CHAPTER IX
On the Oscycle—A Narrow Escape
"Well," said the Polar Bear, as the Oscycle started on its downward course: "I'm mighty glad we're off, and away from those other creatures on that Trolley. They were a dishonest lot."
"So am I," came a voice from behind him, that made the Bear jump nervously, for it was none other than the Flamingo.
"So are the rest of us," added a lot of voices in chorus, and Tom, turning to see who beside himself and his companions had got aboard, was hugely amused to see the Kangaroo, the Monkey, the Hippopotamus and all the other creatures from the Trolley, save only the conductor and motorman, seated there behind, as happy as you please.
"It doesn't pay to associate with conductors," said the Flamingo. "They don't think of anything but money all the time, and they're awfully rude about it sometimes. Why, I knew a conductor once who refused to change a $100 bill for me."
"I don't believe you ever had a $100 bill," growled the Hippopotamus.
"I've got one I wouldn't sell for $1,000," said the Flamingo. "It's the one I eat with," he added.
"That's not legal tender," said the Polar Bear.
"You couldn't change it if it was," sneered the Flamingo.
"I could change it in a minute if I wanted to," said the Polar Bear, with a chuckle.
"What with, cash?" demanded the Flamingo, scornfully.
"No—with one whack of my paw," said the Bear, shaking his fist menacingly at the Flamingo. "I could change your whole face, for that matter," he added, with a frown.
"I was only fooling, Poley, old man," said the Flamingo, a trifle worried. "Of course you could, but you wouldn't, would you?"
"Not unless I had to," replied the Bear, "but, gee, aren't we just whizzing along! Are you cold, Tom?"
"Yes," said Tom, with a shiver, "just a little."
"Well, come sit next to me and I'll let you use my furs. I don't need 'em myself. I'm a pretty warm Bear, considering where I come from."
"Sit close, gentlemen," cried the man in charge of the Oscycle. "We're coming to a thank-you-marm. Look out! Look out! Hang together. By jove, there goes the Monkey."
And sure enough, off the Monkey flew as the Oscycle crossed the hump at an enormous rate of speed.
"Hi, there, you fellows," the Monkey shrieked, as he landed in the soft snow, "wait a minute. Hi, you! Stop! Wait for me!"
"Can't do it," roared the man in charge. "Can't stop—going too fast."
"But what am I going to doo-oo-oo?" shrieked the Monkey excitedly.
"Get inside of a snowball and roll down. We'll catch you on the way back," the Kangaroo yelled, and as they now passed out of hearing of the monkey's voice no one knew how the little creature took the suggestion.
"I'm glad he's gone," said the Hippopotamus. "He was a nuisance—and I tell you I had a narrow escape. He had his tail wound around my neck a minute before. He might have yanked me off with him."
"Yanked you?" said the Old Gentleman from Saturn, gazing contemptuously at the Hippopotamus. "Bosh! The idea of a seven-pound monkey yanking a three-ton Hippopotamus!"
"What?" roared the man in charge. "A what how much which?"
"Three-ton," said the Old Gentleman from Saturn. "That's what he weighs. I know because he stepped on my toe getting off the Trolley."
"But it's against the law!" cried the Man in Charge. "We're not allowed to carry more than 1,000 pounds on these Machines."
"Humph!" laughed the Kangaroo. "It's very evident, Hippy, that you'll have to go way back and lose some weight."
"I can't help weighing three tons," said the Hippopotamus. "I'm built that way."
"That's all right," said the Man in Charge, wringing his hands in despair; "but you'll have to get off. If you don't we'll go over the edge." His voice rose to a shriek.
Tom's heart sank and he half rose up.
"Sit still," said the two Andirons, grabbing him by the arms. "We're in for it. We've got to take what comes."
"Right you are," said the Bellows. "Don't you bother, Tom. We'll come out all right in the end."
"But what's the trouble, Mr. Man?" asked the Poker. "What's the Hippo's weight got to do with our going over the edge?"
"Why, can't you see?" explained the Man in Charge. "His 6,000 pounds pushing the machine along from behind there gives us just so much extra speed, and all the brakes in the world won't stop us now we've got going unless he gets off."
The announcement caused an immediate panic, and the Polar Bear began to cry like a baby.
"Oh, why did I ever come?" he moaned as the tears trickled down his nose and froze into a great icicle at the end of it. "When I might have stayed home riding around on my own private iceberg?"
"Stop your whimpering," said the Kangaroo. "Brace up and be a man."
"I don't want to be a man," blubbered the bear, "I'm satisfied to be a poor, miserable little Polar Bear."
"You've got to jump, Hippy," said the Flamingo. "That's all there is about it."
"Sir," replied the Hippopotamus solemnly, "I shall not jump. It would ill comport with my dignity for me to try to jump as if I were merely a Kangaroo. No sir. Here I sit, firm as a rock. You might as well ask an elephant to dance a jig."
"We'll put you off if you don't get off of your own accord," roared the Polar Bear, bracing up, and removing the icicle from his nose he shook it angrily at the Hippopotamus.
"All right," said the Hippopotamus with a pleasant smile "All right. Has any gentleman brought a derrick along with him to assist in the operation? You don't happen to have a freight elevator in your pocket, do you, Mr. Kangaroo?"
"Pry him off, Poker," cried the Kangaroo.
"I would if I could," answered the Poker, mournfully. "But I'm not a crowbar."
"Well, then, all together here," shouted the Man from Saturn. "Line up and we'll shove him off."
There was a frantic rush at the stolid Hippopotamus in response to this suggestion, but they might as well have tried to batter down the rock of Gibraltar by hurling feathers against it, so firmly fixed in his seat was this passenger of outrageous weight.
"Come again, gentlemen," said the Hippopotamus suavely. "There's nothing better for the complexion than a good rub, and I assure you you have placed me under an obligation to you."
"Prod him with the icicle," said the Kangaroo to the Polar Bear.
"I am not to be moved by tears, even if they are frozen and sharpened to a point," laughed the Hippopotamus, as the Polar Bear did as he was told, smashing the icicle without so much as denting the Hippo's flesh.
"Well, if you won't jump, I will," said the Man from Saturn angrily. "If I'm hurt I'll take it out of your hide when we meet again."
"All right," retorted the Hippopotamus. "You'll have to get a steam drill and blast it out. By-by."
The man from Saturn jumped and landed head first in the snow, but whether he was hurt or not the party never knew, for their speed was now so terrific that he had barely landed before they whizzed past the bottom of the hill and up the other incline. It became clear, too, as they sped on that at such a fearful rate of progress nothing could now keep the Oscycle from going over the edge, and the others began to lay plans for safety.
"I'm going to jump for a passing trolley cloud the minute we get to the edge," said the Kangaroo.
"I don't know what I shall do," sobbed the Polar Bear. "If I land on my feet I'll be all right, for they're big and soft, like sofa cushions, but if I land on my head—"
"That's softer yet, Poley," laughed the Flamingo, who appeared to be less concerned than anybody. "If you land on your head it will be just as if you fell into a great bowl of oatmeal, so you're all right."
"I'm not afraid for myself," said the Poker. "I can drop any distance without serious injury, being made of iron, and my friends, the Andirons, are equally fortunate. The Bellows, too, is comparatively safe. The worst that can happen to him is to have the wind knocked out of him. But—"
"It's Tom we're bothered about," said the Righthandiron, with an anxious glance at Lefty. "You see, we invited him to come off here with us, and—"
"Who is he, anyhow?" demanded the Flamingo, glancing at Tom in such a way that the youngster began to feel very uncomfortable.
"I'm a Dormouse," said Tom, remembering the agreement.
"Not for this occasion," put in the Poker. "This time you're a boy, and we've got to save you somehow or other and we'll do it, Tom, so don't be afraid."
"What kind of boy is he?" demanded the Flamingo. "One of these bean-snapping boys that go around shooting robins and hooking birds' eggs when they haven't anything else to do?"
"Not a bit of it," said Righty. "He never snapped a bean at a bird in all his life."
"Humph!" said the Flamingo. "I suppose he's been too busy pulling feathers out of peacocks' tails to decorate his room with to be bothering with robins and eggs."
"Never did such a thing in all my born days," retorted Tom indignantly.
"Probably not," sneered the Flamingo. "And why? Because you were so well satisfied keeping a canary locked up in a cage for your own pleasure that you hadn't any time to chase peacocks."
"I've lived in the family forty years," said the Righthandiron, "and to my knowledge there was never a caged bird in the house."
"Really?" said the Flamingo, looking at Tom with interest. "Rather a new kind of boy this. Very few boys have a good record where birds are concerned."
"Tom's no enemy to birds," observed the Bellows. "I know that because I've been in his family longer than he has, and I've watched him."
"Well," said the Flamingo, "if that's the case, maybe I can help him. One good turn deserves another. If he is good to birds I may be able at this time to do good to him. This trouble ahead of us doesn't bother me, because I have wings and can fly—" Here the Flamingo flapped his wings proudly—"and I could take Tom on my back and fly anywhere with him, for I am an extremely powerful bird. But I want to know one more thing about him before I undertake to save him. We birds must stand together, you know, and I'm not going to befriend a foe to my kind under any circumstances. Thomas!"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom, all of a tremble, for he hadn't the slightest idea what was coming, and as a truthful boy he knew that whatever the consequences to himself might be he must give the correct answer.
"Do you have Sunday breakfast at home?" asked the Flamingo.
"Yes, sir," Tom replied respectfully.
"You have coffee and hominy and toast and fried potatoes and all that?" queried the bird.
"Yes, sir," Tom answered, turning very pale, however, for he was in great dread of what he now saw was likely to come next.
"And—ah—fruit?" said the Flamingo.
"Oh, yes, plenty of fruit," replied Tom very nervously.
"And now, sir," said the Flamingo, severely, and ruffling his feathers like an angry turkey, "now for the main point. Thomas—and, mind you I want a truthful answer. Did you ever eat a broiled—Flamingo for your Sunday morning breakfast?"
Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the Flamingo blurted out the last part of his question.
"No, sir. Never!" he replied.
"Then hurry and climb up on my shoulders here," the Flamingo cried. "You're a boy after my own heart. I believe you'd be kind to a stuffed parrot. But hurry—there's the edge right ahead of us. Jump—"
Tom jumped and in a moment was sitting astride of the great bird's neck. In his right hand he grasped the claw of Righty, in his left that of Lefty, while these two clutched tightly hold of the Bellows and the Poker respectively. A moment later the Oscycle reached the edge and dashed wildly over it, the Kangaroo following out his plan of jumping higher still and fortunately for himself catching a passing trolley cloud by which he was borne back to the starting point again.
As for the Polar Bear and the Hippopotamus, they plunged out into space, while the group comprising our little party from home and the Flamingo soared gracefully back to earth again, where the generous-hearted bird deposited them safely on top of the most convenient Alp.
"Thanks very much," said Tom, as he clambered down from the bird's neck and stood upon solid ground again.
"Don't mention it," said the Flamingo. "It's a pleasure to serve a bird-defender and his friends," and with this he soared away.
"I'm glad he didn't ask me if I ever ate broiled chicken for Sunday breakfast," said Tom.
"Why?" asked the Poker. "Do you?"
"Do I?" cried Tom. "Well, I guess. I don't do anything else."
CHAPTER X
Home Again
"And now," said the Lefthandiron as the Flamingo flew off and left them to themselves, "it strikes me that it is time we set about having some supper. I'm getting hungry, what with the excitement of that ride, and the fact I haven't eaten anything but a bowlful of kindling wood since yesterday morning."
"I'm with you there," said Tom. "I've been hungry ever since we started and that snow on the moon whetted my appetite."
"Never knew a boy who wasn't hungry on all occasions," puffed the Bellows. "Fact is, a boy wouldn't be a real boy unless he was hungry. Did you ever know a boy that would confess he'd had enough to eat, Pokey?"
"Once," said Poker, "I wrote a poem about him, but I never could get it published. Want to hear it?"
"Very much," said Tom.
"Well, here goes," said the Poker anxiously, and he recited the following lines:
THE WONDROUS STRIKE OF SAMMY DIKE
Young Sammy Dike was a likely boy
Who lived somewhere in Illinois,
His father was a blacksmith, and
His Ma made pies for all the land.
The pies were all so very fine
That folks who sought them stood in line
Before the shop of Dike & Co.,
'Mid passing rain, in drifting snow,
For fear they'd lose the tasty prize
Of "Dike's new patent home-made pies."
One day, alas, poor Mrs. Dike,
Who with her pies had made the strike,
By overwork fell very ill,
And all her orders could not fill.
So ill was she she could not bake
One-half the pastry folks would take;
And so her loving husband said
He'd take her place and cook, instead
Of making horse-shoes. Kindly Joe,
To help his wife in time of woe!
He worked by night, he worked by day—
Yet worked, alas, in his own way
And made such pies, I've understood,
As but a simple blacksmith could.
He made them hard as iron bars;
He made them tough as trolley cars.
He seemed to think a pie's estate
Was to be used as armor plate.
And not a pie would he let go
That had not stood the sledge's blow
Upon the anvil in his sanctum,
Whence naught went out until he'd spanked 'em.
Result? With many alas and 'lack
The pies Joe made they all came back.
From folks who claimed they could not go
The latest pies of Dike & Co.
And here it was that Sammy came
To help his parents in the game.
"Can't eat 'em?" cried indignant Joe.
"Can't eat 'em? Well, I want to know!
Here, Sammy, show these people here
How most unjust their plaint, my dear.
Come, lad, and eat the luscious pies
That I have made and they despise."
Poor loyal Sammy then began
Upon those stodgy pies—the plan
Was very pleasing in his eyes,
For Sammy loved his mother's pies.
He nibbled one, he bit another,
And then began to think of mother.
He chewed and gnawed, he munched and bit,
But no—he could not swallow it;
And then, poor child, it was so tough
He had to say he'd had enough,
Though never in the world before
Was lad who had not wanted more.
And what became of Sammy's Ma?
And what became of Sammy's Pa?
Their profits gone, how could they eke
A living good from week to week?
They took the recipe for pies
That mother made and—Oh, so wise—
Let Father make them in his way
In form elliptical, they say.
And when the football season came
Won fortune great, and wondrous fame,
Beyond the wildest hope of dreams,
By selling these to football teams.
And those by whom this game is played
Called them the finest ever made.
"The Shuregood football" made of mince,
Has never quite been equaled since;
And few who kick them with their feet,
Know they're the pies Sam couldn't eat—
The only pies upon this orb
A healthy boy could not absorb.
"Great poem that, eh?" said the Bellows, poking Tom in the ribs, and grinning broadly.
"Splendid," said Tom. "New use for pies, that."
"It's beautifully long," said Lefty.
"But why couldn't it be published?" asked Righty. "Wasn't it long enough?"
"The editor said it wasn't true," sighed the Poker. "He had three boys of his own, you know, and he said there never was a boy who couldn't eat a pie even if it was made of crowbars and rubber, as long as it was pie."
"I guess he was right," observed Righty. "I knew a boy once who ate soft coal just because somebody told him it was rock-candy."
"Did he like it?" asked Tom.
"I don't think he did," replied Righty, "but he never let on that he didn't."
"Well, anyhow," put in Lefty, "it's time we had something to eat and we'd better set out for the Lobster shop or the Candydike—I don't care which."
"Or the what?" asked Tom.
"The Candydike?" said the Lefthandiron. "Didn't you ever hear of the Candydike?"
"Never," responded Tom. "What is it?"
"It's a candy Klondike," explained the Lefthandiron. "There are Gumdrop Mines and Marshmallow Lodes and Deposits of Chocolate Creams beyond the dreams of avarice. Remember 'em, Righty?"
"Oom, mh, mh!" murmured Righty, smacking his lips with joy. "Do I remember them! O, my! Don't I just. Why, I never wanted to come back from there. I had to be pulled out of the Peppermint mine with a derrick. And the river—O, the river. Was there anything ever like it?"
Tom's mouth began to water, he knew not why.
"What about the river?" he asked.
"Soda water flowing from Mountain to the Sea," returned the Righthandiron, smacking his lips again ecstatically. "Just imagine it, Tom. A great stream of Soda Water fed by little rivulets of Vanilla and Strawberry and Chocolate syrup, with here and there a Cream brook feeding the combination, until all you had to do to get a glass of the finest nectar ever mixed was to dip your cup into the river and there you were."
Tom closed his eyes with very joy at the mere idea.
"O—where is this river?" he cried, when he was able to find words to speak.
"In the Candydike, of course. Where else?" said the Poker. "But of course we can go to the Lobster shop if you prefer."
"Not I," said Tom. "I don't care for any Lobster shop with a Candydike in sight."
"Don't be rash," said the Bellows, who apparently had a strong liking for the Lobster shop. "Of course we all love the Candydike because it is so sweet, but for real pleasure the Lobster shop is not to be despised. I don't think you ought to make up your mind as to where you'll go next in too much of a hurry."
"What's the fun in the Lobster shop?" asked Tom.
"Purely intellectual, if you know what that means," said the Bellows. "You get your mind filled there instead of your stomach. You meet the wittiest oysters, and the most poetic clams, and the most literary lobsters at the Lobster shop you ever saw. For my part I love the Lobster shop. I can get something to eat anywhere. I can get a stake at any lumber yard in town. I can get a chop at any ax factory in the country, and if I want sweets I can find a Cakery—"
"Bakery, you mean?" said Tom.
"No, I don't at all," said the Bellows. "I mean Cakery. A Cakery is a place where they sell cake, and when I say Cakery I mean what I say. Just because you call it Bakery doesn't prove anything."
"We're out for pleasure, not for argument," growled the Lefthandiron. "Go on and say what you've got to say."
"Well," said the Bellows, "what I was trying to say, when interrupted, was that you can get your stomach filled almost anywhere, but your mind—that is different. I'm hungrier in my mind than in my stomach, and I'd rather be fed just now on the jests of an oyster, the good stories of a clam and the anecdotes of a Lobster, than have the freedom of the richest marshmallow mine in creation."