At each command, Kaliko bowed meekly, and as Ruggedo picked up the ruby scepter lying on the arm of the throne, he ducked and ran out the door, for Ruggedo, as a mere matter of habit, had flung the scepter after him.
“A blockhead!” sniffed Ruggedo contemptuously, “but didn’t I manage him well?”
“He’s not very brave,” admitted Peter, sitting on the edge of the crystal rocking chair, “but how are you going to get along without any magic? Suppose the gnomes don’t want you back again?”
“One thing at a time! One thing at a time!” beamed Ruggedo, in such a fine humor at his unexpected turn of luck, he felt almost pleasant. “Let’s not worry till we have to, General.” Peter couldn’t help smiling at his new title and, surveying himself in the long mirror, wondered how he would look in a gnome uniform. But at this juncture they were interrupted by the entrance of the Royal Wizard. He looked frightened and anxious, and Peter could see from his manner that the old Gnome King was no great favorite with his former subjects.
“Well, Potaroo!” grinned Ruggedo, taking up the pipe Kaliko had been smoking, “what have you been inventing in my absence?”
“Flying dishes,” croaked the magician, looking curiously at Peter. “They do away with extra servants, fly backward and forward with the food and wash and dry themselves as well.”
“Very good!” puffed Ruggedo, complacently. “Well, here’s another little job for you.” Drawing out the cloak, he handed it down to the wizened old gnome. “Just mend this,” ordered Ruggedo carelessly, “and have it back by three o’clock.” Spreading the cloak across his knees, Potaroo examined it carefully all over. Then backing away from the throne he shook his head.
“That, your Majesty, is impossible,” he muttered uneasily. “This cloak cannot be mended by gnome magic.”
“No magic at all?” gasped Peter, disappointed beyond words, while Ruggedo glared angrily.