L. Frank Baum - Oz 20 - The Hungry Tiger Of Oz

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The Hungry Tiger Of Oz – Oz 20

L. Frank Baum

by Ruth Plumly Thompson

List of Chapters

1 The Pasha of Rash

2 Betsy's Birthday

3 The Hungry Tiger in Rash

4 The Vegetable Man of Oz

5 Prisoners in Rash

6 The Scarlet Prince

7 Escape from Rash

8 InDownTown

9 TheIndusTree

10 The Magic Spectacles

11 The Second Rash Ruby

12 Immense City

13 Beside the Wall

14 TheAirman of Oz

15 RustyOreto the Rescue

16 Reddy and the Giants

17 The Big Wig's Secret

18 The Third Rash Ruby

19 Reddy Restored to the Throne

20 Safe in theEmeraldCity

CHAPTER 1

The Pasha of Rash

BURNT AGAIN!" roared the Pasha of Rash, flinging his bowl of pudding across the table.

"Vassals! Varlets! Villains! Fetch forth the cook!" At the Pasha's furious words the two Rash Footmen

who stood behind his chair, took a running slide down the long dining hall and leaped through the door

into the pantry. Several cups crashed against the door as it closed, so it is just as well that they hurried.

As the Pasha reached for a large sauce dish, Ippty, the Chief Scribe of the realm, slipped

quietly under the table, where he began jotting down in a little note book each shocking remark about the

pudding, making a huge blot whenever a plate broke or a cup splintered to fragments. He had to write

pretty fast to keep up with the peppery little Pasha and covered three pages with notes and blots by the

time the footmen returned with Hasha, the cook, shivering between them.

"So!" wheezed the ruler of all the Rashes, puffing out his cheeks and glaring at the frightened

little man, "Here you are!"

"Am!" choked the poor cook, falling upon his knees, "And may your Excellency live forever!"

"Live forever!" sputtered the Pasha, thump-ing the table with his fist, "On burnt puddings and

raw roasts? It's a wonder I'm alive at all. Do you take me for an ostrich that you serve me lumps of

charcoal and call it pudding? Are you a cook or a donkey?"

At this, Ippty lifted a corner of the table cloth and peered out to see what Hasha would say.

Then, as the cook made no remark he calmly wrote "donkey," closed the little book and crept cautiously

out from his hiding place. There were only three spoons left on the table and he felt pretty sure that these

would be flung at Hasha and not at him. He was perfectly right about this and as the last one clattered

down upon the head of the luckless cook, Hasha rose, and extending both arms began tremulously:

"I did not burn the pudding, Excellency, it was the fire."

"The fire?" raged the Pasha, his eyes fairly popping with indignation. "Do you hear that Ippty,

he blames it on the fire. And who tends the fire, pray? Put him out! Fire him! Fizzenpop! Fizzenpop, you

old rascal, where are you?"

The fire shall be put out and the cook shall be fired," muttered Ippty, flipping his book open

and scribbling away industriously. This, he could readily do, for the first finger of the Scribe's right hand

was a fountain pen, his second finger a long yellow pencil, his third finger an eraser, his little finger a stick

of sealing wax and his thumb a fat candle. Ippty's left hand was quite usual, except for the pen knife that

served him for a thumb. Blotting the last entry in the book with his cuff, which was neatly cut from blotting

paper, he turned expectantly toward the. door, just as Fizzenpop, the Grand Vizier, came hurtling

through. Being Grand Vizier of Rash was no easy task and Fizzenpop had grown thin and bald in the

service of his country.

"What now?" he gasped, pulling on his slipper and looking anxiously from one to the other.

"Punish this pudding burner!" commanded the Pasha angrily. "Put him-"

"In jail!" chuckled Ippty. "In other words you are to incarcerate the cook." The Chief Scribe

loved long words and knew almost as many as the crossword puzzle makers.

"But your Highness," objected the Grand Vizier, pointing his long finger, "the prison is already

overcrowded. Could we not, could we not cut off his-" Hasha looked imploringly at Fizzenpop, and the

Grand Vizier, clearing his throat, finished hastily, "cut off his allowance instead?"

"No!" thundered Irasha furiously, "I'll be peppered if I will. Prison is the place for him! Out of

my sight, scullion!" He waved contemptously at the cook.

"All right," signed Fizzenpop, "I'll put him in the cell with your grand uncle." (The Pasha's grand

uncle had been flung into prison for beating the Rash sovereign at chess.) "But remember, warned the

Grand Vizier, as Hasha was led disconsolately away by the guards, "remember there is not room for

another person. Your Highness will have to find some other way to dispose of prisoners."

"What can I do?" mumbled the Pasha, leaning sulkily on his elbow.

"If you'd take my advice, you'd set them all free," said Fizzenpop calmly. "With half the

population in prison, how do you expect to get any work done?"

"Well, why don't they behave themselves then?" demanded the Pasha fretfully. Fizzenpop

sighed again, but made no further answer. What use to ask this wicked little ruler why he did not behave

himself? Half the arrests in Rash were for no reason at all, and as you are probably puzzling about the

location of this singular country, I must tell you that Rash is a small pink Kingdom, in the southwestern

country of Ev and directly across the Deadly Desert from the Fairyland of Oz. The Rashes, it is true, are

a hasty and hot-tempered race and always breaking out in spots, but they are warm-hearted and

generous as well, and with just treatment and proper handling, as loyal subjects as a sovereign could ask

for. But Irasha, the present Pasha, was neither just nor wise. He had seized the throne by treachery and

was feared and hated by the entire Rash nation, so that one revolution followed another and the realm

was in a constant state of uproar. Again and again poor old Fizzenpop would make up his mind to retire,

but feeling that he could serve his countrymen better by remaining, had stayed on, enduring the terrible

tempers of the Pasha and living for the day when the rightful ruler should be restored to the throne.

"Well, why don't you say something?" growled Irasha, growing irritable at the long silence.

"What do other countries do with their prisoners?"

"Why not destroy them? proposed Ippty cheerfully, before Fizzenpop had a chance to

answer. The Chief Scribe was as cruel and merciless as his Master. Irasha had discovered him in a Rash

book shop, where he was employed as clerk, and fascinated by his strange hands had raised him to his

present important position. "In ancient countries," continued Ippty, sharpening the second finger of his

right hand with the thumb of his left, "in ancient countries prisoners were thrown to the wild beasts. Now

I call that very neat. No fuss or worry, and practically no expense." Ippty closed his thumb with a

pleased smile and looked brightly at the Pasha.

"What!" shrieked Fizzenpop, stamping his foot furiously at the Scribe, "Who ever would think

of such a thing?"

"I would," answered the Pasha calmly. "I think it's a very good plan Ippty. But the trouble is,"

he paused and pushed back his spotted turban, "the trouble is, we have no wild animals. I wish I had a

wild animal," sighed Irasha gloomily. With the exception of a few speckled bears, there are no animals of

any kind in Rash, and Fizzenpop had just drawn a long breath of relief when Ippty began again.

"But there are plenty of wild animals in Oz, your Highness!" suggested Ippty. "Why not send

across the Deadly Desert and get a wild animal from Oz?"

"Why not?" The Pasha straightened up in his chair and looked almost pleasant. "I believe I

will" he mused thoughtfully. "An excellent notion, Ippty, for in that case we should not need a prison at all

and the expense of feeding the monster would be practically nothing."

"And what's to prevent it from eating us?" demanded Fizzenpop explosively. Up to now he

had been able to soften the lot of the Rash prisoners very considerably. He shuddered to think what

would happen if Ippty's dreadful plan really was carried out; But Fizzenpop was too wise to openly

oppose this rash pair, so he merely shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he sighed folding his arms resignedly,

"I hope it works out. I, myself, am too thin to worry, but this beast will probably consider you and Ippty

choice morsels!" He rolled his eyes sideways at the fat little Pasha and the still fatter Scribe. "How will a

wild animal know the difference between Pashas and prisoners?" he inquired sarcastically. Irasha looked

rather uncomfortable.

"We'll have to get a civilized wild animal," he muttered uneasily, "an educated fellow who will

eat whom we tell him to and obey the laws of the country."

"And who ever heard of a civilized wild animal?" sniffed the Grand Vizier, with a sour smile.

"I have," declared Ippty, elevating his nose disagreeably. "There are any number of educated

wild animals in the Emerald City of Oz. There's the Cowardly Lion, for instance, there's the Comfortable

Camel and the Doubtful Dromedary, and there's the Hungry Tiger. How about the Hungry Tiger?" asked

Ippty triumphantly.

"Hungry Tiger!" Fizzenpop gave a gasp of dismay, for he had never even heard of such a

creature.

"Let's get the Hungry Tiger," yawned the Pasha, who was growing rather sleepy. "He'll be just

the one for us. But are you sure he's tame and harmless, Ippty, and safe to have about?"

"Oh quite!" Ippty assured him quickly. "Why, he wouldn't hurt a baby, his conscience is so

tender. That's why he's hungry you know."

"Then what makes you think he will eat the prisoners?" asked the Grand Vizier nervously.

"Well;" observed Ippty, scratching his ear with his fountain pen, "when this tiger realizes that it

is perfectly legal and lawful to eat prisoners I daresay he will jump at the chance, for in that way he can

satisfy his appetite and his conscience at the same time. There are no criminals in the Emerald City, for

Ozma, the Queen, is a silly, soft hearted little fairy and never arrests anyone, so the Hungry Tiger will be

glad enough to come here and eat our prisoners.

"Ippty is right," puffed the Pasha, rising sitffly from his chair. "Just take a hurry-cane from the

stand there, and fetch back this Hungry Tiger, old fellow, and if he won't come fetch him anyway.

"Certainly your Highness," murmured the Scribe, bowing low. "I will start for Oz at once.

"You'll be sorry for this," panted Fizzenpop as the Pasha's pudgy figure disappeared down the

pink passageway, and between anger and anxiety the Grand Vizier of Rash began to hop up and down

like a jumpingjack.

"What are you dancing," yawned Ippty, "a pepper jig?" And brushing insolently past

Fizzenpop, he lifted a hurry-cane from the stand and prepared to depart. First, he lit his right thumb, for it

was growing dark; then he tore a page from his note book and wrote, "Carry me to the Emerald City."

Unscrewing the top, he thrust this paper carefully down into the head of the cane and screwed the head

on again. He had just time to straighten his turban before the hurry-cane, with a whistle and crash, carried

him clear out of the castle. Rushing to the window Fizzenpop saw him straddling like some strange bird

over Too Much Mountain. The flight of Ippty was not surprising to Fizzenpop for hurry-canes are one of

the chief products of Rash and are nearly always used for long journeys. No, it was not Ippty's departure

that worried the old states-man. It was the thought of Ippty's return with the Hungry Tiger of Oz. How

was he to save his poor prisoners from this dreadful beast?

Pale with anxiety, he rushed into the Rash library and after some searching found what he was

looking for-Professor Wogglebug's Encyclopedia of Oz. All his life, Fizzenpop had been so busy

straightening out affairs in Rash he had had no time to study adjacent Kingdoms at all and knew little or

nothing of the great fairyland that lay across the desert. Flipping over the pages of the encyclopedia to the

T's the Grand Vizier ran his finger down the list till he came to the Hungry Tiger.

"This great and beautiful beast," stated the book shortly, "came to the Emerald City during the

first year of Ozma's reign. He has been in all important processions and adventures since then, and is a

great favorite with the celebrities of Oz. Because of his sociable nature he prefers life in the capitol to life

in the jungle and because of his tender conscience has never been known to devour a live man, fairy, or

person.

"Never been known to devour a live person?" shrilled Fizzenpop, dropping the encyclopedia

with a bang. "Merciful Mustard! What shall I do now?"

CHAPTER 2

Betsy's Birthday

WELL!" signed Betsy Bobbin, dropping into one of the royal hammocks and swinging her

heels contentedly, "It was the best party I ever had."

"I'm so full of birthday cake, I feel like a sponge," groaned the Cowardly Lion, and sinking

down on the grass he began to lick the frosting off his paws.

"No wonder! You had ten pieces," grumbled the Hungry Tiger, settling down sulkily beside

him. "Now I call that more than your share, old chap."

"Why shouldn't I have the lion's share," chuckled the great beast, winking at Betsy. "I notice

you ate three roast ducks and all the plum pudding."

"And still I am hungry," complained the tiger, rolling his eyes sadly from side to side. He

looked so comical Betsy burst out laughing and the Cowardly Lion fairly roared. Scraps, the Patchwork

Girl came running over to see what was the matter. All the celebrities had been invited to Betsy's party

and now, in the pleasant dusk, were walking about under the trees in the Palace garden.

Of all gardens in and out of the world, there is none so lovely as Ozma's, and of all fairy cities

there is none to compare with the Emerald City of Oz. Its sparkling buildings and shining streets, inlaid

with emeralds, its quaint domed cottages and shimmering palace, make it a fitting capitol for this

enchanting fairyland. Where but in Oz can animals talk as sensibly as men? Where but in Oz can one live

forever, without growing old? Where but in Oz are there Wish Ways and Truth Ponds, Book Mines and

Fire Falls and where but in Oz can one find such delightful companions as the Scarecrow and Scraps?

Is it any wonder, then, that Dorothy Gale, who blew to Oz in a cyclone, that Trot and Betsy

Bobbin, who arrived in this strange country by way of a shipwreck, have never returned to the real

world? Who would? Indeed, these three little mortals live in the Royal Palace itself, with Ozma, the

young fairy who rules over the four countries of Oz, and this small sovereign has gathered at her court all

the most interesting and unusual people and animals in the realm. And every single one had been invited

to Betsy's birthday, so that it took two rooms to hold all the presents, twenty-seven tables to seat the

guests and sixty-nine footmen to pass the plates.

"You sit there and tell me you're hungry!" gasped Scraps, snapping her suspender button eyes

at the Hungry Tiger. "Why you ate more than anyone. I counted." Scraps, being well stuffed with cotton,

never ate at all and had amused herself by keeping strict watch over the others.

"Why Scraps," murmured Ozma reprovingly. She had come up behind the Patchwork Girl and

now gently tried to change the subject. No one ever knew what Scraps would say next. Made from a

gay patchwork quilt and magically brought to life, this saucy maiden was one of the most surprising

people in the castle. But the Hungry Tiger had lived in the Emerald City too long to mind her teasing.

"Of course I'm hungry," he yawned, rolling over on his side. "This party stuff fills me up, but

does not satisfy me. What I need is something alive. But don't worry my dear," he added hastily, at

Ozma's rather anxious expression. "I will never devour anyone, for my conscience would not permit it, so

I shall be hungry to the end of my days."

"Why don't you have yourself stuffed?" asked the Scarecrow, sitting down in the hammock

beside Betsy Bobbin. "Then you would lose this frightful appetite and never be hungry at all. Mighty

convenient, being stuffed, old boy. Saves no end of bother and expense." The Scarecrow spoke from

experience, for he was himself a stuffed person, having been made by a Munchkin farmer and stuck on a

pole to scare away the crows. He had been lifted down and brought to the Emerald City by Dorothy, on

her first adventure, and since then has been restuffed and laundered many times. Of all Ozma's advisers,

he is the wittiest and most lovable. "Have yourself stuffed," he advised cheerfully, "and use straw like I

do."

"He stuffs himself from morning till night," snickered Scraps turning a handspring.

"If he were not so ugly-so yellow and so big

I'd say be warn't a tiger, but a greedy weedy-"

"Scraps!" Ozma raised her scepter warningly, and the Patchwork Girl dove into a button bush.

But almost immediately her mischievous face reappeared.

"Pig!" shouted Scraps defiantly, and looked so funny, peering out of the button bush, that even

the Hungry Tiger had to grin.

"I say, though, why don't you have yourself stuffed?" asked the little Wizard of Oz, who had

just come up. "I've been experimenting with some new wishing powders and might easily wish you out of

your jacket and stuff you with sawdust."

"Sawdust!" coughed the Hungry Tiger, sit-ting up and lashing his tail at the very thought of such

a thing, "I should say not. I prefer my own stuffing, thank you."

"So do I," said Betsy, running over to give him a little hug. "You're so soft and comfortable to

ride this way."

"But sawdust is very serviceable," urged the Wizard, who was anxious to try his new powders,

"and I could stuff you in an hour." The Wizard, by the way, is a mortal like Dorothy and Betsy. Long ago

he had been engaged by a circus in Omaha to make balloon flights. But one afternoon, his balloon

becoming unmanageable, had flown off-up and away and never stopped till it dropped down in Oz. It

was the Wizard who had built the Emerald City and for many years he practiced the trick magic he had

learned in the circus. But later, Glinda the good Sorceress of the South, had taught him real magic and he

is now one of the most accomplished magicians in all fairy history.

"Better let me stuff you," repeated the Wizard coaxingly.

"No! No! No!" roared the Hungry Tiger, becoming really alarmed at the little man's

persistence. "No, I tell you!"

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摘要：

TheHungryTigerOfOz–Oz20 L.FrankBaum byRuthPlumlyThompson ListofChapters 1 ThePashaofRash 2 Betsy'sBirthday 3 TheHungryTigerinRash 4 TheVegetableManofOz 5 PrisonersinRash 6 TheScarletPrince 7 EscapefromRash 8 InDownTown 9 TheIndusTree10 TheMagicSpectacles11 TheSecondRashRuby12 Immens...

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L. Frank Baum - Oz 20 - The Hungry Tiger Of Oz

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