L. Frank Baum (2 page)

"Of course not," said Victor.

The fat man drew a big knife from his belt and flourished it about
his head.

"S'blood!" he ejaculated, fiercely.

"S'bananas!" cried Beni, in a terrible voice.

"Confusion to our foes!" hissed Victor.

And then the three bent themselves nearly double and crept
stealthily down the stairway with cocked pistols in their hands and
glittering knives between their teeth, leaving Martha trembling with
fear and too horrified to even cry for help.

How long she remained alone in the attic she never knew, but finally
she heard the catlike tread of the returning bandits and saw them
coming up the stairs in single file.

All bore heavy loads of plunder in their arms, and Lugui was
balancing a mince pie on the top of a pile of her mother's best
evening dresses. Victor came next with an armful of bric-a-brac, a
brass candelabra and the parlor clock. Beni had the family Bible,
the basket of silverware from the sideboard, a copper kettle and
papa's fur overcoat.

"Oh, joy!" said Victor, putting down his load; "it is pleasant to
rob once more."

"Oh, ecstacy!" said Beni; but he let the kettle drop on his toe and
immediately began dancing around in anguish, while he muttered queer
words in the Italian language.

"We have much wealth," continued Victor, holding the mince pie while
Lugui added his spoils to the heap; "and all from one house! This
America must be a rich place."

With a dagger he then cut himself a piece of the pie and handed the
remainder to his comrades. Whereupon all three sat upon the floor
and consumed the pie while Martha looked on sadly.

"We should have a cave," remarked Beni; "for we must store our
plunder in a safe place. Can you tell us of a secret cave?" he asked
Martha.

"There's a Mammoth cave," she answered, "but it's in Kentucky. You
would be obliged to ride on the cars a long time to get there."

The three bandits looked thoughtful and munched their pie silently,
but the next moment they were startled by the ringing of the
electric doorbell, which was heard plainly even in the remote attic.

"What's that?" demanded Victor, in a hoarse voice, as the three
scrambled to their feet with drawn daggers.

Martha ran to the window and saw it was only the postman, who had
dropped a letter in the box and gone away again. But the incident
gave her an idea of how to get rid of her troublesome bandits, so
she began wringing her hands as if in great distress and cried out:

"It's the police!"

The robbers looked at one another with genuine alarm, and Lugui
asked, tremblingly:

"Are there many of them?"

"A hundred and twelve!" exclaimed Martha, after pretending to count
them.

"Then we are lost!" declared Beni; "for we could never fight so many
and live."

"Are they armed?" inquired Victor, who was shivering as if cold.

"Oh, yes," said she. "They have guns and swords and pistols and axes
and—and—"

"And what?" demanded Lugui.

"And cannons!"

The three wicked ones groaned aloud and Beni said, in a hollow
voice:

"I hope they will kill us quickly and not put us to the torture. I
have been told these Americans are painted Indians, who are
bloodthirsty and terrible."

"'Tis so!" gasped the fat man, with a shudder.

Suddenly Martha turned from the window.

"You are my friends, are you not?" she asked.

"We are devoted!" answered Victor.

"We adore you!" cried Beni.

"We would die for you!" added Lugui, thinking he was about to die
anyway.

"Then I will save you," said the girl.

"How?" asked the three, with one voice.

"Get back into the chest," she said. "I will then close the lid, so
they will be unable to find you."

They looked around the room in a dazed and irresolute way, but she
exclaimed:

"You must be quick! They will soon be here to arrest you."

Then Lugui sprang into the chest and lay fat upon the bottom. Beni
tumbled in next and packed himself in the back side. Victor followed
after pausing to kiss her hand to the girl in a graceful manner.

Then Martha ran up to press down the lid, but could not make it
catch.

"You must squeeze down," she said to them.

Lugui groaned.

"I am doing my best, miss," said Victor, who was nearest the top;
"but although we fitted in very nicely before, the chest now seems
rather small for us."

"'Tis so!" came the muffled voice of the fat man from the bottom.

"I know what takes up the room," said Beni.

"What?" inquired Victor, anxiously.

"The pie," returned Beni.

"'Tis so!" came from the bottom, in faint accents.

Then Martha sat upon the lid and pressed it down with all her
weight. To her great delight the lock caught, and, springing down,
she exerted all her strength and turned the key.

This story should teach us not to interfere in matters that do not
concern us. For had Martha refrained from opening Uncle Walter's
mysterious chest she would not have been obliged to carry downstairs
all the plunder the robbers had brought into the attic.

An accomplished wizard once lived on the top floor of a tenement
house and passed his time in thoughtful study and studious thought.
What he didn't know about wizardry was hardly worth knowing, for he
possessed all the books and recipes of all the wizards who had lived
before him; and, moreover, he had invented several wizardments
himself.

This admirable person would have been completely happy but for the
numerous interruptions to his studies caused by folk who came to
consult him about their troubles (in which he was not interested),
and by the loud knocks of the iceman, the milkman, the baker's boy,
the laundryman and the peanut woman. He never dealt with any of
these people; but they rapped at his door every day to see him about
this or that or to try to sell him their wares. Just when he was
most deeply interested in his books or engaged in watching the
bubbling of a cauldron there would come a knock at his door. And
after sending the intruder away he always found he had lost his
train of thought or ruined his compound.

At length these interruptions aroused his anger, and he decided he
must have a dog to keep people away from his door. He didn't know
where to find a dog, but in the next room lived a poor glass-blower
with whom he had a slight acquaintance; so he went into the man's
apartment and asked:

"Where can I find a dog?"

"What sort of a dog?" inquired the glass-blower.

"A good dog. One that will bark at people and drive them away. One
that will be no trouble to keep and won't expect to be fed. One that
has no fleas and is neat in his habits. One that will obey me when I
speak to him. In short, a good dog," said the wizard.

"Such a dog is hard to find," returned the glass-blower, who was
busy making a blue glass flower pot with a pink glass rosebush in
it, having green glass leaves and yellow glass roses.

The wizard watched him thoughtfully.

"Why cannot you blow me a dog out of glass?" he asked, presently.

"I can," declared the glass-blower; "but it would not bark at
people, you know."

"Oh, I'll fix that easily enough," replied the other. "If I could
not make a glass dog bark I would be a mighty poor wizard."

"Very well; if you can use a glass dog I'll be pleased to blow one
for you. Only, you must pay for my work."

"Certainly," agreed the wizard. "But I have none of that horrid
stuff you call money. You must take some of my wares in exchange."

The glass-blower considered the matter for a moment.

"Could you give me something to cure my rheumatism?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; easily."

"Then it's a bargain. I'll start the dog at once. What color of
glass shall I use?"

"Pink is a pretty color," said the wizard, "and it's unusual for a
dog, isn't it?"

"Very," answered the glass-blower; "but it shall be pink."

So the wizard went back to his studies and the glass-blower began to
make the dog.

Next morning he entered the wizard's room with the glass dog under
his arm and set it carefully upon the table. It was a beautiful pink
in color, with a fine coat of spun glass, and about its neck was
twisted a blue glass ribbon. Its eyes were specks of black glass and
sparkled intelligently, as do many of the glass eyes worn by men.

The wizard expressed himself pleased with the glass-blower's skill
and at once handed him a small vial.

"This will cure your rheumatism," he said.

"But the vial is empty!" protested the glass-blower.

"Oh, no; there is one drop of liquid in it," was the wizard's reply.

"Will one drop cure my rheumatism?" inquired the glass-blower, in
wonder.

"Most certainly. That is a marvelous remedy. The one drop contained
in the vial will cure instantly any kind of disease ever known to
humanity. Therefore it is especially good for rheumatism. But guard
it well, for it is the only drop of its kind in the world, and I've
forgotten the recipe."

"Thank you," said the glass-blower, and went back to his room.

Then the wizard cast a wizzy spell and mumbled several very learned
words in the wizardese language over the glass dog. Whereupon the
little animal first wagged its tail from side to side, then winked
his left eye knowingly, and at last began barking in a most
frightful manner—that is, when you stop to consider the noise came
from a pink glass dog. There is something almost astonishing in the
magic arts of wizards; unless, of course, you know how to do the
things yourself, when you are not expected to be surprised at them.

The wizard was as delighted as a school teacher at the success of
his spell, although he was not astonished. Immediately he placed the
dog outside his door, where it would bark at anyone who dared knock
and so disturb the studies of its master.

The glass-blower, on returning to his room, decided not to use the
one drop of wizard cure-all just then.

"My rheumatism is better to-day," he reflected, "and I will be wise
to save the medicine for a time when I am very ill, when it will be
of more service to me."

So he placed the vial in his cupboard and went to work blowing more
roses out of glass. Presently he happened to think the medicine
might not keep, so he started to ask the wizard about it. But when
he reached the door the glass dog barked so fiercely that he dared
not knock, and returned in great haste to his own room. Indeed, the
poor man was quite upset at so unfriendly a reception from the dog
he had himself so carefully and skillfully made.

The next morning, as he read his newspaper, he noticed an article
stating that the beautiful Miss Mydas, the richest young lady in
town, was very ill, and the doctors had given up hope of her
recovery.

The glass-blower, although miserably poor, hard-working and homely
of feature, was a man of ideas. He suddenly recollected his precious
medicine, and determined to use it to better advantage than
relieving his own ills. He dressed himself in his best clothes,
brushed his hair and combed his whiskers, washed his hands and tied
his necktie, blackened his hoes and sponged his vest, and then put
the vial of magic cure-all in his pocket. Next he locked his door,
went downstairs and walked through the streets to the grand mansion
where the wealthy Miss Mydas resided.

The butler opened the door and said:

"No soap, no chromos, no vegetables, no hair oil, no books, no
baking powder. My young lady is dying and we're well supplied for
the funeral."

The glass-blower was grieved at being taken for a peddler.

"My friend," he began, proudly; but the butler interrupted him,
saying:

"No tombstones, either; there's a family graveyard and the
monument's built."

"The graveyard won't be needed if you will permit me to speak," said
the glass-blower.

"No doctors, sir; they've given up my young lady, and she's given up
the doctors," continued the butler, calmly.

"I'm no doctor," returned the glass-blower.

"Nor are the others. But what is your errand?"

"I called to cure your young lady by means of a magical compound."

"Step in, please, and take a seat in the hall. I'll speak to the
housekeeper," said the butler, more politely.

So he spoke to the housekeeper and the housekeeper mentioned the
matter to the steward and the steward consulted the chef and the
chef kissed the lady's maid and sent her to see the stranger. Thus
are the very wealthy hedged around with ceremony, even when dying.

When the lady's maid heard from the glass-blower that he had a
medicine which would cure her mistress, she said:

"I'm glad you came."

"But," said he, "if I restore your mistress to health she must marry
me."

"I'll make inquiries and see if she's willing," answered the maid,
and went at once to consult Miss Mydas.

The young lady did not hesitate an instant.

"I'd marry any old thing rather than die!" she cried. "Bring him
here at once!"

So the glass-blower came, poured the magic drop into a little water,
gave it to the patient, and the next minute Miss Mydas was as well
as she had ever been in her life.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed; "I've an engagement at the Fritters'
reception to-night. Bring my pearl-colored silk, Marie, and I will
begin my toilet at once. And don't forget to cancel the order for
the funeral flowers and your mourning gown."

"But, Miss Mydas," remonstrated the glass-blower, who stood by, "you
promised to marry me if I cured you."

"I know," said the young lady, "but we must have time to make proper
announcement in the society papers and have the wedding cards
engraved. Call to-morrow and we'll talk it over."