Kabumpo in Oz, Ruth Plumly Thompson [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

“The cake, you chattering Chittimong! Where is the cake? Stirem, Friem, Hashem, where is the cake?” cried Eejabo, chief footman in thepalaceofPumperdink, bouncing into the royal pantry.

The Three cooks, too astonished for speech, and with staring eyes, pointed to the center table. The great gorgeous birthday cake was gone, though not two seconds before it had been placed on the table by Hashem himself.

“It was my m-m-asterpiece,” sobbed Hashem, tearing off his cap and throwing his apron over his head.

“Help! Robbers! Thieves!” cried Friem, running to the window.

Here was a howdedo. The trumpets blowing for the celebration to begin and the best part of the celebration was gone!

“We’ll all be dipped for this!” wailed Eejabo, flinging open the second best china closet so violently that three silver cups and a pewter mug tumbled out. Just then there was a scream from Hashem, who had removed the apron from his head. “Look!” he shrieked “There it is!”

Back to the table rushed the other three, Stirem and Friem rubbing their eyes and Eejabo his head where the cups had bumped him severely. Upon the table stood the royal cake, as pink and perfect as ever.

“It was there all the time, mince my eyebrows!” spluttered Hashem in an injured voice. “Called me a Chittimong, did you?” Grasping a big wooden spoon he ran angrily at Eejabo.

“Was it gone or wasn’t it?” cried Eejabo, appealing to the others and hastily catching up a bread knife to defend himself. Instantly there arose a babble.

“It was!”

“It wasn’t!”

“Was!” Rap, bang, clatter. In a minute they were in a furious argument, not only with words but with spoons, forks and bowls. And dear knows what would have become of the cake had not a bell rung loudly and the second footman poked his head through the door.

“The cake! Where is the cake?” he wheezed importantly.

So Eejabo, dodging three cups and a salt cellar, seized the great silver platter and dashed into the great banquet hall. One pink coat tail was missing and his wig was somewhat elevated over the left ear from the lump raised by the pewter mug, but he summoned what dignity he could and joined the grand procession of footmen who were bearing gold and silver dishes filled with goodies for the birthday feast of Prince Pompadore of Pumperdink.

The royal guests were already assembled and just as Eejabo entered the pages blew a shrill blast upon their silver trumpets and the Prime Pumper stepped forward to announce their Majesties.

“Oyes! Oyez!” shouted the Prime Pumper, pounding on the floor with his silver staff, while the guests politely inclined their heads just as if they had not heard the same announcement dozens of times before:

“Oyez! Oyez!”

“Pompus the Proud

And Pozy Pink,

King and Queen

Of Pumperdink —

Way for the King

And clear the floor

Way for our good

Prince Pompadore.

Way for the Elegant

Elephant— Way

For the King and

The Queen and the

Prince, I say!”

So everybody wayed, which is to say they bowed, and down the center of the room swept Pompus, very fat and gorgeous in his purple robes and jeweled crown, ermine cloak, and Prince Pompadore very straight and handsome! In fact, they looked exactly as a good old-fashioned royal family should.

But Kabumpo, who swayed along grandly after the Prince — few royal families could boast of so royal and elegant an elephant! He was huge and gray. On his head he wore jeweled bands and a jeweled court robe billowed out majestically as he walked. His little eyes twinkled merrily and his ears flapped so sociably, that just to look at him put one in a good humor. Kabumpo was the only elephant in Pumperdink, or in any Kingdom near Pumperdink, so no wonder he was a prime favorite at Court. He had been given to the King at Pompa’s christening by a friendly stranger and since then had enjoyed every luxury and advantage. He was always addressed as Sir by all of the palace servants.

He lends an air of elegance to our Court,” the King was fond of saying, and the Elegant Elephant he surely had become. Now an Elegant Elephant at Court might seem strange in a regular up-to-date country, but Pumperdink is not at all regular nor up to date. It is a cozy, old-fashioned Kingdom ‘way up in the northern part of the Gilliken country of Oz; old-fashioned enough to wear knee breeches and have a King and cozy enough to still enjoy birthday parties and candy pulls.

If Pompus, the King was a bit proud who could blame him? His Queen was the loveliest, his son the most charming and his elephant the most elegant and unusual for twenty Kingdoms round about. And Pompus, for all his pride, had a very simple way of ruling. When the Pumperdinkians did right they were rewarded; when they did wrong they were dipped.

In the very center of the courtyard there is a great stone well with a huge stone bucket. Into this Pumperdink well all offenders and law breakers were lowered. Its waters were dark blue and as the color stuck to one for several days the inhabitants of Pumperdink were careful to behave well, so that the Chief Dipper, who often had days at a time with nothing to do. This time he spent in writing poetry and as Prince Pompadore took the place of honor at the head of the table the Chief Dipper rose from his humble place at the foot and with a moist flourish burst forth:

“Oh, Pompadore of Pumperdink,

Of all perfection you’re the pink;

Your praises now I utter!

Your eyes are clear as apple sauce,

Your head the best I’ve come across;

Your heart is soft as butter.”

“Very good,” said the of the King, and the Chief Dipper down, blushing with pride and confusion. Prince Pompadore bowed and the rest of the party clapped tremendously.

“Sounds like a dipper full of nonsense to me,” wheezed Kabumpo, who stood directly back of Prince Pompadore’s throne, leisurely consuming a bale of hay placed on the floor beside him. It may surprise you to know that all the animals in Oz can talk. but such is the case, and Pumperdink being in the fairy country of Oz, Kabumpo could talk as well as any man and better than most.

“Eyes like apple sauce—heart of butter! Ho-ho, kerumph!” The Elegant elephant laughed so hard he shook all over; then slyly reaching over the Prime Pumper’s shoulder, he snatched his glass of Pink Lemonade and emptied it down his great throat, setting the tumbler back before the old fellow turned his head.

“Did you call, sir?” asked Eejabo, hurrying over. He had mistaken Kabumpo’s laugh for a command.

“Yes; why did you not give his Excellency lemonade?” demanded the Elegant Elephant sternly.

“I did; he must have drunk it, Sir!” stuttered Eejabo.

“Drunk it!” cried the Prime Pumper, pounding on the table indignantly. “I never had any!”

“Fetch him a glass at once,: rumbled Kabumpo, waving his trunk, and Eejabo, too wise to argue with a member of the royal family, brought another glass of lemonade. But no sooner had he done so than the mischievous elephant stole that, next the Prime Pumper’s plate and roll, and all so quickly, no one but Prince Pompadore knew what was happening and Poor Eejabo was kept running backwards and forwards till his wig stood on end with confusion and rage.

All of this was very amusing to the Prince, and helped him to listen pleasantly to the fifteen long birthday speeches addressed to him by members of the Royal Guard. But if the speeches were dull, the dinner was not. The fiddlers fiddled so merrily, and the chief cook Hashem had so outdone himself in the preparation of new and delicious dainties that by ice-cream-and-cake time everyone was in a high good humor.

“The cake, my good Eejabo! Fetch forth the cake!” commanded King Pompus, beaming fondly upon his son. Nervously Eejabo stepped to the side table and lighted the eighteen tall birthday candles. A cake that had disappeared once might easily do so again, and Eejabo was anxious to have it cut and out of the way—out of his way at least.

Hashem, looking through a tiny crack in the door, almost burst with pride as his gorgeous pink masterpiece was set down before the Prince.

“Many happy returns of your eighteenth birthday!” cried the Courtiers, jumping to their feet and waving their napkins enthusiastically.

“Thank you! Thank you!” chuckled Pompadore, bowing low. “I feel that this is but one of many more to come!” Which may sound strange, but Pumperdink being in Oz, one may have as many eighteenth birthdays as one cares to have. This was Pompa’s tenth and while the courtiers drank his health the Prince made ready to blow out the birthday candles.

“That’s right, blow ‘em all out at once!” cried King. So Pompa puffed out his cheeks and blew like a porpoise; so did Queen Pozy and the Prime Pumper; so did everybody. They blew until every dish upon the table skipped and sank back exhausted in their chairs, but the candles burned as merrily as ever.

Then Kabumpo took a hand—or rather a trunk. He had been watching the proceedings with his twinkling little eyes. Now he took a tremendous breath, pointed his trunk straight at the cake and blew with all his strength.

Every candle went out— but stars! As they did, the great pink cake exploded with such force that half the Courtiers were flung under the table and the rest knocked unconscious by flying fragments of icing tumblers and plates.

“Treason!” screamed Pompus, the first to recover from the shock. “Who dared put gunpowder in the cake?” Brushing the icing from his nose, he glared around angrily. The first person to catch his eye was Hashem, the cook who stood trembling in the doorway.

“Dip him!” shouted the King furiously. And the Chief dipper, only too glad