The Seven Doors

As Bob and Notta came closer, they noticed that each door had a brass plate nailed on the center panel, engraved with various names and instructions. "Keep out!" directed one shortly.

"Well, that surely cannot be the right one," exclaimed the clown, moving hastily to the next.

"Don't waken the baby," advised the second door. So Notta and Bob tiptoed carefully past.

"This way to the Dorms. No admittance till February," said the third door.

"And it's only May now. We cannot possibly wait that long." Notta took off his hat and made the door a polite bow. "Besides," he explained to Bob, who was slowly spelling out the words on the fourth door, "Dorms stands for dormitories and dormitories stand for sleep. Who wants to sleep?"

"King Theodore the Third," said the fourth door.

"Whew!" whistled Notta. "Another King! Come away, Bob Up, I don't trust these king chaps at all."

"The Queen," announced the plate on the fifth door proudly, "Adora the First. No one without a title need apply."

"Well, we may not be earls, but we're early," chuckled Notta, winking at Bob.

They hurried curiously to the sixth door. "Push!" said the plate.

"But would that be wise?" ruminated Notta, rubbing his forehead anxiously. "Let's try the last door, Bob."

"Don't try me too much or I'll fall on your head," wheezed a disagreeable voice. "Haven't you anything better to do than go trying poor hard-working doors?"

After a talking sign, Notta and Bob should not have been surprised. But they were—simply astonished—and for a moment could do nothing but stare.

"This door answers itself," said the plate on the seventh and strangest of all the strange doorways.

"No bread, no ice, no milk; and if you're selling brushes you might as well go at once," continued the door sulkily. "We don't need any."

"We're not!" interrupted Notta, in a slightly choked voice. "We just want to get in."

"What for?" asked the door stubbornly. "Is it a door matter? Have you cards of admission?"

"We're hunting Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion," volunteered Bob timidly.

"A likely story," sniffed the door, looking contemptuously from one to the other. "But what could one expect of people with curly ears."

"We have not curly ears," cried Bob, stamping his foot indignantly.

"Don't argue," said the door stiffly. "How's your temper—long or short?" It rolled its wooden knot eyes inquiringly at Notta.

"What's that got to do with our getting in?" asked the clown impatiently.

"Short!" muttered the door triumphantly to itself. "No, you'd better stay out, I think. Her highness is very slammish to-day, and the last time I let strangers in she nearly twisted my knob off. That's the trouble around here—when anything goes wrong, everybody slams the door. Sometimes I almost wish I were a sofa cushion."

"I wish you were, myself," frowned the clown, "for then I'd toss you out of the way instead of wasting my breath here. Are you going to let us in or not?"

"Not!" snapped the door, rattling its knob vindictively. "And I don't care a slam what you wish."

"Bob," said Notta, turning his back on the door, "did you ever hear anything like that? Let's try Number Two. I'd rather risk wakening a baby than trying to argue with a door that answers itself."

"I'm not afraid of babies," said Bob following manfully. The knob of Number Two turned easily and the door swung open with such a rush that both Notta and Bob fell through. At the first glimpse of that baby, Notta clapped his hand over Bob's mouth and, rising with quaking knees, pulled him toward the door. For you see it was a baby dragon—a snoring, roaring baby dragon as long and heavy as a freight train. It gave a shrill whistle and snort as the door slammed shut and Notta and Bob sat down in a weak heap.

"Baby," choked the clown, rubbing his eyes, which were full of dragon smoke. "Well, if that's the baby, preserve me from the rest of the family!"

"Will it come after us?" shuddered Bob, in a frightened whisper.

"How did you like our little doorter?" The seventh door looked sideways at the two and chuckled wickedly. "Still want to get in?"

"Certainly," said Notta, turning a dozen cartwheels to relieve his nervousness, "but not that way." He winked reassuringly at Bob. "Before I do anything else I must put on my disguise. No wonder things are going so badly."

"Don't you think you look silly enough?" wheezed the door rudely, as the clown drew out disguise number three. Notta paid no attention to this remark but, turning his back, struggled hastily into number three. Even Bob felt reassured, for this time Notta was disguised as a bear—a huge and terrible-looking bear. Grasping Bob's hand he rushed at the door marked "Push," with such a ferocious growl that Number seven shook like a leaf.

"Oh, my hinges," chattered the door, "that went through me like a sword." But immediately afterward it broke into derisive laughter. For no sooner had Notta and Bob pushed Number Six, than Number Six pushed back, and so hard that the two went flying into a clump of blueberry bushes.

"That's the door way to treat 'em, brother," roared Seven, and Notta picked himself up and straightened his bear skin.

"Now some people," muttered the clown, helping Bobbie out of the brushes and shaking his paw at the door, "some people would be discouraged. But no more side shows, Bob. Let's try the Queen's door, if we're to be thrown out it might as well be done royally."

There was a silver bell on the Queen's door and Notta rang it quickly, before either of them had time to change their minds. For a moment nothing at all happened. Then the door knob disappeared. But horrors! Next instant it shot out, seized the two in a terrible clutch, and dragged them through the keyhole. Yes, it really did!

Not only had they been pulled through the keyhole, but they felt as if they had been pulled through the keyhole. Even Notta had nothing to say. He just lay on his back and panted. Whether the keyhole had stretched as they went through or whether they had shrunk, I cannot say. I only know they went through somehow and were on the other side of the Queen's door.

"Cards, please!" A doorman in a handsome blue satin uniform was leaning over them. "Are you deaf?" he asked angrily. "Are you dumb?" He thumped Notta on the head with his silver card plate.

"Neither," groaned the clown. "What do you want?"

"Your titles," snapped the doorman, looking nervously over his shoulder. As he did so, a vase, three books and a pair of fire tongs struck the wall just above his head.

"Oh, the Queen is in a fury, whatever shall I do next," he mumbled to himself, dropping the silver plate and then picking it up again.

"Let's run," said Bob, pressing close to Notta. But the clown had already recovered his spirits and was fumbling in his pockets under his bear skin.

"There you are." He calmly dropped two large buttons on the doorman's plate. "Just lead us to her Majesty at once."

"Someone's been at the jam again," quavered the doorman without looking at the buttons. "Oh, the Queen's in a fury—a fury—a fury!" At each fury he gave a little hop.

"You said that before," observed Notta, looking around curiously.

"A fury! A fury! A fury!" persisted the doorman, continuing to hop, and as each hop carried him farther away he was soon out of sight.