L L Frank Baum (3 page)

Great horrors and crumpled creeps! Springing toward him, with a scowl
on his face and a long knife with a zig-zag blade in his uplifted hand,
was that very Chinaman from whose body he had torn the Wagnerian
plaids!

The plundered Celestial was evidently vindictive, and intended to push
the wicked knife into the Woggle-Bug's body.

Our hero was a brave bug, as can easily be proved; but he did not wait
for the knife to arrive at the broad of his back. Instead, he gave a
yell (to show he was not afraid) and leaped nimbly into the basket of
the balloon. The descending knife, missing its intended victim, fell
upon the rope and severed it, and instantly the great balloon from the
crowd and soared majestically toward the heavens.

The Woggle-Bug had escaped the Chinaman, but he didn't know whether to
be glad or not.

For the balloon was earning him into the clouds, and he had no idea how
to manage it, or to make it descend to earth again. When he peered over
the edge of the basket he could hear the faint murmur of the crowd, and
dimly see the enraged Professor (who had come too late) pounding the
Chinaman, while the Chinaman tried to dissect the Professor with his
knife.

Then all was blotted out; clouds rolled about him; night fell. The man
in the moon laughed at him; the stars winked at each other as if
delighted at the Woggle-Bug's plight, and a witch riding by on her
broomstick yelled at him to keep on the right side of the road, and not
run her down.

But the Woggle-Bug, squatted in the bottom of the basket and hugging
his precious parcel to his bosom, paid no attention to anything but his
own thoughts.

He had often ridden in the Gump; but never had he been so high as this,
and the distance to the ground made him nervous.

When morning came he saw a strange country far beneath him, and longed
to tread the earth again.

Now all woggle-bugs are born with wings, and our highly-magnified one
had a beautiful, broad pair of floppers concealed beneath ample
coat-tails. But long ago he had learned that his wings were not strong
enough to lift his big body from the ground, so he had never tried to
fly with them.

Here, however, was an occasion when he might put these wings to good
use, for if he spread them in the air and then leaped over the side of
the basket they would act in the same way a parachute does, and bear
him gently to the ground.

No sooner did this thought occur to him than he put it into practice.

Disentangling his wings from his coat-tails, he spread them as wide as
possible and then jumped from the car of the balloon.

Down, down the Woggle-Bug sank; but so slowly that there was no danger
in the flight. He began to see the earth again, lying beneath him like
a sun-kissed panorama of mud and frog-ponds and rocks and brushwood.

There were few trees, yet it was our insect's fate to drop directly
above what trees there were, so that presently he came ker-plunk into a
mass of tangled branches—and stuck there, with his legs dangling
helplessly between two limbs and his wings caught in the foliage at
either side.

Below was a group of Arab children, who at first started to run away.
But, seeing that the queer creature which had dropped from the skies
was caught fast in the tree, they stopped and began to throw stones and
clubs at it. One of the missiles struck the tree-limb at the right of
the Woggle-Bug and jarred him loose. The next instant he fluttered to
the ground, where his first act was to fold up his wings and tuck them
underneath his coat-tails again, and his next action was to assure
himself that the beloved plaids were still safe.

Then he looked for the Arab children; but they had scuttled away
towards a group of tents, and now several men with dark skins and gay
clothing came from the tents and ran towards the Woggle-Bug.

"Good morning," said our hero, removing his hat with a flourish and
bowing politely.

"Meb-la-che-bah!" shouted the biggest Arab, and at once two others
wound coils of rope around the Woggle-Bug and tied the ends in hard
knots.

His hat was knocked off and trampled into the mud by the Shiek (who was
the big Arab), and the precious parcel was seized and ruthlessly
opened.

"Very good!" said the Shiek, eyeing the plaids with pleasure. "My
slaves shall make me a new waistcoat of this cloth."

"No! oh, no!" cried the agonized Insect; "it is taken from a person who
has had small-pox and yellow-fever and toothache and mumps—all at the
same time. Do not, I bet you, risk your valuable life by wearing that
cloth!"

"Bah!" said the Shiek, scornfully; "I have had all those diseases and
many more. I am immune. But now," he continued, "allow me to bid you
good-bye. I am sorry to be obliged to kill you, but such is our
custom."

This was bad news for the Woggle-Bug; but he did not despair.

"Are you not afraid to kill me?" he asked, as if surprised.

"Why should I be afraid?" demanded the Shiek.

"Because it is well-known that to kill a woggle-bug brings bad luck to
one."

The Shiek hesitated, for he was very superstitious.

"Are you a woggle-bug?" he asked.

"I am," replied the Insect, proudly. "And I may as well tell you that
the last person who killed one of my race had three unlucky days. The
first his suspenders broke (the Arab shuddered), the second day he
smashed a looking-glass (the Arab moaned), and the third day he was
chewed up by a crocodile."

Now the greatest aversion Arabs have is to be chewed by a crocodile,
because these people usually roam over the sands of the desert, where
to meet an amphibian is simply horrible; so at the Woggle-Bug's speech
they set up a howl of fear, and the Shiek shouted:

"Unbind him! Let not a hair of his head be injured!"

At once the knots in the ropes were untied, and the Woggle-Bug was
free. All the Arabs united to show him deference and every respectful
attention, and since his own hat had been destroyed they wound about
his head a picturesque turban of an exquisite soiled white color,
having stripes of red and yellow in it.

Then the Woggle-Bug was escorted to the tents, where he suddenly
remembered his precious plaids, and asked that the cloth he restored to
him.

Thereupon the Shiek got up and made a long speech, in which he
described his grief at being obliged to refuse the request.

At the end of that time one of the women came op to them with a lovely
waistcoat which she had manufactured out of the Wagnerian plaids; and
when the Shiek saw it he immediately ordered all the tom-toms and
kettle-drums in the camp destroyed, as they were no longer necessary.
Then he put on the gorgeous vestment, and turned a deaf ear to the
Woggle-Bug's agonized wails.

But there were some scraps of cloth left, and to show that he was
liberal and good-natured, the Shiek ordered these manufactured into a
handsome necktie, which he presented Woggle-Bug in another long speech.

Our hero, realizing a larger part of his darling was lost to him,
decided to be content with the smaller share; so he put on the necktie,
and felt really proud of its brilliance and aggressive elegance.

Then, bidding the Arabs farewell, he strode across the desert until he
reached the borders of a more fertile and favored country.

Indeed, he found before him a cool and enticing jungle, which at first
seemed deserted. But while he stared about him a sound fell upon his
ear, and he saw approaching a young lady Chimpanzee. She was evidently
a personage of some importance, for her hair was neatly banged just
over her eyes, and she wore a clean white pinafore with bows of pink
ribbon at the shoulders.

"Good morning, Mr. Beetle," said she, with merry laughter.

"Do not, I beg of you, call me a beetle," exclaimed our hero, rather
peevishly; "for I am actually a Woggle-Bug, and Highly-Magnified at
that!"

"What's in a name?" laughed the gay damsel. "Come, let me introduce you
to our jungle, where strangers of good breeding are always welcome."

"As for breeding," said the Woggle-Bug, "my father, although of
ordinary size, was a famous Bug-Wizard in his day, and claimed descent
from the original protoplasm which constituted the nucleus of the
present planetary satellite upon which we exist."

"That's all right," returned Miss Chim. "Tell that to our king, and
he'll decorate you with the medal of the Omnipotent Order of Onerous
Orthographers, Are you ready to meander?"

The Woggle-Bug did not like the flippant tone in which maiden spoke;
but he at once followed her.

Presently they came to a tall hedge surrounding the Inner Jungle, and
without this hedge stood a patrol of brown bears who wore red
soldier-caps and carried gold-plated muskets in their hands.

"We call this the bearier," said Miss Chim, pointing to the soldiers,
"because they oblige all strangers to paws."

"I should think it was a bearicade," remarked the Woggle-Bug.

But when they approached the gateway the officer in charge saluted
respectfully to Miss Chim, and permitted her to escort the Woggle-Bug
into the sacred precincts of the Inner Jungle.

Here his eyes were soon opened to their widest capacity in genuine
astonishment.

The Jungle was as clean and as well-regulated as any city of men the
Insect had ever visited. Just within the gate a sleek antelope was
running a pop-corn stand, and a little further on a screech-owl stood
upon a stump playing a violin, while across her breast was a sign
reading: "I am blind—at present."

As they walked up the street they came to a big grey monkey turning a
hand-organ, and attached to a cord was a little nigger-boy whom the
monkey sent into the crowd of animals, standing by to gather up the
pennies, pulling him back every now and then by means of the cord.

"There's a curious animal for you," said Miss Chim, pointing to the
boy. "Those horrid things they call men, whether black or white, seem
to me the lowest of all created beasts."

"I have seen them in a highly civilized state," replied the Woggle-Bug,
"and they're really further advanced than you might suppose."

But Miss Chim gave a scornful laugh, and pulled him away to where a
hippopotamus sat under the shade of a big tree, mopping his brow with a
red handkerchief—for the weather was somewhat sultry. Before the hip
was a table covered with a blue cloth, and upon the cloth was
embroidered the words: "Professor Hipmus, Fortune Teller."

"Want your fortune told?" asked Miss Chim.

"I don't mind," replied the Woggle-Bug.

"I'll read your hand," said the Professor, with a yawn that startled
the insect. "To my notion palmistry is the best means of finding out
what nobody knows or cares to know."

He took the upper-right hand of the Woggle-Bug, and after adjusting his
spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom.

"You have been in love," announced the Professor; "but you got it in
the neck."

"True!" murmured the astonished Insect, putting up his left lower hand
to feel of the beloved necktie.

"You think you have won," continued the Hip; "but there are others who
have 1, 2. You have many heart throbs before you, during your future
life. Afterward I see no heart throbs whatever. Forty cents, please."

"Isn't he just wonderful?" asked Miss Chim, with enthusiasm. "He's the
greatest fortune teller in the jungle."

"On account of his size, I suppose," returned the Woggle-Bug, as they
walked on.

Soon they came to the Royal Palace, which was a beautiful bower formed
of vines upon which grew many brilliant-hued forest flowers. The
entrance was guarded by a Zebra, who barred admission until Miss Chim
whispered the password in his ear. Then he permitted them to enter, and
the Chimpanzee immediately ushered the Woggle-Bug into the presence of
King Weasel.

This monarch lay coiled upon a purple silk cushion, half asleep and yet
wakeful enough to be smoking a big cigar. Beside him crouched two
prairie-dogs who were combing his hair very carefully, while a red
squirrel perched near his head and fanned him with her bushy tail.

"Dear me, what have we here?" exclaimed the King of the Jungle, in a
querulous tone, "Is it an over-grown pinch-bug, or is it a
kissing-bug?"

"I have the honor to be a Woggle-Bug, your Majesty!" replied our hero,
proudly.

"Sav, cut out that Majesty," snapped the King, with a scowl. "If you
can find anything majestic about me, I'd like to know what it is."

"Don't treat him with any respect," whispered Miss Chim to the Insect,
"or you'll get him riled. Sneer at him, and slap his face if you get a
chance."

The Woggle-Bug took the hint.

"Really," he told the King. "I have never seen a more despicable
creature than you. The admirable perspicacity inherent in your tribe
seems to have deteriorated in you to a hyperbolated insousancy." Then
he reached out his arms and slapped the king four times, twice on one
side of his face and twice on the other.

"Thanks, my dear June-Bug," said the monarch; "I now recognize you to
be a person of some importance."

"Sire, I am a Woggle-Bug, highly magnified and thoroughly educated. It
is no exaggeration to say I am the greatest Woggle-Bug on earth."

"I fully believe it, so pray do not play any more foursomes on my jaw.
I am sufficiently humiliated at this moment to recognize you as a
Sullivanthauros, should you claim to be a member of that extinct race."

Then two little weasels—a boy weasel and a girl weasel—came into the
bower and threw their school-books at the squirrel so cleverly that one
hit the King upon the nose and smashed his cigar and the other caught
him fairly in the pit of his stomach.

At first the monarch howled a bit; then he wiped the tears from his
face and said:

"Ah, what delightful children I have! What do you wish, my darlings?"