“What—what’s happened?” asked the Prince of Ragbad, peering out wildly from behind an icy cliff.
“Your fortune’s made, that’s all!” announced Grampa proudly. “More ways than one of winning a battle.”
Stepping out, and motioning for the others to follow, the old soldier approached the still quivering monster. Tears streamed from her eyes and she was still sneezing broken-heartedly.
“Enorma is as false as her teeth!” puffed Grampa, and with astonishment Tatters and Urtha saw that the dragon was perfectly toothless—having lost her one and only set at the first pinch of Grampa’s snuff.
“Will you finish her off, or shall I?” asked the old soldier, rattling his sword in businesslike fashion. Before Tatters could answer Enorma gave a frightened moan and began scuttling across the snow fields like an express train bound for Atlantic City.
“Halt! Stop! or I’ll fall on your head! Come back here at once and be slaughtered!” screamed Bill, flying after her while the others followed as fast as they could on foot. But in the end Enorma finished herself for, turning to see how close Grampa and Tatters were coming, she plunged headfirst into an icy stream and put herself out—completely and entirely out—for a dragon can no more stand a dash of water than a furnace, or a witch!
When Grampa and Tatters reached the edge of the stream, Enorma was floating like a great green log on the surface, only a tiny puff of smoke to show that she had ever been a roaring, fire-eating, sure-enough monster.
Gentle little Urtha wept a bit but Tatters soon comforted her. Then he and the old soldier moored Enorma fast to a tree, so that they would have proof of their valor when they met the King of the Island. They were all warm from the encounter with the dragon, but it soon wore off and it wasn’t long before they began to shiver again.
“Wish we’d brought one of those house plants along,” sighed Tatters.