Baum, L Frank Oz 21 Gnome King of Oz

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"No," answered the oztrich slowly. "Have you?" Peter shook his head and as Ozwold jogged
along the lane, Scraps told him all about the capital of Oz and the delightful people who live there, ending
up with the story of Ruggedo's escape and his wicked plan to steal all the Oz magic and make himself
ruler of the realm.
"Ruler of Oz!" screamed the oztrich, stopping in consternation. "Great grandmothers, why
didn't you tell me this before? Why, if that old gnome has a flying cloak, he's probably reached the
Emerald City and captured everybody by this time. A gnome on the throne of Oz, how perfectly impos!
Ruggedo ruler of Oz, how simply ridick!" At each word Ozwold grew more indignant, and finally, with a
screech like an engine whistle, he hurled himself forward, running along at such speed that trees, fences,
farms and hills whirled by in a blur of dust and Peter and the others had all they could do to keep their
places. Hugging the oztrich egg with one arm and Scraps with the other, Peter blinked and bounced and
tried to catch a glimpse of the country they were passing or the country they were coming to. But
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between the speed and the dust, he could see nothing.
"If he's just going in the right direction," thought the little boy, closing his eyes and gritting his
teeth to keep them from chattering, "we'll get there in no time. If he isn't-"
"Whoa! Whoa!" roared Grumpy, as long as he had breath enough to roar. Even Scraps tried
to check the mad plunge of their excited steed. But finally they all stopped shouting and devoted all their
energies to hanging on. Peter rather expected they would run into something and so was not greatly
surprised to find himself sitting in the middle of the road. Scraps sprawled beside him and Grumpy,
rubbing his head, limped crossly out of a ditch. Ozwold himself was leaning up against a tree with both
eyes closed, while across the roadway lay an extremely upset and odd looking traveller.
"I told you to whoa," growled Grumpy, shaking his paw angrily. "Now see what you've done!"
"Never say whoa to an oztrich," muttered the green bird, opening one eye. "Say whum!"
"But we've run over somebody," exclaimed Peter.
"Is my child broken?" asked the oztrich, opening the other eye and peering wildly in every
direction. Fortunately the egg had fallen on a heap of soft sand and while Ozwold hurried over to assure
himself it was not cracked, Scraps and Peter ran to help the stranger.
"Are you broken, stunned or killed, Wrecked or sprained or simply spilled?"
quavered the Patchwork Girl, leaning over him.
"It's all right," sighed the stranger, sitting up slowly. "I'm used to being slammed. Just so my
back's not broken, I don't care!"
"Why, it's a book!" burst out Peter, coming closer to make sure.
"Not a book, a bookman!" corrected the traveller, rising with Scrap's help to his feet. "Books
are old fashioned, but a bookman is right up to date. I don't wait to be advertised, I speak for myself, I
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don't lie around waiting to be read, I run after people and make them read me. I can carry myself and
turn over a new leaf every day in the year. I'm very interesting!" finished the bookman, with a wide smile
at Peter. Peter smiled back and how could he help it? Above his big book body the fellow had a round
jolly face with floppy dog ears. His legs and arms were quite thin and he was about as tall as Scraps.
"Are you sure you're not hurt?" asked the little boy, as the bookman began to run briskly up
and down thumping the covers of his book body to knock out the dust.
"What are you about?" asked Grumpy, looking curiously at the traveller and still rubbing his
head with his paw. "Have you any animal tales?"
"Or verse?" cried the Patchwork Girl eagerly. "Or baseball stories?" questioned Peter, coming
closer and closer. In their interest they had almost forgotten the oztrich.
"I've all kinds of stories," boasted the bookman and, unclasping his middle, spread wide the
pages of his book. "Which will you have first?"
"A bear story," said Grumpy, sitting down on his haunches and waving both paws. "Bear
stories are the most exciting!"
"No, a verse, shrilled the Patchwork Girl quickly. Peter was about to call for a baseball story
when he suddenly remembered his man-ners.
"Ladies first," said Peter, looking reprovingly at the little bear. "Just show us one of your
verses, he remarked carelessly.
"Funny or sad?" asked the bookman, running his finger down his table of contents.
"Funny, of course," chuckled Scraps, tossing her head impatiently. Turning his pages rapidly
the bookman stepped off a few paces and, leaning forward, the three travellers read:
"Do fishes use the liquid tones The world so highly praises? Could they speak dryly, and do
bees Converse in honeyed phrases?"
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"Ho! Ho!" laughed Peter merrily, "if they do they'd soon get stuck. That's a good one almost [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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