single person. The kinglet
calls me in about a dozen times a day, but something always happens to
rob me of my victim. I've worn out three sword blades, sharpening them,
but I've never carved anything yet!"
"Be of good cheer," said his Majesty, "for now you shall see
blood flow like water. This time I am fully resolved to be terrible.
Cut me this snarling cur into two parts!"
"What, the dog?" asked the girl, surprised. And Bebe began to
scream loudly, and the fat man woke up and shook his head, and Chick
patted both heads of the animal tenderly, and a guardsman cried out: "Oh,
no, your Majesty!"
"And why not?" inquired the kinglet.
"Why, this is the most valuable creature in all your dominions!"
said the guard. "Do you desire to rob yourself of such a treasure, your
Majesty?"
The kinglet hesitated, and then jabbed the fat man with his
scepter.
"Is it so, Nebbie?" he asked.
"It is so, my Lord," answered the fat man. "If you want to
butcher anything, cut up a few of the Royal Guards, or mince the
Failings, or carve Chick, the Cherub. But the dog Duo is one of the
remarkable features of your kingdom, and should be preserved at all
hazards. Why, he's worth more than Bebe Celeste."
"That reminds me of Bebe," said the kinglet, looking at the fat
one sternly, "Take her away, guards, and stuff her with mashed potatoes
and pate de foie gras. If she doesn't regain those two ounces in three
days, she'll disgrace my kingdom, and I'll turn her over to the Royal
Executioner."
So the guards trundled away the platform on which the fat lady
sat, and the dog Duo followed, first one head leading, and then the
other. And now his Majesty threw off his ermine robe and laid down the
scepter and scrambled out of the throne.
"The royal audience is ended for to-day," he said, "and now I'll
go and see if those cakes and maple-syrup are ready for tea. And see
here, you Incubator Baby, look after Sir John Dough, and mind that nobody
eats him. If there's one bite gone when I see him again I'll turn you
over to the Royal Executioner--and then there won't be any Incubator
Baby."
Then his Majesty walked away, chuckling to himself in a very
disagreeable manner. At once the fat Nebbie rolled out of his low seat
and stood up, yawning and stretching out his arms.
"Our kinglet is a hard master," said he, with a sigh, "and I
really wish some one would get up a revolution and dethrone him. He's
been punching my ribs all day long, and I'll be black and blue by
to-morrow morning."
"He's cruel," said Chick, patting the fat man's hand, as if to
comfort him.
"Yet he's too tender-hearted to suit me," complained the lovely
Executioner. "If I could only shed a single drop of blood, I'd feel that
I am of some use in the world."
"How dreadful!" cried John, with a shudder.
"Oh, not at all!" said the girl. "For what's the object of being
an Executioner if one can't execute?" And she tucked the sword under her
arm and took out her handkerchief and went away weeping sorrowfully.
The Freaks of Phreex
"Well, didn't I take care of you all right?" laughed the Incubator
Baby, leading John Dough from the throne-room and up a broad flight of
marble stairs.
"Indeed you did," he answered, gratefully. "Really, my dear
Chick, I believe that dreadful kinglet would have eaten me but for you."
"'Course he would" said the Cherub, nodding gayly; "and won't he
be wild when he finds there are no pancakes and maple-syrup for tea?"
John stopped short. "Aren't there?" he asked. "Oh, Chick! I'm
afraid he'll punish you for deceiving him."
"I don't mind," declared the child. "No one shall eat a friend of
mine that I've given my promise to take care of. So come along, John
Dough, and don't worry. I've got a lovely room on the top floor of this
castle, and I'll share it with you."
So John mounted more marble steps, until finally Chick brought him
to a handsome apartment on the third story.
"Here we are!" cried the Baby. "Now, make yourself at home, John,
for we needn't fear the kinglet until to-morrow morning, and then he'll
have forgotten that I fooled him."
Our hero's first act was to take off the Blunderer's heavy armor
and pile it in one corner of the room. When free from the weight of
metal he felt more like himself again, and walked to the window to view
the scenery.
"It's a pretty place, Chick," he remarked.
"Oh, the Isle is all right," answered the child. "It's the people
here that are all wrong, as you'll soon find out. Do you ever eat, John
Dough?"
"Never," said John.
"Then, while you're waiting here, I'll go over to the dairy and
get my milk for tea. You don't mind if I leave you for a few minutes, do
you?"
"Not at all," he declared. "But it has just started to rain,
outside; you'll get wet, won't you?"
"That's nothing," laughed Chick. "I won't melt."
"It's different with me," said John, sadly. "If my gingerbread
body got soaked it would fall to pieces."
That made the little one laugh again, and it ran merrily from the
room and left John Dough alone to stare out of the window. There was a
projecting cornice overhead, so he had pushed his head well out to
observe the pretty scenery, when suddenly he heard a voice say, in a tone
of astonishment:
"Hello, neighbor!"
Turning toward the left, he saw sticking out of the next window
to his own a long bald head that slanted up to a peak, underneath which
appeared a little withered face that was smiling in a most friendly manner.
John bowed politely.
"Well, well," said the owner of the bald head. "Here's another
curiosity come to our island! Wait a minute, and I'll run in and make
your acquaintance." So presently the bald head, which was perched upon
the body of a little, dried-up looking man, entered John's room and bowed
politely.
"I'm Sir Pryse Bocks," he said, "and the remarkable thing about
me is that I'm an inventor, and a successful one. You, I perceive, are a
delicatessen; a friend in knead; I might say, a Pan-American. Ha, ha!"
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," returned John, bowing. "But
do not joke about my person, Sir Pryse. I'm proud of it."
"I respect your pride, sir," said the other. "It's bread in the
bone, doubtless. Ha, ha!"
John looked at him reproachfully, and the little man at once grew
grave.
"This island is full of inventors," said he; "but they're all
cranks, and don't amount to anything--except me."
"What have you invented?" asked John.
"This!" said the other, taking a little tube from his pocket.
"You will notice that it often rains--it's raining now, if you'll look
outside. And the reason it rains is because the drops of water fall to
the earth by the attraction of gravitation."
"I suppose so," said John.
"Now, what do people usually do when it rains?" asked the little
man.
"They grumble," said John.
"Yes, and they use umbrellas--umbrellas, mind you, to keep
themselves dry!"
"And that is quite sensible," declared John.
The bald-headed one gave a scornful laugh. "It's ridiculous!" he
said, angrily. "An umbrella is a big, clumsy thing, that the wind jerks
out of your hand, or turns inside out; and it's a nuisance to carry it
around; and people always borrow it and never bring it back. An
umbrella, sir, is a humbug! A relic of the Dark Ages! I've done away
with the use of umbrellas entirely, by means of this invention--this
little tube, which can be carried in one's pocket!"
He held up a small instrument that looked like a tin whistle.
"How curious!" said John.
"Isn't it? You see, within this tube is stored a Power of
Repulsion that overcomes the Attraction of Gravitation, and sends the
rain-drops flying upward again. You stick the tube in your hatband and
walk out boldly into the rain. Immediately all the rain-drops shoot up
into the air, and before they can fall again you have passed on! It's
always dry where the wearer of this tube goes, for it protects him
perfectly. And when it stops raining, you put it in your pocket again
and it's all ready for another time. Isn't it great, sir? Isn't it
wonderful? Isn't the inventor of this tube the greatest man in the
world?"
"I'd like to try it," said John, "for no one needs protection
from the rain more than I do. Being made of gingerbread, it would ruin
me to get wet."
"True," agreed the other. "I'll lend you the tube, with
pleasure. Stick it in your hat-band."
"I have no hat," said John; and then he remembered that he had
left both the baker's hat and his candy cane lying on the sands where he
had first fallen.
"Well, carry the tube in your hand, then," said the inventor.
"It will work just as well that way, but it's not so convenient."
So John took the tube; and having thanked the bald-headed man for
his kindness, he left the room and walked down the stairs and through the
big, empty hall, and so out into the courtyard.
The rain seemed to have driven every one in doors, for not a
person could he see.
Holding the tube upright, he boldly walked into the rain; and it
gave him great pleasure to notice that not a drop fell near him. Indeed,
by looking upward, he could see the falling drops stop short and then fly
toward the clouds; and he began to believe that the bald-headed inventor
was really as great a man as he claimed to be.
After descending the slippery path through the rocks, he crossed
the patch of green, and at last reached the sandy shore, where he found
the baker's hat, soaked through by the rain. As he lifted it he saw the
crooked handle of the candy cane sticking out of the sand, and drew it
forth to find it in excellent condition, little of the dampness having
reached it.
But now, as John Dough began to retrace his steps, he discovered
that his feet were soft and swollen. For he had been walking on the damp
ground and through the wet grass, and although no rain had fallen upon
his body, his feet were getting to be in a dangerous condition, and the
licorice in them had become sticky. After he had recrossed the grass and
come to the edge of the rocks he began to be frightened, for bits of his
left heel now commenced to crumble and drop in the path; and when he
tried walking on his flabby toes, they were so soggy and soft that he
knew they would not last very long.
While he paused, bewildered, another calamity overtook him. For
the tube suddenly lost its power of repulsion and ceased to work, and the
raindrops began to pelt his unprotected body and sink into his flesh. He
looked around with a groan of dismay, and discovered a round hole, or
tunnel, in the rock near by. Staggering toward this, he entered the
tunnel and found that now no rain could reach him. The floor was smooth
and dry, and in the far distance he saw a light twinkling.
Not daring to walk farther upon his mushy feet, John got down on
his hands and knees and began crawling toward the farther end of the
tunnel. He made slow progress, in that position; but soon he heard a
noise of machinery, and felt the warm air of a furnace coming to meet
him. That gave him courage to proceed, and he crawled onward until he
had reached a large, circular chamber, where a tall man with whiskers
that resembled those of a billy-goat was busily working among a number of
machines.
"Hello!" this personage exclaimed, as he saw the gingerbread man.
"What have we here?"
The voice and eyes were alike kindly; so John told the man his
story and asked permission to dry his feet at the glowing furnace.
"Make yourself at home," said the man, and turned to his work
again.
The place was lighted by electricity, and was warm and
comfortable. John put his feet as near to the furnace as he dared, and
soon felt the heat drying up his soaked feet. It was not long, indeed,
before his entire body was as crisp and solid as ever; and then our hero
stood upon his feet and found that the damage to his heel would not
interfere much with his walking.
"What are you doing?" he asked the man.
"Making diamonds," replied the other, calmly. "I suppose I am
the only one in the world who ever succeeded in making real diamonds; but
people did not believe in me, you see, so they sent me to the Isle of
Phreex. Here I have manufactured the finest diamonds the world has ever
known, for no one interferes with my work. Look at these."
He threw back the lid of a large tin box, and John saw that it
was full to the brim with sparkling gems of a clear white color.
"Take some," said the man, offering him a handful. "They are of
no use to me here, because I cannot dispose of them. But I have the
satisfaction of making them, just the same. Help yourself!"
"No, thank you," said John. "I have no use for diamonds, any
more than you have."
"But the time may come when riches will be a great help to you,"
said the man, and picking out three very big stones he began pressing
them into John Dough's gingerbread body, one after the other.
"There!" he exclaimed. "They are now safely concealed, and if
you ever need them you can dig them out and sell them. Those three
stones would be worth several thousand dollars if you ever get into the
world again, where diamonds are valued."
"You are very generous," said John.
"Oh, not at all, I assure you!" said the man, wagging his
goatlike beard with every word he spoke. "In this curious island there
is no value to anything whatever, not even to life. All I can do with my
diamonds here is to stick them into the kinglet's crown and scepter; so
I'm getting a big stock of them laid by. Very soon I shall begin
studding the roof of the throne-room with diamonds, and it will be a
pretty sight to see them glittering in one mass."
"Well," said our hero, "if it has stopped raining, I believe I'll
bid you good-by."
"Never mind the rain," answered the man. "Here is a winding
staircase that leads directly upward into the castle. If you go that
way, the rain cannot reach you. The tunnel through which you entered is
only used for ventilation."
John thanked the good-natured diamond-maker and started to climb
the stairs. There were a good many steps, but after a while he came to a
gallery of the castle, and had little difficulty in finding the passage
that led to his own room.
As he walked along he heard the sound of a piano, and paused at
an open door to peer within the room, for he imagined some one was
pounding upon the keys of the piano with a sledge-hammer. But
immediately a fluffy-haired man looked up and saw him, and the next
instant pounced upon the gingerbread man in much the same way that a cat
would pounce upon a rat, and seized him fast, drew him into the room, and
closed and locked the door.
John was astonished, but the fluffy-haired musician began pacing
up and down the room, swinging his arms and shouting:
"I have it! I have it at last! I am great! I am magnificent!
I am better than Vogner himself!" He paused to glare upon John. "Why
don't you shout, you baked idiot? Why don't you weep with joy?" he
cried. "It is great, I tell you! It is great!"
"What is great?" asked John.
"The symphonie! The divine symphonie, you heartless
molasses-cake, or devil's food, or whatever you are! And I composed
it--I--Tietjamus Toips! I am greater than Vogner!"
"I didn't hear it," said the gingerbread man.
The musician threw himself upon the piano, and produced a
succession of such remarkable sounds that John was surprised.
"Did you understand it?" demanded the fluffy-haired one, jumping
up again.
"No," said John.
"No! Of course not! No one can understand it. It is genius!
It will be played at all the great concerts. The critics will write
columns in praise of it. Some folks can understand Vogner a little. No
one can understand me at all! I am wonderful! I am superb!"
"Well," said John, "I'm not a judge. It seemed to me like awful
discord."
The musician threw himself upon his knees and burst into tears.
"Thank you, my friend!--my dear friend!" said he, between the
sobs. "Such praise gladdens my heart and makes me very happy! Ah!
glorious moment, in which I produce music that is not understood and
sounds like discord!"
John left the musician still shedding tears of happiness, and
walked to his room.
"The people of this island are certainly peculiar," he reflected;
"and I am very glad indeed that I am an ordinary gingerbread man, and not
a crank."
He found the bald-headed inventor of the power of repulsion
awaiting him in the room.
"Well, how did the tube please you? Is it not wonderful?" he
inquired.
"It's wonderful enough when it works," said John; "but it
suddenly quit working, and nearly ruined me."
"Ah, the power became exhausted," returned the man, calmly, "But
that is nothing. It can be easily renewed."
"However," John remarked, "I think that whenever any one uses
your tube as a protection from the rain, he should also carry an umbrella
to use in case of accident."
"An umbrella! Bah!" cried the inventor, and left the room in a
rage, slamming the door behind him.
The Lady Executioner
Presently Chick returned, looking bright and happy as ever; but
when the child heard the tale of John's wanderings in the rain he
received a sound scolding for being so careless.
"You mustn't pay any attention to the inventors," said the Cherub.
"This Isle is full of 'em, and most of their inventions won't work."
"I've discovered that," said John.
"But they're good fun, if you don't take 'em in earnest,"
continued the Baby; "and as it's going to rain all the afternoon I'll
take you around the castle to make some calls on some of the cranks that
are harmless.
John readily agreed to this proposal; so Chick took his hand and
led him through some of the wide halls, stopping frequently to call upon
the different inventors and scientific discoverers who inhabited the
various rooms. They were all glad to see the pretty child and welcomed
John Dough almost as cordially.
One personage presented the gingerbread man with a smokeless
cigar that he had recently invented. Another wanted him to listen to a
noiseless music-box, and was delighted when John declared he could hear
nothing at all. A third wanted him to try a dish of hot ice-cream made
in a glowing freezer, and was grieved because the gingerbread man was
constructed in such a way that it was impossible for him to eat.
"Really," said John, "I don't see the use of these things."
"Oh, they're not useful at all," replied Chick, laughing; "but
these folks are all trying to do something queer, and most of them are
doing it. Now we'll climb this tower, and I'll show you what I call a
really fine invention."
So up they climbed to the top of one of the turrets, winding
round and round a narrow staircase until they came upon a broad platform.
And on this platform rested a queer machine that somewhat resembled a
bird, for it had two great wings and a big body that glittered as
brightly as if it were made of silver.
While they stood looking at this odd contrivance a door in the
body of the bird opened and a young man stepped out and greeted them.
John thought him quite the most agreeable person, in looks and
manner, that he had yet met in the Isle of Phreex; excepting, of course,
his friend Chick. The young man had a sad face, but his eyes were
pleasant and intelligent and his brow thoughtful. In a few polite and
well-chosen words he welcomed his guests.
"This is Imar," said Chick, introducing John; "and he has
invented a real flying-machine."
"One that will fly?" asked John, curiously.
"Of course," said the Baby. "I've had many a ride in it--haven't
I, Imar?"
"To be sure," replied the young man. "I have often taken Chick
to ride as far as forty yards from the tower. If it did not rain, just
now, nothing would give me more pleasure than to prove to you that my
invention will work perfectly."
"I see you have made it resemble a bird," remarked John, who was
quite interested in the machine.
"Yes," said the dreamy Imar, "and the reason I have succeeded in
my invention is because I have kept close to Nature's own design. Every
muscle of a bird's wings is duplicated in this machine. But instead of
being animated by life, I have found it necessary to employ electric
batteries and motors. Perhaps the bird isn't exactly as good as a real
bird, but it will fly all right, as you shall see when I take you for a
ride in it."
He then allowed John to enter the tiny room in the body of the
bird, which was just big enough to allow two to sit close together. And
in front of the seat were various push-buttons and a silver lever, by
means of which the flight of the machine was controlled.
"It is very simple," said Imar, proudly. "Even Chick could guide
the machine, if properly instructed. The only fault of the invention is
that the wings are too light to be strong, and that is why I do not take
very long trips in it."
"I understand," answered John. "It's quite a distance to the
ground, if anything happened to break."
"True," acknowledged Imar, sadly; "and I do not wish to break my
neck before I am able to make a bigger and better machine."
"That is not to be wondered at," said John. Then he thanked the
inventor and followed Chick down the winding stairs and through the halls
until they again reached their own room, where they sat and talked until
darkness came and drove the Incubator Baby to its snowy couch. As for
the gingerbread man, he never required sleep or rest; so he sat quietly
in a chair and thought of many things until a new day dawned.
By morning the rain had ceased and the sun arose in a blue sky
and flooded the Isle with its warm and brilliant rays. The Incubator
Baby was so happy this pleasant day that it fairly danced away to get its
regular breakfast of milk and oatmeal.
But John Dough's little friend was back at his side before long,
and together they went hand in hand through the halls of the castle to
the throne-room of the kinglet.
They found his Majesty already seated in the throne, with the fat
Nebbie asleep at one side of him and the girl executioner carefully
sharpening her sword on the other side.
"This is my busy day," said the kinglet, nodding graciously to
Chick and the gingerbread man. "There are too many useless people in my
kingdom, and I'm going to kill off some of them. Sit down and watch the
flash of the executioner's sword."
Then he turned to his guards and commanded:
"Bring in the General."
Immediately they ushered before the kinglet a soldierly man
clothed in a gorgeous uniform. His head was erect and his countenance
calm and set. The eyes seemed dull and listless, and he walked stiffly,
as if his limbs were rheumatic.
"Sire, I salute you!" the General exclaimed, in a hollow voice.
"Why am I brought before you as a prisoner--I, the hero of a hundred
battles?"
"You are accused of being foolish," said the kinglet, with a
broad grin upon his freckled face.
"Sire, at the battle of Waterloo--"
"Never mind the battle of Waterloo," interrupted his Majesty.
"I am told you are scattered all over the world, as the result of your
foolishness."
"To an extent, Sire, I am scattered. But it is the result of
bravery, not foolishness." He unstrapped his left arm and tossed it on
the floor before the throne. "I lost that at Bull Run," he said. Then
he unhooked his right leg and cast it down. "That, Sire, was blown off
at Sedan." Then he suddenly lifted his right arm, seized his hair firmly,
and lifted the head from his shoulders. "It is true I lost my head at
Santiago," he said, "but I could not help it."
John was astonished. The old general seemed to come to pieces
very easily. He had tucked the head under his right elbow, and now stood
before the kinglet on one foot, presenting a remarkably strange
appearance.
His Majesty seemed interested.
"What is your head made of?" he asked.
"Wax, your Majesty."
"And what are your legs made of?" continued the kinglet.
"One is cork, Sire, and the other--the one I am now standing
on--is basswood."
"And your arms?"
"Rubber, my kinglet."
"You may go, General. There is no doubt you were very unwise to
get so broken up; but there is nothing left for the Royal Executioner to
do."
The girl sighed and felt the edge of her blade; and the old
general replaced his head, had his leg and arm again strapped to his body
by the guards, and hobbled away after making a low bow before the throne.
Just then a great noise of quarrelling and fighting was heard
near the doorway, and while all eyes were turned toward the sound, a
wooden Indian sprang into the hall, waving a wooden tomahawk over his
head, and uttering terrible war-whoops.
Following him came a number of the Brotherhood of Failings,
trying to capture the Indian. The Awkward tripped up and fell flat on
his face; the Unlucky got in the way of the tomahawk and received a crack
on the head that laid him low; the Blunderer was kicked on the shin so
violently that he howled and limped away to a safe distance. But just
before the throne the Disagreeable, the Bad-Tempered, and the Ugly
managed to throw a rope about the Indian's arms and bind them fast to his
body, so that he ceased to struggle.
"What's the trouble?" asked the kinglet.
"Sir," said the Indian, proudly; "once I had the honor to be a
beautiful sign in front of a cigar store, and now these miserable
Failings dare to insult me."
"He claims his name is Wart-on-the-Nose," answered the
Disagreeable, "and any one can see there is no wart at all on his nose."
"So we decided to fight him," added the Ugly.
"And he dared to resist," said the Bad-Tempered.
"I am a great chief," the Indian declared, scowling fiercely. "I
am made of oak, and my paint is the best ready-mixed that can be
purchased!"
"But why do you claim your name is Wart-on-the-Nose?" asked the
kinglet.
"I have a right to call myself what I please!" answered the
Indian, sulkily. "Are not white girls called Rose and Violet when they
have not that color? John Brown was white and Mary Green was white. If
the white people deceive us about their names, I also have a right to
deceive."
"Now, by my--my--my--" The kinglet jabbed the fat man with his
scepter.
"Halidom!" yelled Nebbie, with a jump.
"By my halidom!" said the kinglet, "I will allow no one in my
kingdom to tell an untruth. There being no wart on your nose, you must
die the death! Executioner, do your duty!"
The Failings tripped up the Indian so that he fell upon his face,
and then the girl advanced solemnly with her sword.
Three times she swung the glittering blade around her head, and
then she glanced at the kinglet and said:
"Well!"
"Well, what?" asked his Majesty.
"Isn't it time to change your mind?"
"I'm not going to change my mind in this case," said the kinglet.
"Chop off his head!"
At this the girl screamed and drew back.
"Do you really mean it?"
"Of course."
"Oh, your Majesty, I couldn't hurt the poor thing!" sobbed the
Executioner. "It would be simply awful! Please change your mind, as you
always have done."
"I won't," said the kinglet, sternly. "You do as I tell you,
Maria Simpson, or I'll have you executed next!"
The girl hesitated. Then she took the sword in both her hands,
shut her eyes, and struck downward with all her might. The blade fell
upon the Indian's neck and shivered into several pieces.
"He's wood, your Majesty," said the Executioner. "I simply can't
cut his head off."
"Get a meat cleaver!" cried the kinglet. "Do you suppose I'll
allow Wart-on-the-Nose to live when he hasn't any wart on his nose? Get
the cleaver instantly!"
So the girl brought a big meat cleaver, and lifting it high in
the air, struck the Indian's neck as hard as she could.
The cleaver stuck fast in the wood; but it didn't cut far enough
to do much harm to the victim. Indeed, Wart-on-the-Nose even laughed,
and then he said:
"There's a knot in that neck--a good oak knot. You couldn't chop
my head off in a thousand years!"
The kinglet was annoyed.
"Pull out that cleaver," he commanded.
The girl tried to obey, but the cleaver stuck fast. Then the
Failings tried, one after another; but it wouldn't budge.
"Never mind, leave it there," said the Indian, rolling over and
then getting upon his feet. "It won't bother me in the least. In fact,
it will make a curious ornament."
"Look here, Sir John Dough," said the kinglet, turning to the
gingerbread man; "what am I going to do? I've said the Indian must die,
because he has no wart on his nose. And I find I can't kill him. Now,
you must either tell me how to get out of this scrape or I'll cut your
head off! And it won't be as hard to cut gingerbread as it is wood, I
promise you."
This speech rather frightened John, for he knew he was in great
danger. But after thinking a moment he replied:
"Why, it seems to me very easy to get out of the difficulty, your
Majesty. The Indian's only offense is that he has no wart on his nose."
"But that is a great offense!" cried the kinglet.
"Well, let us whittle a wart on his nose," said John, "and then
all will be well."
The kinglet looked at him in astonishment.
"Can that be done?" he asked.
"Certainly, your Majesty. It is only necessary to carve away
some of the wood of his nose, and leave a wart."
"I'll do it!" shouted the kinglet, in great delight. And he at
once sent for the Royal Carpenter and had the man whittle the Indian's
nose until a beautiful wart showed plainly on the very end.
"Good!" said the King.
"Good!" echoed the Indian, proudly. "Now none of those miserable
Failings dare say my name is not suitable!"
"I'm very sorry about that cleaver," remarked the kinglet.
"You'll have to carry it around wherever you go."
"That's all right. I'll add to my name and call myself
Wart-on-the-Nose-and-Cleaver-in-the-Neck. That will be a fine Indian
name, and no one can prove it is not correct."
Saying this, the wooden Indian bowed to the kinglet, gave a
furious war-whoop, and stalked stiffly from the room.
"Bring on the next prisoner!" shouted the kinglet, and both Chick
and John gave a gasp of surprise as Imar was brought into the room. The
inventor of the flying-machine, however, did not seem the least bit
frightened, and bowed calmly before the throne.
"What's the charge against this man?" inquired the kinglet.
"He's accused of being a successful inventor," said one of the
guards. The other inventors claim no one who succeeds has a right to
live in the Isle of Phreex."
"Quite correct," replied his Majesty. "Cut off his head, Maria."
"Alas, Sire! my sword is broken!" she exclaimed.
"Then get another."
"But I have no other sword that is sharpened," she protested.
"Then sharpen one!" retorted the kinglet, frowning.
"Certainly, your Majesty. But a sword cannot be properly
sharpened in a minute. It will take until to-morrow, at least, to get it
ready."
"Then," said the kinglet, "I'll postpone the execution until
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. "If you're not ready by that time
I'll get a new Royal Executioner and you'll lose your job."
"I shall be ready," said the girl, and walked away arm in arm with
the sad young man, on whom she smiled sweetly.
"It's all right," whispered Chick to John. "Imar won't get hurt,
for the kinglet will forget all about him by to-morrow."
"And now, my guards," said his Majesty, stretching his arms and
yawning, "bring hither my two-legged horse, that I may take a ride around
my kingdom."
So presently the guards led in a big, raw-boned nag that had two
legs instead of four, and these two set in the middle of its body. It
seemed rather frisky and pranced around in a nervous manner, so that the
kinglet had great difficulty in mounting the horse's back, whereon was a
saddle made of purple velvet and cloth of gold.
"Hold still, can't you?" cried the kinglet.
"I can; but I won't," said the horse, in a cross tone, for it
appeared the animal was able to talk.
"I'll thrash you soundly, if you don't behave!" screamed the
kinglet.
"I'll kick you in the ribs, if you dare to threaten me!" returned
the horse, laying back its ears. "Why, you miserable little
freckle-faced kinglet, I could run away with you and break your neck, if
I wanted to!"
"That's true," said his Majesty, meekly, "I beg your pardon for
my harsh words. Let us be friends, by all means!"
The horse snorted, as if with contempt, and the guards finally
managed to hoist the little kinglet to his seat upon the animal's back.
"Throw away that mace!" cried the horse.
His Majesty obeyed, at once.
"Now," said the animal, "you sit still and behave yourself, or
I'll dump you over my head. Understand?"
"I understand," said the kinglet.
"Very good!" declared the horse. "When you're on your throne
you're a tyrant; but when you're on horseback you're a coward, because
you're at my mercy, and you know it. Now, we are off."
The beast pranced down the hall and out of the arched entrance,
bearing the kinglet upon his back; and when they were gone John and Chick
started to take a walk along the beach of the seashore.
But no sooner had they stepped into the courtyard than an awful
yell saluted their ears, and before them stood the form of the terrible
Arab!
The Palace of Romance
"He must have broken loose!" cried Chick. "Let us run, John
Dough, before he can eat you."
At once John turned to fly, with Chick grasping his hand to urge
him on. Ali Dubh had indeed succeeded in breaking through the iron
grating of his prison, and had even managed to untie his hands. But his
legs were still firmly bound together from his ankles to his knees, so
that he could only move toward them by hopping.
Nevertheless, at the sight of the gingerbread man, who was mixed
with his precious Elixir, the Arab began bounding toward his victim with
long hops, and had John and Chick not run so fast as they did it is
certain the Arab would soon have overtaken them. Through the throne-room
they fled, with Ali Dubh just behind them, and then they began mounting
the marble stairways to the upper stories of the castle.
Their pursuer, nothing daunted by his bound legs, hopped up the
stairs after them with remarkable swiftness.
"Hurry!" cried Chick; "hurry, John Dough, or you'll be eaten."
They came to the second flight of stairs, and still the Arab
followed.
"We are lost," said John, in despair. "He'll surely get me this
time."
But Chick tugged at his puffy brown hand and hurried him on, for
the Incubator Baby at that very moment thought of a clever way to save
the gingerbread man. Still holding John's hand, the child ran through
the upper passages to the foot of the tower of Imar, and began climbing
up the steep stairs as fast as possible. Luckily for the fugitives,
these stairs to the tower were very difficult for Ali Dubh to climb by
hopping. When he was half-way up he lost his balance and tumbled down
again, and this accident gave John and Chick time to enter the body of
the bird flying-machine, which still lay stretched upon the roof of the
tower.
"Quick!" shouted the child, shutting and fastening the silver
door behind them. "Pull over that lever, and away we go!"
"Is it safe?" asked John, hesitating.
"Is it safe to be eaten?" inquired Chick.
John quickly grabbed the lever, pulled it over, and the huge bird
fluttered its wings once or twice and rose slowly into the air. It
sailed away from the roof just as the Arab appeared at the top of the
stairs.
"Stop!" screamed Ali Dubh. "You're mine, John Dough. Come back
and be eaten."
"Don't mind him," said the Cherub, peeping at the Arab through a
little window in the bottom of the bird's body. "And don't worry about
this flying-machine, either. Imar has told me how to run it, and it will
carry us somewhere, never fear. This button that I pushed is to start
it, and there's another button somewhere to stop it."
"Where?" asked John.
"I don't remember. But never mind that; we don't want to stop
just yet, anyhow."
John stooped to look through the little window, and saw spread
out beneath him the Isle of Phreex. The Brotherhood of Failings stood
upon the shore watching the flight of the machine, and the kinglet was
riding along calmly upon his two-legged horse without any idea that the
Incubator Baby and the gingerbread man were leaving his kingdom for good
and all and he would probably never see them again.
The great bird flew steadily westward, and Chick laughed and
chatted, and seemed to enjoy the journey immensely. They were flying
over the ocean now, and before long the Isle they had left became a mere
speck upon the water.
"Where are we going?" John asked.
"I don't know," answered Chick.
"What land lies in this direction?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Baby.
John became thoughtful.
"How long will this machine fly?" he inquired.
"Who knows?" said Chick. "Imar was always afraid to go very far
from the island with it. We'll just have to wait and find out."
This was not very encouraging, but it was too late to return now,
the Isle of Phreex being lost in the vastness of the great sea.
Moreover, John reflected that he would be in greater danger there from
Ali Dubh than in riding in an untried flying-machine. The only thing to
do was to continue the flight through the air until they sighted some
other land--provided the machine did not suddenly break down. It seemed
to be all right just at present, and John's admiration of Imar's genius
in constructing it grew steadily as the bird flopped on and on without a
sign of giving out.
Chick wasn't frightened, that was certain. The Baby laughed and
sang little songs, and seemed as happy and contented as when upon firm
land; so John gradually forgot his fears. The sun had sank low upon the
horizon, and was looking for a good place to dive into the sea, when the
voyagers discovered something far ahead of them that glittered brightly
upon the water. Neither could determine what the glitter meant, until
they drew nearer and saw a small, rocky islet, upon which was perched an
enormous palace that seemed to be made of pure gold, having many crystal
windows set in its domes and sides.
"It is certainly a beautiful place," said John. "Let us land
upon the islet."
"All right," returned Chick. "I'll see if I can find out which
button stops the thing."
The Baby pushed one of the buttons, and at once the bird shot up
higher into the air.
"That isn't it!" cried John, in sudden alarm.
Chick pushed another button, and the machine began whirling
around in short circles.
"Dear me!" said John; "what's going to happen to us?"
Chick laughed and pushed another button.
"One of 'em must be to stop," declared Chick, cheerfully; "and
there's only two more left."
The bird paused, with a quick trembling of its wings, and slowly
fluttered downward.
"Oh, now we're all right," gayly announced the queer child, "for
there's only one button left; and when I push it, John Dough, you must
pull back the silver lever and steer straight for the golden palace."
Down, down they sank, and fortunately the descent was made to the
flat roof of a wing of the palace. When they had almost reached it,
Chick, who was watching the roof through the little window, pushed the
last button, while John threw over the lever.
Immediately the flying-machine fell with a thump that made the
gingerbread man's candy teeth knock together.
"Wow!" said Chick. "That was a jolt and a half! I hope
nothing's broken."
"I don't believe I will ever ride in it again," said John,
smoothing the wrinkles out of his frosted shirt-front and pulling the
baker's hat off his eyes, where it had become jammed. "These air-ships
are too dangerous to suit me."
"Why, the bird has saved your life, and it may save it again,"
said Chick. "For my part, I rather like flying through the air. You
never know what's going to happen next. And see how lucky we are! This
is the only part of the palace roof that is flat, and we struck it to a
dot. If we'd fallen upon one of those spikes"--pointing to the numerous
spires and minarets--"our clocks would have stopped by this time."
"You have a queer way of expressing yourself, my friend," said
John, looking upon the child gravely. "The vast knowledge I gained by
means of the Elixir taught me nothing of your methods of twisting
language."
"That's too bad," answered Chick. "I can't always figure out
what you mean to say; but you always know what I mean, don't you?"
"Almost always," John acknowledged.
"Then don't complain," said the Baby, sweetly; and the
gingerbread man looked at his feet with a puzzled expression, and then
back into the child's smiling face, and sighed.
By this time they had climbed out of the bird's body and stood
upon the roof. It was so high above the rocks that it made John dizzy to
look down; but Chick soon discovered a trap-door that led downward into
the palace by means of a tiny staircase. They descended the stairs, and,
having pushed aside a heavy drapery that hung across a doorway, came upon
a broad passage running through the upper story of the palace. This led
to still another passage, and still another; but although they turned
this way and that in the maze of passages, no living person did they meet
with. The tiled floors and paneled walls were very beautiful and
splendid; but they were so much alike that our adventurers completely
lost their way before they came by accident to a broad staircase leading
downward to the next story. These stairs were covered with soft
carpeting and the balusters were of filigree gold. Still no one was to
be seen either on the stairs or in the passages, and the palace was
silent as could be.
They found another staircase, by and by, and descended to the
main floor of the palace, passing through magnificent parlors and
galleries, until finally a hum of pleasant voices reached their ears.
"I feel much relieved," said John, "for I had begun to think the
place was uninhabited."
"Let us go on," replied Chick, "and see who these people are."
Turning first to the right and then to left, and now following a
high-arched marble passage, the adventurers suddenly found themselves
before heavy draperies of crimson velvet, from beyond which came clearly
the sounds of laughter and the merry chattering of many people.
They pushed aside the draperies and entered a splendid domed
chamber of such exquisite beauty that the sight made even Chick pause in
astonishment.
All around the sides and in the ceiling were set handsome windows
made of bits of colored glass, so arranged that they formed very pleasing
pictures. Between the windows were panels of wrought gold having many
brilliant gems set in the metal. The floor was covered with priceless
rugs of quaint patterns, and the furniture consisted of many settees and
easy-chairs designed to afford the highest degree of comfort.
Fountains of perfumed waters sparkled here and there, falling
into golden basins; and little tables scattered about the room bore trays
of dainty refreshments.
Seated within the room were groups of ladies and gentlemen, all
clothed in gorgeous apparel, soft of speech, graceful and courteous in
demeanor, and with kindly faces.
These looked up with joyous surprise as the gingerbread man and
Chick entered, and the gentlemen all arose and bowed politely to the
strangers.
"Welcome!" cried the ladies, in a soft chorus; and then two of
their number came forward and led their unexpected guests to seats in the
very center of the room. Others offered them refreshment, of which Chick
eagerly partook, for the child was hungry. John Dough was obliged to
explain that he did not eat, and they accepted his speech very graciously
and did not remark at all upon his unusual personality.
When the child had finished eating, John said:
"May I ask what palace this is, and who rules upon this island?"
The ladies and gentlemen exchanged significant looks, and smiled;
but one made answer, in a deferential voice:
"Good sir, this is the Palace of Romance; and we have no ruler at
all, each one of our number having equal power and authority with the
others."
"We pass our time," said another, "in telling of tales of romance
and adventure; and, whenever a stranger comes to our palace, we require
him to amuse us by telling all the stories he may know."
"That is a fair requirement," replied John. "I think I shall
like this Palace of Romance, although I do not know many tales."
"The more tales you know the longer you may enjoy our palace,"
one of the ladies remarked, earnestly.
"How is that?" asked John, surprised.
They were silent for a time, and ceased laughing. But finally
one of the gentlemen said:
"Our laws oblige us to destroy every stranger, after he has
related to us all the stories he knows. It grieves us very much to tell
you this; but the laws cannot be changed, and the death is very simple
and without much pain. For you will be dropped through a trap into a
long slide leading to the bottom of the sea; and it is said there is
little discomfort in drowning."
Now, at this John looked pale and worried, and even the laughing
Chick became thoughtful. Several of the ladies wiped their eyes with
delicate handkerchiefs, as if in sorrow for their fate, and the men all
sighed sympathetically.
"Why can we not live, and join your pleasant party?" asked John.
"Why are your laws so severe regarding strangers?"
"We number exactly one hundred--fifty ladies and fifty
gentlemen," was the reply. "And, as the island is small, a large number
of people would crowd the palace and rendere it uncomfortable. We do not
entice strangers here; but neither dare we permit them to escape and tell
the world of our pleasant home; for then the ocean would be white with
the ships of curious people coming to visit us. So, long ago, the laws
were enacted obliging us to destroy whatever strangers chanced upon our
retreat. But you are in no immediate danger. As long as your stories
last you will live; and while you live you shall enjoy every pleasure our
palace affords."
John tried to think how many stories he knew through the virtue
of the magic Elixir; but the startling news he had just heard so confused
his mind that it drove all recollection of romance out of his head.
"Never mind," whispered Chick. "All stories except the true ones
have to be made up; so I'll make up some. And don't you worry, John
Dough. I've been in worse boxes than this, I can tell you."
The gingerbread man didn't know exactly what Chick meant, but the
tone of confidence relieved his embarrassment and inspired him with hope.
The ladies and gentlemen set Chick and John in the center of their group
and drew their chairs around them and prepared to listen attentively to
the child's story.
One might suppose the Incubator Baby's lifetime had been so brief
that it knew no stories at all; but Chick was full of imagination and
glad of the chance to invent wonderful tales for others to listen to.
And the child had resolved to make the stories so long and so interesting
that a chance of escape from death might finally be discovered. The
flying-machine still rested upon the roof, and if they could manage to
regain it there would be no need of their being dumped through the
trapdoor into the sea.
So Chick began to tell the company a story about an astonishing
Silver Pig that once lived in Dagupan (wherever that may be), and was the
king of all the pigs of that vast country. His squeal could be heard for
seven miles, the child solemnly declared, and the pig's feet were so
swift and tireless that he could have run around the world in a single
day had there been no oceans to stop him.
The ladies and gentlemen were much interested in the story, and
listened very attentively while Chick related a host of wonderful
adventures that befell the Silver Pig. Daylight faded away and the
golden lamps were lighted, but still the Incubator Baby kept the story
going.
Finally one of the company interrupted the tale to say that it
was bedtime and they must all retire, but that Chick should continue the
story on the following day.
That was exactly what the Cherub wanted, and presently John and
his comrade were escorted to beautiful rooms, and the company of ladies
and gentlemen had bidden them a gracious and kindly good-night.
The Silver Pig
"How long is that story of the Silver Pig?" asked John, when they
were alone in their room.
"As long as I want to make it," answered Chick, brightly.
"But suppose they get tired of it?" John suggested, timidly.
"Then they'll finish us and the story at the same time," laughed
the child. "But we won't wait for that, John Dough. This palace isn't a
healthy place for strangers, so I guess the quicker we get away from it
the better. When everybody is asleep we'll go to the place where our
machine lies, up on the roof, and fly away."
"Very good," agreed John, with a sigh of relief. "I had begun to
think we would be killed by these pleasant ladies and gentlemen."
They waited for an hour or two, to be sure all others in the
palace were asleep, and then they crept softly from the room and began to
search for the staircase. The passages were so alike and so confusing
that this was no easy task; but finally, just as they were about to
despair, they came upon the stairs and mounted to the upper story of the
palace. And now they really became lost in the maze of cross passages
that led in every direction, nor could they come to that particular
doorway that led to the stairs they had descended from the little flat
roof where the flying-machine lay. Often they imagined they had found
the right place; but the stairs would lead to some dome or turret that
was strange to them, and they would be obliged to retrace their steps.
Morning found the child and the gingerbread man still wandering
through the endless passages, and at last they were obliged to abandon
the quest and return to their room.
All that following day the fair-haired, blue-eyed Baby continued
the strange tale of the Silver Pig, while the ladies and gentlemen of the
Palace of Romance seemed to listen with real pleasure. For, long ago,
they had told each other all the stories they could themselves remember
or imagine; so that it was a rare treat to them to hear of the wonderful
adventures of Chick's Silver Pig, and they agreed that the longer the
story lasted the better they would be pleased.
"I hope you will not die for several days," one lady said to the
child, with a sweet smile.
That made Chick laugh.
"Don't you worry about me," was the reply. "If stories will keep
me alive I'll die of old age!"
When bedtime again arrived the tale of the Silver Pig was still
unfinished, and once more Chick and the gingerbread man were courteously
escorted to their chambers.
They spent the second night in another vain attempt to find the
stairs leading to the flat roof, and morning found them as ignorant as
ever of the location of their flying-machine.
In spite of the little one's courage, the task of carrying the
Silver Pig through so many adventures was a very difficult feat, and the
child was weary for lack of sleep. On that third day John fully expected
that Chick's invention would become exhausted, and they would both be
dropped through the trap-door into the sea. Chick thought of the sea,
too, but the thought gave the child one more idea, and it promptly
tumbled the Silver Pig over the side of a ship and landed the adventurous
animal upon the bottom of the ocean, where (Chick went on to say) it
became acquainted with pretty mermaids and huge green lobsters, and
rescued an amaryllis from a fierce and disagreeable sea-dragon. This
part of the tale soon became really exciting, and when bedtime again
arrived the listeners were glad to believe they would hear more of the
famous Silver Pig during the following day.
But Chick knew very well that the story had now been stretched
out to the very limit, and when they were alone the child took the
gingerbread man's hand and said:
"Unless we can find those stairs to-night, John Dough, our jig is
up. For by to-morrow evening I'll be at the bottom of the deep blue sea,
and the fishes will be having a nice supper of soaked Incubator Baby with
gingerbread on the side."
"Please do not mention such a horrible thing," exclaimed John,
with a shiver. "The stairs are surely in existence, for once we came
down them; so let us make one more careful search for them."
This they did, walking for hours up and down the passages,
pulling aside every drapery they came to, but never finding the slender
staircase that led to the flat roof.
Even when it grew daylight they did not abandon the quest; for
they could see their way much better than when feeling along dim passages
by the uncertain light of the moon; and, as the danger grew every moment,
they redoubled their eagerness in the quest.
All at once they heard footsteps approaching; and, as they were
standing in the middle of a long passage, they pressed back against the
marble wall to escape discovery. At once the wall gave way, and John
tumbled backward into another passage, with the Cherub sprawling on top
of him. For they had backed against a drapery painted to represent a
wall of the outer passage, and now found themselves in a place they had
not before explored.
Hastily regaining their feet, the fugitives ran down the passage,
and at the end came suddenly upon another heavy drapery, which, when
thrust aside, was found to conceal the identical flight of steps they had
sought for so long and unsuccessfully.
Uttering cries of joy, Chick and John quickly mounted the stairs
and found themselves upon the flat roof.
The flying bird lay as they had left it, and they were about to
crawl inside when the sound of footsteps mounting the stairs was heard.
"Quick!" shouted the child. "Jump in, John Dough!"
"Is it safe?" asked John, who remembered how they had bumped upon
the roof.
"Well, it's either air or water for us, my friend, and I prefer
the air," laughed Chick, whose cheeks were red with excitement.
John hesitated no longer and was soon inside the bird's body.
Chick scrambled after and at once pressed the electric button, while John
threw over the silver lever.
The big wings began to flop just as a number of men came upon the
roof, uttering loud cries at the evident attempt of their prisoners to
escape. But the strong pinions of the bird swept them flat, like so many
ten-pins, and before they could get upon their feet again the
flying-machine was high in the air and well out of their reach.
Pittypat and the Mifkets
"This invention works better than I thought it would, after
getting that bump," John remarked, as they flew on