L. Frank Baum - Oz 23 - Jack Pumpkinhead Of Oz

Jack Pumpkinhead Of Oz – Oz 23

L. Frank Baum

This book is affectionately dedicated to my aunt Joe.

Ruth Plumly Thompson

Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz

List of Chapters

Chapter

1 Peter and the Pirate's Sack

2 The Chimney Villains

3 What the Green Tree Said

4 Scary Times inScareCity

5 Peter Meets the Iffin

6 The Bearded Baron Appears

7 Belfaygor's Strange Story

8 A Wayto Cross the Chasm

9 The Forbidden Flagon

10 The City ofBaffleburg

11 In theCastleofMogodore

12 The Escape from Baffleburg

13 The Enchanted Cavern

14 High Times inSwingCity

15 Peter Opens the Pirate's Sack

16 In the Palace of the Red Jinn

17 The Capture of theEmeraldCity

18 Mogodore Meets More Magic

19 The Forbidden Flagon Acts

20 The Wedding Feast

21 Peter's Return toPhiladelphia

CHAPTER 1

Peter and the Pirate's Sack

THE RAIN beat heavily on the roof, swirled down the side walks and made tumbling torrents

of the gutters. Turning from the window in disgust, Peter dropped his baseball mitt on the library sofa and

started glumly toward the stair. No practice today, doggone it! Why couldn't it rain on Mondays and be

clear on Saturdays for a change? How was he to have the team in trim for the big match if this sort of

thing kept up?

Kicking crossly at each step, Peter progressed toward the attic. Not to waste the day, he

resolved to have a look at his fishing tackle. The thought of the fishing trip he was soon to take with his

grandfather cheered him considerably and by the time he had switched on the attic light and dragged out

the old chest where he kept his treasures, he was whistling softly to himself. On top of the chest lay two

coarse sacks. They were neatly folded in half and as Peter lifted them off he gave an amused little

chuckle.

"I wonder what's happened in Oz lately," mused Peter, sitting down in front of the chest with

the sacks on his lap. "I wonder whether Ozma knows what I did with the pirate's gold pieces and

whether the Gnome King has got into any more mischief." And thinking of that enchanting and enchanted

Kingdom, Peter forgot all about his fishing tackle.

Now many of you may have read or heard of the marvelous Land of Oz, but Peter had really

been there; had met the Scarecrow and the wonderful Wizard; had kept the Gnome King from

conquering theEmeraldCityand even discovered a pirate ship full of treasure. The pirate who owned the

ship had once been a real pirate, so when Ozma, the little girl ruler of Oz, transported Peter and the

treasure back to Philadelphia, two of the bags of gold had been real gold and these bags had come with

him. These very sacks that Peter held across his knees had once bulged with gold pieces. And those of

Peter's friends and relations who had sniffed at the story of his amazing journey to Oz never had been

able to explain them away.

Peter's grandfather, with whom the little boy lived, had not tried to explain them, for Peter's

grandfather was old enough to believe almost anything. So he and Peter had spent one bag of gold very

gaily on a trip to the coast, on motorcycles for Peter and his best friends, on a club house for the team,

on canoes and some more things, too. The other bag they had changed intoUnited Statesdollars and put

into the bank, so that Peter might go to college and other important places when he was grown. And

now, with the rain drumming steadily on the roof, Peter fell to dreaming again of Oz, of its curious Kings

and castles, its wizards and witches and magic transformations. Could it have been two years ago that he

and the Gnome King escaped fromRunawayIsland?

"I wish," sighed Peter, giving the top sack a little shake, "I wish I could go back to Oz

sometime. Hello! What's this?" In the corner of the top sack he felt something hard and round and

thrusting in his hand drew out a thin shiny piece of gold. "Why, here's one we didn't find," chuckled Peter,

holding it up to the light. "It's not so large as the others. I believe I'll keep it for a lucky piece." Resting his

head against a small trunk, Peter sank back and was soon lost in pleasant reveries. "Gee whiz!" he

breathed at last, flipping the pirate's coin into the air. "It certainly would be great to go to Oz again. I wish

I were there right now!" As the gold piece dropped into Peter's palm, Peter himself dropped Out of sight.

At least, he was no longer in the attic, or inPhiladelphiaeither, for that matter. He was, to be perfectly

truthful, standing before a small yellow cottage in the middle of a pumpkin field, and the whole trip,

reflected Peter, staring around a bit wildly, had taken no longer than one puff and swallow. A drop such

as this was enough to make a body puff and swallow several times, so he did. Then, having regained a

little of his composure, he looked uncertainly at the yellow house.

It was shaped like an enormous hollowed out pumpkin, but had several windows and a front

door, so Peter walked boldly up the steps and knocked twice. He could hear footsteps running about

inside and presently a head was thrust out the second story window.

"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring down curiously.

"It's me, er~r it's I!" Peter, remembering his grammar corrected himself quickly.

At this, the owner of the house, in order to have a better look at his visitor, leaned so far out

the window that Peter gave a sharp cry.

"Oh look out!" he called warningly, for the man's head seemed ready to fall off, was falling off,

in fact.

"I am looking out," it called cheerfully, as it turned over and over in the air. "That's just the

trouble! Catch my head will you?" And next minute Peter found himself clasping a large pumpkin head in

both arms.

"Did you say your name was Cy?" asked the head, staring up inquiringly. "Well carry me

indoors, Cy. You'll find my body around somewheres."

"This must be Oz," choked Peter, with an excited little gasp and, kicking open the door, he

hurried into the cottage. A tall awkward body sprawled on the floor and there was certainly something

familiar about the hollow eyes staring so pleasantly into his own.

"My body has fallen down the stairs," observed the pumpkin head calmly. "It should have

waited for me, for nobody should be without a head." Peter agreed heartily with this last statement and,

setting the head on the table, he pulled the awkward figure to its feet and then, standing on a chair,

pressed the head carefully on the wooden peg that served for a neck.

"Why it's Jack Pumpkinhead!" he cried delightedly. "Didn't I meet you in Ozma's palace two

years ago? Don't you remember me?"

Jack looked doubtfully down at the little boy. "I'm afraid that I don't," he answered seriously.

"You see, I have had several new heads since then, and am not very good at remembering."

"Never mind. I remember you!" Peter smiled kindly at the awkward fellow and, squeezing his

wooden fingers, went on. "My name is Peter and~"

"I thought you said your name was Cy," objected Jack in a puzzled voice.

"Oh no I didn't," explained Peter, a little vexed at the pumpkin head's stupidity. "I said it's I at

the door."

"Cy at the door and Peter in the house. How dreadfully confusing," mumbled Jack, putting one

hand to his head to see if it was on straight. "Have you a different name for every place you go?"

"Oh call me Peter!" exclaimed the little boy impatiently, "and if you'll just tell me the way to the

Emerald City I'll not bother you any more. I'm anxious to see Ozma and Dorothy again."

"Are you a friend of Ozma's?" interrupted Jack in high excitement. "Well, I'll do anything for a

friend of Ozma's. Ozma is my father!" Running to the door Jack clattered down the steps, beckoning for

Peter to follow him.

"Father!" cried Peter, with a little burst of laughter, and then realizing one could not expect too

much sense from a pumpkin head, he hurried out of the cottage. The pirate's sack still hung over his arm

and, tossing it gaily over one shoulder, Peter stepped quickly after Jack, and clapped him on his

shoulder.

"By the way, how did you reach Oz?" Picking his way carefully between the rows of

pumpkins, Jack paused and turned his head with both hands so he could look back at Peter. Briefly

Peter told him of finding the last coin in the pirate's sack, how he had wished to be in Oz and suddenly

found himself standing before the yellow cottage. "It must have been a magic coin," muttered Jack

Pumpkinhead, starting on again. "I tell you," he gave an excited skip, "that gold coin was a piece of

change. You wished to come to Oz for a change and here you are!"

"Yes," agreed Peter slowly. "But where is the gold piece?"

"You can't have the change and the gold piece too," reproved Jack, wagging his wooden

finger, "and you'd rather have the change, now wouldn't you?" Peter nodded and glanced sharply at Jack.

His head seemed to be working better. Jack returned Peter's look with a long, steady stare. "Do you

know," he said, stepping deliberately over a high fence onto a gold paved highway, "You remind me

more and more of my dear father."

"Your dear father," exploded Peter, sitting down on the top rail of the fence. "I thought a while

ago you told me that Princess Ozma was your father."

"She is," answered Jack, marching calmly along the highway.

"But Ozma's a girl," shouted Peter indignantly, catching up with Jack. "How could a girl be

your father and how could I remind you of Ozma?"

"Ozma was not always a girl," explained Jack mysteriously. "Once Ozma was a boy like you. I

see you have never heard my strange story," finished Jack in a hurt voice-looking reproachfully down at

Peter. Though Peter had met Jack Pumpkinhead at Ozma's palace he had to admit that he knew nothing

of his interesting history. So, as they sauntered slowly along the highway, Jack told how Ozma, as a baby

had been stolen by Mombi, the witch and transformed into a boy named Tip. For nearly nine years, Tip

had lived in Mombi's hut, entirely ignorant of the fact that he was the real ruler of Oz. It was to scare

Mombi that Tip had first manufactured the Pumpkinhead Man. Jack's wooden arms and legs had been

skillfully carved from strong saplings. His body, made of a tough piece of bark, was pinned together with

wooden pegs. A larger peg served Jack for a neck and a carved pumpkin made his head. With some old

clothes he found in Mombi's attic, Tip had dressed the queer figure and stood him in the bend of the road

to scare the old witch on her return from a visit to the crooked wizard's.

"Well, was Mombi scared?" inquired Peter, looking admiringly at Jack's jointed wrists and

ankles and thinking what a smart boy Ozma must have been.

"At first," admitted Jack slowly. "At first! Then, wishing to try out some of the magic she had

traded with the wizard she sprinkled me with the powder of life and immediately I came to life and have

been alive ever since," he finished modestly.

"But what happened to Tip?" begged Peter, for he felt that the most exciting part of the story

was to come.

"Well," continued Jack with a solemn shake of his head, "as Mombi threatened to turn Tip to a

marble statue, we both ran away that night, taking the powder of life with us. Next morning Tip found a

sawhorse standing in a wood and, sprinkling it with some of the powder, brought it to life as Mombi had

done me. On this strange steed we reached the Emerald City and helped the Scarecrow, who was then

Emperor, escape from Jinjur's army of girls, who had captured the capitol. After many curious

adventures we reached the palace of Glinda, the Good Sorceress

of the South. We begged her to help us restore the Scarecrow to his throne, but Glinda, by referring to

her magic records, discovered that Ozma was the rightful ruler of the Kingdom. Returning to the Emerald

City, Glinda forced Mombi to disenchant Tip, Tip became Ozma and Ozma, as you well know, has been

our gracious little sovereign ever since."

"What a shame," breathed Peter kicking at a stone, 'I should think she'd much rather have

stayed a boy."

"So should I," agreed Jack, "but as I am only a pumpkin head my opinion is probably of no

value. I certainly have no reason to complain," he went on cheerfully. "Ozma gave me the fine cottage

which you saw this morning and I spend all my time growing new heads. Before one pumpkin spoils, I

quickly carve myself another and have had dozens of heads in my day, which makes me a personage,

even in Oz. This head I'm now wearing will last quite a long time for it's still a bit green.

"Well, it looks all right," said Peter, smiling up at Jack.

"Do you think so?" Jack's carved grin seemed to grow even broader at Peter's polite remark.

"If it were not for my joints, I'd be as good as anyone," he confided, tapping his chest proudly. "But

walking wears out my joints so I never walk far at a time."

"Is it far to the Emerald City?" Shading his eyes Peter blinked down the gay gold highway and

then turned rather anxiously to his cheerful companion. He certainly did not want good natured Jack to

wear Out any joints on his account.

"No distance at all," retorted Jack, with a stiff wave ahead. "Around that bend the houses and

trees will be green, for we will be on the outskirts of the capitol, and from there it is but a step to the

palace." At Jack's word Peter gave a satisfied little sigh. It was all coming back-his geozify. Oz! How

well he remembered that great oblong Kingdom, divided into four smaller kingdoms, with the Emerald

City in the exact center. In the Eastern Winkie Country of Oz, the houses, fences, fruit and flowers were

all yellow; in the Southern Quadling Country they were red. In the Northlands of the Gillikens they were

purple and in the Western Kingdom of the Munchkins they were blue. From the daffodils in all the fields

and the round yellow farm houses, Peter knew they were in the Winkie Country, but at the next turning

they should find the green trees and parks surrounding the loveliest city in Oz.

Thinking of this enchanting spot, its gay and jolly inhabitants and the welcome he was sure to

find in the palace, Peter quickened his steps, reaching the bend of the road far ahead of Jack. But instead

of flowering gardens and green parkways the highway ended abruptly in a high red brick wall. There was

a small black door in the wall. In red letters on this door were two words-"Enter Here." Peter was staring

uncertainly at these directions when Jack caught up with him.

"Well Cy! What now?" he demanded merrily. "See, I remembered you were Cy, at the door.

Ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!"

"Oh do try to be sensible," begged Peter in an annoyed voice. "Can't you see that this wall is

red? We must be in the Quadling Country, Jack. You've come the wrong way and we're lost! Now, the

question is whether to go back the way we came or go through this door and try to find a short cut to the

Emerald City."

"I was afraid this head was not quite ripe enough," mumbled Jack in a worried voice. "Perhaps

if we go through this door and turn straight North we'll find the Emerald City just as quickly as if we turn

back."

"Perhaps," echoed Peter doubtfully. Then, as he was beginning to feel an overpowering

curiosity as to what might be on the other side of the wall, he opened the black door and stepped

through.

CHAPTER 2

The Chimney Villains

NOW I'm Santy Claus," mumbled Jack, feeling around for his head. Both he and Peter had

stepped off into space and tumbled together down a long dark passageway. "We've fallen down a

chimney," continued Jack, finding his head and settling it firmly on his shoulders. "I must say this is a great

way to enter a city."

"It is a grate," said Peter, with a little groan, for he was sitting astride a pair of iron fire dogs,

"but how do you know it's a city?" Fortunately there was no fire burning in the grate and, picking up the

pirate's sack, Peter stepped out into a large red square. Jack had to bend almost double to get out at all

and as he straightened up a sign hanging on the outside of the chimney caught his attention.

"Please shut the grate after you," directed the sign. Being an obliging fellow, Jack pulled the

handle at the right and a sliding black screen completely closed off the opening. Dusting the soot from his

frayed coat, Jack joined Peter.

"Nothing but chimneys," marvelled the little boy with a low whistle. "I've often seen houses

without chimneys but never chimneys without houses." The square was simply bristling with chimneys, all

red and of every shape, size and description. They seemed to sprout like queer flowers from the red flags

that paved the square. Chimneys! Chimneys! Chimneys! So close together there was scarcely space to

walk. "Who could possibly live here?" said Peter, with a scornful sniff.

"Whee! Whee-ee! We do!" A hundred high voices answered his question. They seemed to

issue from the chimneys themselves, and as Jack and Peter peered anxiously upward strange smoky

figures began to spiral out of the chimney tops and float in a dark mass over their heads. They looked like

evil genii or goblins who had long been imprisoned in magic bottles. Their shapes and faces changed

constantly and as a whole horde of them dropped downward, Peter stepped closer to Jack. "They're

only smoke," he explained reassuringly.

"Yes, dear Peter," quavered Jack, "but smoke is most injurious to pumpkins! Oh my head!

My poor poor head!" Peter had no time to sympathize with Jack, for at that moment a crowd of Smokies

surrounded them. Their eyes were spitered sparks and, snatching at Peter and Jack with their long

shadowy arms, they began to hiss and puff threateningly.

"Can you curl?" demanded one, snapping his eyes close to Peter. "Can you curl, and do a

double spiral? Can you make soot and smoulder?"

"No! No! No!" coughed Peter, snatching out his handkerchief and waving it wildly about his

head. "Go away! Go away. You're making me all black."

"Ha, Ha, Ha!" shrieked a great smoky giant. "That's the color you should be. This is

Chimneyville, but wait till you see our Soot Sooty down below. Come to our Sooty and see how black

and beautiful you will become."

"We won't," cried Jack Pumpkinhead defiantly, "we won't come or become. If this is

Chimneyville, then you are Chimney-villains. Go away you black monsters. We refuse to visit your old

Sooty. Go away, go away. You're smoking my beautiful head." Trying to cover his head with his arms,

Jack backed against a chimney, but his words only seemed to infuriate the Smokies. Swelling with rage,

they surged forward.

"Smoke 'em up! Smoke 'em out! Throw 'em down the chimneys!" they sputtered. "Now then,

boys, all together!" While Peter and Jack struck out left and right, the grim gray specters tried to lift them

into the air. But there was no strength in their vapory arms and with little shrieks and hisses they pressed

closer and closer.

"Run!" panted Peter, who was almost suffocated. The smoke did not affect Jack and, taking

Peter's hand, he tried to pull the little boy along. But the air was now so thick with their pursuers they

could hardly see at all and bumped and crashed into chimneys at every turn. The last bump flung them

headlong, and for a moment they lay perfectly still, while the Chimney-villains swept screaming overhead.

It was dark as midnight, for the Smokies had all run together into a great suffocating cloud. Even the tiny

sparks that were their eyes had gone out, and in utter and awful darkness Peter finally stumbled to his

feet. Coughing and sputtering and with tears pouring down both cheeks, he felt in his pocket for another

handkerchief, and as he did his fingers closed over a small candle end. Immediately a bright idea struck

Peter, and with a gasp he felt around for Jack's head. Pulling the stout stem in the top he lifted out the

piece Jack had cut when he hollowed out the pumpkin. Striking a match he lit the candle end, spilled in a

few drops of candle grease and set the candle erect. Then replacing the top of Jack's head he jerked him

to his feet.

"What have you done?" faltered the Pumpkinhead in a faint voice. "My head feels very light,

dear Peter, but I seem to see much better."

"So do I," choked the little boy, muffling his nose in his coat sleeve, "we can both see better.

Come on, you're lit up and my Jack O' Lantern now!" The bobbing light in the pumpkin's head seemed to

puzzle their enemies, but Peter, guided by the cheery glow, pushed bravely through the clouds and

crowds of them. The smoke still stung his eyes and throat, but he kept dodging chimney after chimney,

and finally pausing to rest against an especially broad one, discovered a slide like the one they had come

through in the first place. Jerking it open Peter pulled Jack into the grate and closed the slide. There was

another slide at the back of the chimney place and as the Smokies poured against the first slide Peter

opened the second and stepped out into a quiet little wood.

"A great way in and a great way out," observed Jack, following Peter quickly and slamming

the slide after him.

"And a great way from everywhere," puffed Peter, dropping down on the nearest tree stump

and staring resentfully up at the red wall. It looked the same from this side as from the other. Not a

chimney showed, nor one puff of smoke, to warn luckless travellers of the disagreeable citizens of Soot

City. It was so great a relief to breathe pure air again and find himself in real daylight that Peter sat for

several minutes drinking in the fresh forest breezes and freeing his lungs from the bitter smoke. Then,

standing up on the stump, he called Jack and blew out the candle in his pumpkin head. "You certainly

saved my life that time," said Peter feelingly. "If you had not lighted me out of there I'd have been a

smoked herring by this time. How do you feel yourself, dear Jack?"

"A little light headed," confessed Jack earnestly, "but on the whole, I rather liked it. It seems to

me I felt brighter."

"You mean you could think better?" asked Peter, staring hard at Jack, and trying not to laugh.

"Yes ," Jack nodded gravely, "so please light me up again dear Peter."

"It might not be good for you," said the little boy doubtfully. "It might make you light headed

and giddy. Besides, pumpkins are only lit at night or in the dark and it's quite light out here."

"Oh are they?" Jack looked terribly disappointed. "Well any time you need a lantern, just light

me up. Shall we go on to the Emerald City now?"

"Well, we might try to," answered Peter looking around with lively interest. "Can you walk a

little farther? Do your joints feel all right?" Although Jack was much taller than he, Peter felt somehow

responsible for the flimsy fellow. It rather flattered him to have Jack so obedient to his wishes and so

dependent upon his advice. After examining his joints carefully, Jack decided he might go a bit further, so

Peter washed his face in a little Stream and at the same time removed the soot from Jack's, and they

prepared to continue their journey to the capitol. Taking his direction from the sun, Peter started North

through the little wood. From the cardinals and robins, from the red beech and holly trees, he knew he

must still be in the Quadling Country and when he saw a small red cottage in a clearing just ahead, he

was sure of it.

Goody Shop, announced a sign, swinging from the crooked roof. "Hurrah!" shouted Peter,

breaking into a run. "Maybe I can buy something to eat here. It must be nearly lunch time and I'm

starved."

"Oh do be careful," warned Jack, holding to his head with both hands as he dashed hurriedly

after Peter, "they may not be the kind of goodies you expect." The shop was dim and dark and behind

the red counter sat a prim little old lady in a ruffled gown.

"Good morning!" puffed Peter with a polite bow.

"Our good morning is all gone," said the old lady, rising stiffly from her tall stool, "but we have

a very good afternoon, would you care for that?" She squinted anxiously at Peter. "And will you take it

with you or have it sent?"

"Have it sent," advised Jack in a hollow voice for he did not relish the old lady's expression.

"I wanted to buy something good, explained Peter hastily.

"Well why didn't you say so in the beginning," snapped the shop keeper testily. "One minute

it's good morning and now it's goodbye. What kind of a goodbye do you want, long, short, fond or

sorrowful?" At this strange question, Jack turned his head with both hands and simply stared at the old

lady, and Peter himself began to feel terribly confused.

"What kind of goods do you sell here?" he demanded anxiously.

"All the goods;" answered the old lady proudly, "but dry goods mostly. Waving toward the

shelves, she folded her arms and looked suspiciously at her two customers, while Jack and Peter

curiously surveyed her wares.

"Good news! Good advice! Good Intentions! Good Days! Good Night! Good Excuses!

Good Riddance!" cried Peter, reading out the labels on the bottles and boxes. "How odd! Good Ideas!

Good Tempers! Good Notions! Good Times!"

"Come, come," muttered the old lady, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, "make up your

minds. You may each choose one," she decided finally, as neither Peter nor Jack seemed able to decide.

"Why don't you take a good excuse?" she suggested, turning to Peter. "Boys are always needing good

excuses, and a fresh batch has just come in~good ones too!"

"I think I'll take some good advice," announced Jack in a timid voice. "I'm not very bright and

it might be useful."

"But haven't you anything good to eat?" sighed Peter. "A good lunch or dinner, even a

breakfast would do." With an impatient flounce the old lady reached up on a top shelf and handed Peter

a small red box. Then giving Jack a red envelope, she shooed them out of her goody shop.

"I wish I'd taken some good excuses, murmured Peter, as they walked slowly down the

crooked path. "This box is too small to hold a good meal of any kind."

"What does it say?" asked Jack inquisitively.

"A good breakfast," answered Peter reading the red label. "Well, even if it's only a biscuit or

just one sausage, I'll eat it." Eagerly Peter raised the lid. "Why it's bird seed," he exclaimed angrily,

flinging the box with all his force into a redberry bush. "What a cheat! I've a good notion to go right back

and tell her what I think of her."

"But she didn't charge you anything," observed Jack mildly, "and you'll have to admit it is a

good breakfast!"

"A good breakfast," roared Peter, glaring indignantly at his loose-jointed companion.

"Well, it is a good breakfast," finished Jack Pumpkinhead apologetically, "for a bird." Peter

looked closely at Jack to see whether he was poking fun at him, but quite soberly, Jack was opening his

good advice.

"What does yours say?" Crowding closer, Peter read the words on the thin slip of paper and

then began to hop up and down with glee.

"Keep your mouth shut," advised the red paper briefly.

"Call that good advice?" sputtered Jack Pumpkinhead, tearing the paper into tiny pieces.

"How can I keep my mouth shut when it's carved open? Of all the silly nonsense!"

"But you'll have to admit that keeping your mouth shut is good advice," teased Peter,

completely restored to good humor by this joke on Jack.

"Then why don't you take it?" asked Jack stalking stiffly ahead. "Take it and welcome!"

L. Frank Baum - Oz 23 - Jack Pumpkinhead Of Oz

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