CHAPTER 18
The Mischievous Play Fellows

Bright and early next morning Grampa lined up his little army and, after a short council, they determined to continue their march to the Emerald City and learn from Ozma’s magic picture just where Abrog and the lost Princess of Perhaps City were to be found. Although breakfast had been a light affair of water and berries, they were all in excellent spirits and, with Grampa’s drum beating out a lively march, they stepped merrily down the shady Winkie Lane. Grampa and the Forgetful Poet led off, Dorothy and the Prince of Ragbad followed, the Prince carrying his father’s head and his red umbrella. Urtha danced in and out to suit her own sweet fancy, Bill flew ahead and Toto trotted contentedly behind.

Here I go by the name of Bill! crowed the weather cock exultantly. By the name of B-hill!

Grampa winked at Percy Vere and Percy Vere winked back. Isn’t he ridiculish? whispered the Forgetful Poet merrily. But then, we’re all ridiculish in spots. His eyes rested a moment on Grampa’s game leg. Yes, continued Percy Vere, with a droll nod, everything, when you come to think of it, is simply sinoobious. Why do we call ourselves an army, pray, when we might just as well call ourselves a footy? Have we not as many feet as arms? Why do we say Good-day on a rainy morning and—

One thing at a time, one thing at a time! objected the old soldier testily. Aren’t you afraid you’ll strain your brain, young man?

chuckled the irrepressible poet, at which Grampa beat such a tattoo upon his drum that the next verses were quite drowned out. But as soon as Grampa stopped drumming, Percy burst out again:

I can believe anything Mr Vere, said Grampa grimly.

Then try this! roared the Forgetful Poet, waving his arms.

Soup! groaned Grampa in spite of himself. Vegetable soup, he added bitterly and, reaching in his pocket, jerked out the wizard’s medicine.

What are you doing? asked Percy curiously, as he ran his finger hurriedly down the green label.

Looking for a cure, said the old soldier, raising his eyebrows significantly. But there was no cure for forgetful poetry on the green label, so with a sigh Grampa returned the bottle to his pocket. What can’t be cured must be endured, said the old soldier glumly and, pursing up his lips, he began to whistle a sad tune. Dorothy and Tatters exchanged amused glances and Urtha, who had been skipping beside Percy Vere, touched him on the arm.

Is the Princess of Perhaps City pretty? asked the little flower fairy timidly. She could not bear to think of Tatters marrying an ugly Princess.

Trouble ahead! Trouble ahead! crowed Bill, before anyone could finish the verse. Just then a turn in the lane brought them plump into a huge fenced-in park. The fence was much too high to climb and stretched as far on either side as they could see.

I never saw this place before, said Dorothy, peering curiously between the bars, but maybe if we knock on the gate someone will let us in. Then we can march through and out the other side.

Here’s the gate, called Percy Vere, who had run a little ways to the right, and here’s a sign.

Play! announced the sign over the gate. All work on these grounds forbidden. Just below was a smaller sign—No trespassing!

Well, we don’t want to trespass, we want to jes’ pass through, chortled the Forgetful Poet and, before anyone could stop him, he had hammered hard upon the gates. Immediately loud roars of laughter sounded all through the park, footsteps scurried over the lawns and the next instant the gayest company that Dorothy ever had seen came crowding forward—Pierrettes and Pierrots, hundreds of them, the girls in full skirted frocks with tall saucy caps, the men in pantaloon suits and frills. While they smiled and waved through the bars, the King of Play, who looked, as Dorothy told Ozma afterwards, exactly like a court jester—the King himself swung open the gates and, with a low bow, invited them to enter. So, of course they did, and before Grampa could give the order to break ranks or fall out, or even say Hello, the Play Fellows had fallen upon his army and simply borne them away. Only Bill escaped and nervously he hovered over his friends, determining, if necessary, to drop on the heads of this exuberant company.

Wait! Stop! Halt! puffed the old soldier, who was being dragged toward a merry-go-round by five of the mischievous Pierrettes. Dorothy and Percy Vere were being rushed as unceremoniously to the swings, while a dozen of the Pierrots were begging Urtha for a dance. Tatters, holding his father’s head high above his own, was hustled off to a high wooden slide and to nothing that any of them said would the Play Fellows pay the slightest attention. Indeed, there was so much noise and confusion, they could not have heard if they had tried. Bands played and fountains played and the Play Fellows played, and the creak of the swings and the squeak of the merry-go-rounds and the roars of the delighted Pierrettes and Pierrots, as they hustled their visitors from one amusement to another, were enough to deafen a gate post. Toto, after one shocked glance at the boisterous company, scampered off and hid himself in a button bush, where he watched anxiously for a chance to escape. Poor Bill, trying to keep all of the company in view at once, flew in dizzying circles over the park, almost cross-eyed from the strain.

After his sixteenth merry-go-round, Grampa gave up trying to explain and, staggering over to a soap bubble fountain, fell in. But the Play Fellows quickly pulled him out and insisted upon his joining in a game of tag. The only bright spot in the whole dreadful experience was the finding of a bubble pipe, which Grampa hastily picked from its bush and thrust into his pocket.

Percy and Dorothy fared no better. This is worse than washing! groaned the Forgetful Poet, as a wild company of Pierrettes dragged them ’round and ’round the mulberry bush.

Play! Play! Play! shouted King Capers, dashing from group to group and banging the company right and left with his belled and beribboned scepter. Play! Play! Play!

I never knew fun was such hard work, panted Tatters to Bill, who was circling immediately above his head. The poor Prince was black and blue all over from sliding down the slides, but every time he objected the Play Fellows would pull him to the top and scream with merriment as he came sliding down again. There were too many heads to fall on, and Bill—powerless to help—screamed his rage and indignation at the mannerless crowd. There was much to be seen and marvelled at in the play grounds, but as the company agreed later, playing when you want to play and being forced to play are two quite different things, so that the balloon vines, top trees and checker bushes went almost unnoticed. Indeed all that any of them could think of was getting away.

Urtha was the first to make her escape. The little flower fairy had been treated so gently and considerately by Grampa and Tatters, since her coming to life in the enchanted garden, that she did not know what to make of the rude manners of the Play Fellows. When they began snatching flowers from her hair and pulling her roughly from place to place, her violet eyes widened with terror and dismay. Watching her opportunity, she sprang away from them and sped like the wind itself across the gardens. Now the runner does not exist who can outdistance a fairy, so it was not long before Urtha left her tormentors behind. And better still, the little flower fairy had run directly into a wicket gate leading out of the play grounds. Opening the gate she slipped through and then, because she was still frightened, she kept running and running till she was as lost as one raindrop in a thunder shower.