The Cowardly Lion of Oz

BY
RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON

Founded on and continuing the Famous Oz Stories
BY L. FRANK BAUM
"Royal Historian of Oz"

Illustrated by
JOHN R. NEILL

The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago

Printed in the United States of America

Copyright, 1923
by
The Reilly & Lee Co.

The Cowardly Lion of Oz

The Cowardly Lion entertains the wood cutters with his conversation Chapter 9

Dear Girls and Boys:

This is the Cowardly Lion's book, because it is mostly about him and the people who were hunting him. Why, I do not believe there has been so much excitement in Oz since the Scarecrow fell down his family tree. Imagine anyone daring to hunt our dear old jolly friend, just as if he were a common, man-eating creature, and imagine—! But here I go telling the whole story. Read it yourself and then tell me exactly what you think of this Mustafa of Mudge and his blue whiskers.

I hope you will like Snorer. It must be convenient to have a radio ear like his. Speaking of radios, if you should happen to hear any OZ news over yours will you tell me? Will you? If there's anything I love better than strawberries in January it's Oz news in July or December or August—or any time!

I've had some of the finest letters from boys and girls lately, but there is always room in my letter box for just one more. Maybe there is one there now from you to dear me? I must run down and look. Lots of good Oz luck until the Emerald clock in the royal palace strikes book time again!

Ruth Plumly Thompson.

Philadelphia,
July of 1923.

This book is dedicated to
My sister
Dorothy Thompson Curtiss
and all other lovely Dorothys
including Dorothy of Oz

Ruth Plumly Thompson

List of Chapters

Chapter 1

Mustafa of Mudge

"Tazzywaller, I must have another lion," said Mustafa of Mudge, giving his blue whiskers a terrible tweak. "Another lion, Tazzywaller, at once!"

"Your Highness already has nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine lions and a half!" said Tazzywaller bowing humbly.

"Oh, that!" interrupted Mustafa impatiently. "Very careless of you, Tazzywaller, to bring me half a lion—the wrong half, too! Monstrous annoying to see the back legs and tail of a lion jumping about in the reservation. Unnatural, I call it."

"But, your Highness will remember that had not a fortunate blow of my scimitar cut off the right half of the lion I would have been devoured, eaten, destroyed!"

Tazzywaller's eyes bulged at the unhappy recollection.

"I'd have endeavored to console myself," sniffed Mustafa disagreeably, "and Panapee would make an excellent chamberlain. But this is wasting time. I must have another lion. A lion, I tell you, at once!"

Mustafa's voice rose to a roar. Springing from his throne, he began stamping first one foot, then the other. The round face of poor Tazzywaller grew paler at each stamp.

"But there are no more lions in Mudge," he pleaded. "Your Highness must know that. The royal hunters have tracked them all down, and even if there were more, we cannot afford another single lion. I beg of your Highness to consider the nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine already eating us out of our sandals. The Mudgers are complaining of the lion tax—"

"Silence!" screamed Mustafa, jumping into the air so that he could stamp both feet at the same time.

"You're making most of the noise yourself," said Tazzywaller sulkily.

"What is all this arguing about?" demanded a sleepy voice, and through a curtain at the back of the apartment appeared the huge, turbaned head of Mixtuppa, Queen of Mudge.

"Lions! your Majesty," sighed the chief chamberlain, looking uneasily at Mustafa's wife, who was even more unreasonable than her royal husband. "His Highness desires another lion."

"Well, why don't you get him one? You know I can't stand this stamping," wheezed Mixtuppa irritably.

"Neither can I," grumbled Mustafa. "It hurts my royal feet."

"No one asked you to stamp. Why don't you stop it?" sniffed Tazzywaller.

"Will you get me the lion?" asked Mustafa, pausing with foot upraised.

"I would if there were any more, but there are no more lions in Mudge!" wailed Tazzywaller. Down came Mustafa's foot with a terrible stamp.

"Great Gazupp!" screamed the monarch of Mudge. "What kind of a chamberlain are you? I'll appoint Panapee chamberlain in your place and you—you may feed the lions!" he finished furiously.

Mustafa clapped his hands sharply and to the small Mudger who bounced into the room he snapped, "Tell Panapee to appear before me at once." He paid no attention to the pleadings of Tazzywaller, who was bumping his head on the floor, nor to the advice of Mixtuppa, who was wagging her head through the curtain. The next moment Panapee stood before the throne. He was as tall and thin as Tazzywaller was round and fat. His little eyes snapped with glee at sight of the chamberlain rolling about on the floor. As purse bearer he always had to walk back of Tazzywaller in royal processions, and to see his rival in disgrace was an exquisite pleasure to the envious old Mudger.

"Your Excellency sent for me?" asked Panapee bowing deeply.

"Yes," shrilled Mustafa, pushing back his turban and pointing a trembling finger at Tazzywaller. "He says there are no more lions in Mudge and I, Mustafa, must have another lion."

"Your Highness knows best," murmured Panapee, rolling up his eyes and putting his finger tips together.

"You know as well as I that there are no more lions in Mudge," cried Tazzywaller, springing to his feet and shaking his fist under Panapee's nose.

"There are other countries besides Mudge," said Panapee loftily. "Now I presume your Highness was thinking of an odd, unusual sort of lion; something bigger and better than the kind now fighting amiably in the royal reservation?"

"How well you understand me," sighed Mustafa, sinking back among his cushions. "That's just what I do want, Panny—a strange, rare, royal sort of lion; one who will keep the rest in order and add to the honor and dignity of our court."

"I have a book," confided Panapee, placing his finger mysteriously beside his nose, "a book of lions, and if your Highness will but excuse me I will fetch it from my tent."

"Are you going to get a lion out of a book?" asked Mixtuppa sleepily. "How stupid of Tazzywaller not to have thought of that."

Now, while Panapee goes for his book, I must tell you that Mudge is a blue and barbarous country in the southwestern part of the Munchkin country of Oz. It is a hot, dry, desert land and the Mudgers themselves are a short-tempered, long-legged tribe of troublemakers. They live in blue, striped tents and, if it were not for their bright blue whiskers, you would take them for Arabs, as they wear sweeping white robes and turbans to protect themselves from the heat and desert sands.

In olden Oz times the Mudgers used to descend upon the helpless little countries that surrounded them and carry off everything of value. But Glinda, the good sorceress of Oz, put a stop to that. One night, flying over Mudge in her swan chariot, she had dropped a blue book and it had fallen on the oldest Mudger in the kingdom, hitting him a terrible blow on the nose. It had been a blow to them all, for in gold letters on the first page of the book stood this sentence:

"From this day on, any Mudger leaving the land of Mudge shall lose his head. By order of Ozma, Ruler of all Oz."

There were other warnings in the blue book, but the first had changed the whole history of the country. No Mudger was brave enough to venture out of Mudge after that, so the thieving raids on other countries had stopped instantly, and the Mudgers, deprived of the pleasure of stealing from their neighbors, stole from each other, and were always quarreling among themselves and moving their tents from place to place. The peoples of the surrounding countries would come to the borders of Mudge to bargain for the dates, figs and cocoanuts for which the land was famous, but Mustafa's grandfather, who was then ruler of the desert kingdom, disagreeably decided that since no Mudger might leave Mudge no outsider should enter his country. Warnings were posted on all the borders of Mudge and soon no one came near the horrid little kingdom, so that it went on growing more blue and barbarous all the time, as people are bound to do who have no friends or neighbors.

When Mustafa, who really was not a bad fellow at heart, assumed the throne he tried to divert the minds of his quarrelsome subjects by organizing hunts. There were many lions in the uninhabited parts of the desert, and for a time hunting lions kept the Mudgers out of mischief. But soon they were quarreling over even that, and the royal hunting expeditions were more in the nature of battles than pleasure excursions.

Mustafa, in despair, confided to Tazzywaller that he much preferred the lions to his subjects. So Tazzywaller had mildly suggested that he keep a few for company. Mustafa, who was terribly bored with his duties as King, was delighted with the idea and issued orders that hereafter all lions should be brought to the royal tents.

At first he had kept two or three in a large enclosed cage in his garden, but as his subjects grew more unmanageable, his affection for lions increased. He insisted upon more and more lions, until, as Tazzywaller had stated, there were nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and one-half in the royal collection. Mustafa pretended that he kept these lions to frighten away the enemies of Mudge, and for this purpose he had a large iron enclosure erected all around the kingdom, so that no one could come in or go out without passing through the royal lion reservation. Indeed, when the little Munchkin boys and girls recited their lessons, they always described Mudge as a country entirely surrounded by lions. But this was only an excuse. Mustafa knew well enough that no one dared leave Mudge, and that no one wanted to come there, but it sounded well when the people complained of the lion tax.

Mustafa's lions were a terrible trial to poor Tazzywaller. To keep his position as chief chamberlain of Mudge, he must produce a lion whenever Mustafa demanded one. This was pretty often. By his orders the whole country had been combed for lions and only the week before word had been brought that there was not another lion left in the whole country. Then Tazzywaller himself had gone hunting, and after an exhausting trip had come upon the very last old lion of Mudge. When Tazzywaller tried to capture him, the beast had selfishly tried to devour the fat chamberlain. In protecting himself Tazzywaller cut the old lion in two with his scimitar. Before he could remedy the disaster the front, and best part, of the lion had jumped over the lion enclosure and disappeared.

In the Fairy Kingdom of Oz nothing can really be killed, so that both halves of the lion were quite unhurt and lively, but Mustafa had been very angry when Tazzywaller brought him the half he had managed to catch. It had almost cost him his position.

"To think it was I who suggested lions in the first place," groaned poor Tazzywaller. "Lions! Bah! Mustafa has a taste for lions and lions have a taste for me!"

"That's odd of them," drawled Mixtuppa, rolling her blue eyes at Tazzy. "Poor taste I call it!"

"Silence!" exploded Mustafa so sharply that Mixtuppa hastily drew in her head. Mustafa was already regretting his unkindness, but he was too proud to take back his words. Yes, Tazzy would have to feed the lions. He sighed mournfully; but just then Panapee came whirling through the tent flap, a large book under his arm.

"This book," puffed Panapee proudly—but he got no further.

"Give it to me," commanded Mustafa, snatching the volume from Panapee. Even Tazzywaller edged nearer, and the sleepy head of Mixtuppa was again thrust through the curtain.

"Famous Lions of Oz," read Mustafa, and opened the dusty volume with trembling fingers. But he got no further than the second page, for there was a picture of the most splendid lion he had ever seen in his whole Mudger existence, and underneath, in blue letters, stood the words "This is the famous Cowardly Lion of Oz, King of all forest creatures."

"Cowardly Lion?" gasped Mustafa. "How singular! How rare! Why, he doesn't look cowardly at all."

"If your Highness will but read," exulted Panapee, pointing to the opposite page. Breathlessly Mustafa began.

"The Cowardly Lion is one of the most unusual and celebrated lions in Oz. For many years he ruled over the forest kingdoms, but in the reign of the famous Wizard of Oz the Cowardly Lion was discovered by a little Kansas girl named Dorothy. He became so attached to Dorothy that he accompanied her on her journey to the Emerald City, saving her life many times on the way, and proving so brave, in spite of his cowardice, that he won the love and admiration of all Oz. Since then he has spent most of his time in the capital city, sharing in all the adventures of court celebrities, and of Dorothy, who has been made a Royal Princess. He has, by his many brave deeds, endeared himself to the whole populace and—"

"Panny!" burst out Mustafa, without waiting to read any more, "Panny, that is the lion I want, the Cowardly Lion of Oz!"

"That is the lion he wants!" repeated Mixtuppa, nodding her head approvingly.

"And of course he shall have it," sniffed Tazzywaller, relieved to think he was no longer chamberlain. "Panapee, produce this Cowardly Lion. At once!"

"It will take a little time," began the new chamberlain of Mudge nervously. "An expedition must be fitted out and—"

"How about the warning in the book of Mudge?" asked Tazzywaller sarcastically. "Do you suppose anyone is going to risk his head just for the honor of catching this Cowardly Lion?"

"It would be a great honor," said Panapee, looking slyly at his rival, "a very great honor. I was about to suggest that you, dear Tazzywaller, undertake the journey. Even though you were to lose your head, you could still feed the lions of Mudge."

"Me!" screamed Tazzywaller, almost turning a somersault. "Oh, no, my brave Panapee, it would be too great an honor for me. I am only the lion feeder. I must feed them at once!" Tazzywaller started on a run for the door, but Mustafa called him back.

"You used to give me good advice, Tazzywaller," sighed the ruler of Mudge. "Who do you think could catch this Cowardly Lion of Oz?"

"Why not Panapee?" asked the former chamberlain wickedly. "He is a strong, brave man."

"Yes, but what would your Highness do without an adviser?" quavered Panapee in a tremulous tone.

"He could take my advice," drawled Mixtuppa, "and to begin with I'd—"

What Mixtuppa was about to advise will never be known, for right here fifteen Mudgers burst into the royal tent.

"Lion!" screamed the first. "Lion! Lion! Lion!" screamed all the others, whirling their scimitars until the confusion was terrible.

"Let me catch him!" cried Tazzywaller, but Panapee clutched at his sleeve.

"No, let me!" squealed Panapee, brushing past him. "I am chief chamberlain of Mudge!"

"Perhaps it is the Cowardly Lion," puffed Mustafa, springing rapturously from his throne, and next minute they had all rolled, run or tumbled out of the tent, screaming in a way to curdle the blood of twenty lions. Under the largest palm tree in the sandy waste Mustafa was pleased to call his garden stood a very lumpy and peculiar-looking lion!

Chapter 2

Magic at the Circus

It was raining outside, it was hot and stuffy inside and it was the last day of the circus in Stumptown. All over the big tent people moved about restlessly on the hard seats, and grumbled when sudden splashes of rain came pelting through the tent top. Mothers were thinking anxiously of the wet journey home, young ladies were worrying about their spring bonnets, and even the boys and girls were only applauding half-heartedly as old Billy, the elephant, rang dinner bells in one ring and the Glicko sisters swung dizzily from trapezes in the other. The chief clown ran distractedly around both rings. He stood on his head, he walked on his hands, he leaped over the elephant, he pretended he was a balky donkey. But no one laughed. They didn't even smile at his oldest jokes.

"This is too terrible," gulped the clown, stepping behind a pillar. "Not one real laugh the whole afternoon! What's the matter with these folks anyway?" He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, hastily powdered his nose and dashed out again.

It was beginning to thunder now, and the animals in the outside tent set up a dreadful roaring. From looking bored, the people began to look frightened. Something must be done. The worried clown rushed into the center ring and sprang to the back of the big elephant.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the clown, waving his arms to attract attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to perform one of the most astonishing and amazing feats ever executed—a trick that has astounded the crowned heads of Europe, Asia and Africa. Ladies and gentlemen—"

People on the back rows, who were already pushing their way toward the exits, paused. A little girl in the twenty-five-cent seats cheered faintly. Thus encouraged, the clown turned a really marvelous somersault and landed on the tip of the elephant's trunk.

"Will some small boy kindly step forward," begged the clown, glancing hurriedly along the front rows. "For this trick I need a small, active boy. Ah, there he is!"

Urging the elephant to the very edge of the ring, the clown snatched a small, red-headed boy from a group of solemn-eyed orphans, who had been brought to the circus for a special treat. The crowd gasped with surprise, and the orphan tried to wriggle out of his coat, but the clown held on firmly.

"One toss of this boy into the air, and he will disappear; a toss of my cap and he will reappear. Watch!" cried the clown, putting his fingers to his lips.

"What are you trying to do?" demanded the ringmaster in a hoarse whisper. "You can't really make him disappear, you know."

The clown realized this, but he was going to make that crowd laugh—or disappear himself. With a shrill whistle that made even the old elephant prick up his ears, he tossed the orphan to his shoulder and reeled off the first ridiculous rhyme that popped into his head. And this was it:

"Udge! Budge!

Go to Mudge!

Udger budger,

You're a Mudger!"

A roar of delight went up from the crowd, and a roar of terror from the ringmaster, for the orphan had disappeared—disappeared as completely as a punctured balloon!

"Help!" screamed the clown, dancing frantically up and down on the elephant's head. The audience was enchanted and rocking to and fro with merriment.

"That's the best trick I've ever seen," gurgled a fat man, mopping his face. "Look at him pretending to be frightened. Come on now, bring him back, you!"

The clown cried out another verse:

"Udge! Budge!

Go to Mudge!

Udger budger,

You're a Mudger!"

There was a tearing rip and a clap of thunder. The crowd stared, rubbed its eyes and stared again. No clown, no orphan! Why, this was tremendous! They stamped with glee and shouted their approval. But the ringmaster fell breathlessly against a post, and the owner of the circus, with popping eyes, started on a run for the dressing tent. Not a bit too soon, either, for in a few seconds the crowd stopped laughing as suddenly as it had begun. Umbrellas were brandished furiously, and people shouted at the ringmaster to produce the orphan at once. The ringmaster was shaking in his shiny shoes, but he resolved to save himself if he could. Raising his whip for silence, he announced in his most impressive voice that the best part of the trick was to come—that the clown and orphan were at that minute standing at the circus gate to wave good-bye to the company, one of the most distinguished and delightful companies it had ever been their pleasure to entertain. He clicked his heels together, made a deep bow and the crowd, convinced that he was speaking the truth, began to stream out of the big tent.

There was a tearing rip, and the clown disappeared through the tent top

Without waiting another second, the ringmaster grasped old Billy by the ear and ran him toward the animal tent. In five minutes the whole circus force was dashing about in the pelting rain, dragging out cages, prodding the elephants, tugging at the big horses, pulling down the tents.

"Something terrible has happened; we've got to move out of here," chattered the owner of the show, rushing from group to group. By the time the indignant old gentleman who had brought the orphans to the circus had been to the gate and back, the first of the heavy circus wagons was already rattling over the hill. The few workmen, hastening the last bits of loading, shook their heads dully when he demanded the orphan and, after threatening and stamping in vain, the distracted old gentleman ran off to fetch the police, with the thirty-nine other orphans splashing delightedly behind him.

Police! What could police do against magic? How did the clown know that the rhyme that had popped into his head was an old Oz formula? It had carried off the orphan like a skyrocket, and when the clown had frantically repeated the magic words, he too had been snatched into the air, hurled through the tent top, and flung down beside the frightened little boy in the strangest land he had ever seen. Fortunately they had fallen on a soft dune of sand, and around them for miles and miles stretched a flat and silvery desert.

Chapter 3

At the Court of Mudge

Neither the clown nor the boy spoke for several minutes. To tell the truth, they were breathless. Then the clown sat up and looked doubtfully at the orphan.

"Well, here we are," he said, winking more from force of habit than because he felt particularly jolly.

"Yes, sir!" gulped the orphan, swallowing hard.

"Now don't call me sir," begged the clown, making conversation to gain time. "Don't call me sir because I worked in a circus. My name is Notta—Notta Bit More. I was the last of twelve children, and my mother and father could not agree on a name for me. Every time my mother said, 'Call him Augustus Elmer More,' my father said, 'not a bit of it.' After while, being a clown himself and a joker by trade, he began calling me 'Notta Bit More' and Notta I've been ever since." The clown winked again. "Call me Notta, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," replied the orphan, swallowing again and trying not to cry. Seeing this, Notta turned a double somersault and stood on his head.

"And what is your name?" he asked, waving his legs cheerfully.

"Bobbie Downs," sniffed the orphan, with another swallow.

"How did you get it?" The clown dropped down beside the little boy.

"I think it came with me, sir," said Bobbie faintly.

"Well, if you don't mind, we'll change it to Bob Up—for that's what we've done—and Bob Up sounds more lively than Bobbie Downs, don't you think?"

While Notta was talking he was glancing anxiously around him. "Bob," he said finally, "I think we've fallen in with another circus. See, there are the tents, and I hear lions roaring."

"So do I," said Bobbie beginning to look more interested than frightened.

"Yes, it's either a circus or a sea shore without any sea," continued the clown, running his fingers through the sand. "But anyway, here I am and here you are, and so long as you are here we'll bob up together. Let's go on to the main tent and see the show."

Bobbie stood up and shook the water from his cap. They were both dripping wet from the storm they had passed through, but the sun and wind of this queer desert country soon dried them off and, conversing almost cheerfully, they trudged through the deep sand toward a large blue, striped tent.

"I've done a heap of traveling in my time," confided Notta, "but never in just this way. I've run into some strange places and walked into others; but this is the first time I ever talked myself into a country. There we were in a circus, quiet and natural like, then that rhyme pops into my head. I say it and off we go like a couple of skyrockets. We were just talked into this country, Bob, my boy, and a mighty tricky business I call it. But never mind, we'll just follow the rules anyway."

"What rules?" asked Bob, looking curiously at some tall palm trees, waving in the distance. He had never supposed palm trees existed outside of geography books.

"Why," explained Notta, "just four simple little rules I made up to use in case of danger or trouble. First," he pulled out his little finger, "first I disguise myself. If that fails, I'm extree-mly polite. If politeness doesn't do, I tell a joke. If the joke fails, I shout something no one can understand and run like sixty. So don't you worry, Bob; stick to me and run when I run and everything will turn out right. Do you know what makes me so fat?"

Bob shook his head.

"Disguises!" whispered Notta triumphantly. "I use them for padding. Mighty handy when I tumble about. Yes, sir, in here." Notta fondly patted his bulging suit. "In here I have six marvelous disguises ready to put on at a moment's notice, and in here," Notta tapped his powdery forehead, "in here, I've sixty different jokes, and lots of things I don't understand myself, so you see we are prepared for everything."

"Yes, sir," said Bobbie solemnly, for he was a very solemn little boy. Living in an orphan asylum had made him that way and, as for adventures, he had never had an adventure in his life. There were lessons and meals and punishments, and once in a while a fight among the older boys, but no one in that big, busy home had time to talk to Bobbie Downs, nor answer his questions. So Bobbie had grown quieter and more solemn each year of the seven he had spent in the dull gray asylum.

Notta looked at the little boy curiously as he trudged along beside him. The kindly clown decided that he was going to like Bob Up, and right there he decided that Bob Up was going to have a little fun. "I'll bet he's never laughed out loud in his whole life," thought the clown to himself, and began running over in his head the funniest jokes that he knew. He had just determined on the one about the pig and the pound of bacon, when an ear splitting screech knocked all thought of joking out of his mind. A huge figure, with bristling blue whiskers, had stepped out from behind a palm tree, taken one look at the two strangers and then disappeared in the direction of the blue tent, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Is it Blue Beard?" quavered Bob, clutching Notta.

"Bob," said the clown, swallowing hard, "I don't know, but we'll just try rule one." Fumbling in the bosom of his suit he dragged out a brown bundle, and before the little boy could wink had stepped into it and dropped on all fours.

"I'm a lion," panted Notta, "and if I roar loudly enough I may frighten them off. Stick close to me, Bob, and try to remember the rules. If I run, you run—understand?"

"Yes, sir!" gasped Bob, his eyes as round as cookies, for Notta's disguise was so real that he was almost afraid himself. Scarcely had Notta cleared his throat for a growl than a white robed company burst out of the blue tent, and descended upon them in a whirl of sand and scimitars. Bob was as brave as any boy, but his retired life in an orphan asylum had not prepared him for anything like this. Tears started to his eyes. With a scream of fright, he grasped Notta's woolly mane.

"You'd better stop crying and get ready to run," whispered the clown nervously and finished his sentence with such a roar that Bob jumped quite three feet. But the wild white company kept right on coming and, before Notta could get another growl going, a net was thrown over his head, a dozen of the blue whiskered villains were upon him and next instant he was rolling over and over in the sandy road.

Bob had shut his eyes tight, expecting to be snatched himself, but when nothing happened he opened them and saw with a little gasp that they were hustling Notta, with pricks and prods, towards the billowing blue tent. This was Bob's first adventure and he might have run away, but something inside of him, that he hadn't known about, kept him there. Right in that moment, and all of a sudden, Bob discovered that he was fonder of this clown whom he had known only a few moments than of anyone he had ever known before. He felt that if something terrible was going to happen to Notta it might as well happen to him too.

"Bob Up," the clown had called him. Well, bob up he would. With trembling legs, he ran after the shouting company, and managed to squeeze into the royal tent unnoticed, behind the broad back of Tazzywaller. For as you have all guessed long before now, it was to Mudge that Notta had transported himself and the little boy.

Notta's disguise, though somewhat askew, still held together and he was growling terribly to keep up his courage, at the same time looking anxiously around for Bob. His lion head had been knocked sideways, so that he could only see out of one eye, but what he managed to see with one eye was enough to make him quake with terror. The Mudgers were shouting and hopping about in front of a large blue throne, pointing at him with their flashing scimitars. Then a tall, particularly thin fellow seized him by the ear. It was Panapee.

"Lion," cried Panapee haughtily, "this is your new master, Mustafa of Mudge. Your Highness, here is the lion you were just wishing for!"

"An odd looking beast," puffed the ruler of Mudge, tugging at his mustache.

"An awful looking creature I call it," sniffed Tazzywaller, who was jealous to think another lion really had been captured after he said there were no more.

"Maybe it's the Cowardly Lion," mused Mustafa. "I see that his knees are trembling. Are you the Cowardly Lion?" he demanded, pointing his scimitar at poor Notta. The clown roared dismally, to prove he was no coward. How was he to know that in the land of Oz all animals can and are expected to talk? Why, he did not even know he was in Oz, and in the hands of the Mudgers.

"He refuses to answer," said Mustafa gloomily. "Well, a dumb lion is better than no lion at all. Take him away, Panny, and lock him up with the other lions. I hope he's a good fighter. Let me see, that makes ten thousand for you to feed, Tazzywaller, if the others don't chew this one up."

He rubbed his hands joyfully together. "I'll come out later on and see how they take to him. But I am not going to be satisfied until I have the Cowardly Lion, Panny. This lion is a cowardly lion but not the Cowardly Lion. Take him away!"

Mustafa picked up the lion book and, waving Notta out of the tent, fell to looking at the picture of the Cowardly Lion of Oz.

All during this conversation Notta's hair had been prickling under his mane. Ten thousand lions! Sizzling sawdust! Better face these wild-looking men than that. Rule one had failed, it was time to try rule two.

"Come on," growled the Mudger at his head and gave the rope around his neck a sharp tug. But before the clown had a chance to move or speak, there was a shrill scream, and out rushed Bob Up, almost upsetting old Tazzywaller. He flung both arms around the trembling lion.

"You shan't take him away," cried the little boy stormily. "It isn't a lion. It's Notta!"

"Notta?" roared Mustafa, lurching forward and looking at Bobbie with astonishment.

"Not a lion," cried the clown, rising on his hind legs and hastily removing his lion head.

Chapter 4

Mustafa's Mandate

There was a moment of absolute silence following Notta's disclosure. With his lion body and clown head he presented an amazing and ridiculous appearance. Nothing like this had ever been seen in Mudge, and the Mudgers simply gaped with astonishment.

"Steady now, Bob," whispered the clown, putting his lion paw around the little boy. "All we have to do is to be polite—rule two, you know!"

Mustafa was the first to recover.

"Not a lion!" cried the Monarch of Mudge hoarsely. "Why, how dare you disappoint me like this? Did you hear that, Tazzywaller, Panny, Mixtuppa—all of you? He says he's not a lion." A sob of rage choked Mustafa's voice.

"I apologize for not being a lion," said Notta, in a polite, slightly shaky voice. "Ten thousand pardons!"

"Ten thousand puddings!" screamed Mustafa furiously.

"Puddings by all means, if your Highness prefers them," corrected Notta hastily.

"I told you there were no more lions in Mudge," wheezed Tazzywaller with a triumphant glance at Panapee. "I knew it wasn't a lion all along."

"Well, what is it then?" asked Mustafa angrily. "The little fellow's a boy of some kind, but this other?" He waved scornfully at the poor clown.

"A wizard, your Highness!" hissed Panapee. "A wizard, that's what he is."

"Now don't call me names," begged Notta, extending the front paws of his disguise. "I'm Notta."

"Not a wizard, I suppose," said Tazzywaller scornfully.

"Why don't you ask him how he got here?" sighed Mixtuppa, reasonably enough. Notta stared curiously at the large head of Mixtuppa, wagging through the blue curtain. Perhaps here was someone who would understand politeness.

"Madam, your Highness, gracious and lovely lady," began the clown with a deep bow, "we fell into this charming country through no fault of our own."

"Well, it wasn't our fault; we have no faults here," snapped Mustafa ungraciously.

"How did you get past the lion enclosure?" demanded Panapee. "How do you explain this being a lion one minute and a creature of another sort the next?"

"Well, there is something very queer about it," admitted Notta, rubbing his forehead in a puzzled way. "One minute Bob and I were in a circus doing a bit of a trick and—"

"I knew it was a trick," exclaimed Panapee triumphantly. "He admits it!"

"Silence!" cried Mustafa, who was beginning to enjoy the recital. "You were in a circus? Tazzywaller, what is a circus?"

"It's a show," explained Notta hastily, for he could tell by the puzzled faces of the Mudgers that they had never heard of such a thing. "And we were in it. I put Bob on my shoulder and shouted a silly rhyme, and in a flash he is gone. I shout it again and I'm gone too!"

"Gone where?" asked Mustafa, rubbing his chin.

"To here," replied Notta, gazing about him uneasily. "Funny how a little verse could carry us so far. He recited:

"Udge! Budge!

Go to Mudge!

Udger budger,

I'm a Mudger!"

No sooner had he done so than Mustafa sprang into the air and all the Mudgers began roaring with fright and fury.

"He's discovered the secret of Mudge," shrilled Mustafa, pulling out a handful of his whiskers. "How dare you use our own privately patented, particular, magic transformation formula? Now you'll be wishing all sorts of people into the country!"

"He's a wizard!" screamed Panapee. "I told you he was a wizard! Twist his tail; off with his head; throw him to the lions!"

"Wait, let me explain," pleaded the clown, but his voice was drowned in the angry hubbub. Then all at once a gong at the back of the tent rang thunderously. Mustafa, who had already seized the tail of Notta's disguise, paused. So did the others. On a platform at the other end of the tent stood Tazzywaller, thumping the gong with all his might. The noise was so terrible that even Notta and Bob, frightened though they were, had to cover their ears. Not until Mustafa ran to the little platform and commanded Tazzywaller to stop, did the awful clangor cease.

"What do you mean by this impertinence?" panted Mustafa, seizing Tazzy's arm.

"It was the only way I could get your attention," said Tazzywaller calmly. "I have something important to say. About lions," he finished meaningly.

"Well, what is it?" puffed Mustafa eagerly. "Be quiet!" he called to the Mudgers who were again closing in on Notta and Bob.

"That person," cried Tazzywaller, with a wave toward Notta, "is undoubtedly a wizard. Instead of snatching off his head, which will be of no use to us, even as an ornament, why not compel him to serve us? He is a wizard, or he would not be in Mudge. Well then, let him go to the Emerald City and bring back the Cowardly Lion!"

Mustafa stared at his former chamberlain in amazed admiration, then flinging both arms about his neck, hugged him almost to suffocation. Next instant he had clapped his hands and issued a dozen orders to as many little servitors. At the first the shouting Mudgers retired backward from the tent, at the second Panapee also retired, leaving Bob and Notta alone with Tazzy and their Majesties. Outside, the marching and countermarching of the blue guard could be heard as they surrounded the royal tent.

"The rules aren't working at all well, Bob," breathed Notta anxiously. Bob said nothing. He just clutched the clown's hand a little tighter and stared at Mustafa in open-eyed wonder.

"Now then," chuckled the monarch of Mudge, "now then, my handsome wizard, what do you call yourself?"

"Notta," began the clown, resolved to be polite as long as possible, "Notta Bit More."

"Notta!" coughed Mustafa, opening his eyes wide. "That doesn't sound like a name. It sounds like—"

"A joke," put in the clown, with one of his broad smiles, "a little joke on me. You see it is meant to be funny."

"Well, it doesn't amuse me at all." Mustafa stared solemnly into the clown's face. "Why are you so white? And why is his hair,"—Mustafa jerked his thumb at Bob—"so red?"

"For the same reason that your Majesty's whiskers are blue," replied Notta promptly. Mustafa did not quite like this answer.

"Your business?" he inquired next. "I suppose you deny being a wizard?"

"Oh, absolutely!" said Notta. "But my business, if your Majesty insists, is fun. I make people laugh and thus prolong their lives."

"A funny business," sniffed Mustafa, with a puzzled look at Tazzywaller. "Well, you will have to make me laugh to prolong your life, and the only thing that makes me laugh is lions!"

"Lions!" Notta wrinkled up his forehead. "I'm afraid lions are not in my line at all. You see I didn't work in that part of the show."

"You pretended to be a lion," interrupted Mustafa sternly, "and you have proved yourself a wizard. So unless you can capture the Cowardly Lion of Oz and bring him back to Mudge, you shall be thrown into the lion reservation, whereby nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine lions will tear you to bits. Do you agree?"

"Tear me to bits!" gulped the clown. "My father often said I'd go to the dogs, but he never dreamed I'd be thrown to the lions. Say, is this Cowardly Lion very fierce?"

Instead of answering, Mustafa handed him Panapee's lion book, saying, "You may read that while I make preparations for your journey."

Smiling almost pleasantly, the Monarch of Mudge linked his arm through Tazzywaller's and disappeared behind the blue curtain at the back of the tent. Mixtuppa also drew in her head and Bob Up and Notta were left alone.

"Isn't it time to run?" asked the little boy anxiously. He had never in his whole life heard so much about lions. But Notta put his fingers to his lips and shook his head.

"No use," whispered the clown. "The tent's surrounded. We must pretend, my boy—pretend we are going to hunt this Cowardly Lion. Then, once out of the country, we'll take the first train home."

He sat down on a huge cushion and began turning the pages of the lion book, Bob Up looking curiously over his shoulder. They were both quite interested in a description of the Cowardly Lion and Princess Dorothy, when Mustafa came whirling back. He was followed by a small Mudger servant, with three white packets upon his head.

"Here," said Mustafa, with a wave at the packets, "are provisions for three days. Travel straight north until you reach a yellow brick road and follow that road till you come to the Emerald City. There you will find the Cowardly Lion."

"But, see here," began Notta, who had been doing some quick thinking, "why does not your Majesty transport this lion to Mudge by the magic verse?"

"For a wizard," sniffed Mustafa, "you are astonishingly stupid. That verse only transports people, and one must touch the person."

"Well then, why not send some of your valiant tribesmen to capture him? I, I am a stranger here and have never captured a lion in my life."

"Because it is written in the book of Mudge that any Mudger leaving his country will lose his head," droned Mixtuppa, thrusting her turban through the curtain. "And if you take my advice you will go at once. All this arguing keeps me awake, and when I'm awake I lose my temper, and when I lose my temper other folks lose their heads, and when that—"

"I'll go," sighed Notta, seeing that no sense at all was to be had from this ridiculous pair. He stepped out of his lion disguise and, rolling it up into a small bundle, thrust it into his trouser leg. Next he slung the three packets around his neck and, taking Bob's hand, declared himself ready to go.

Rubbing his hands gleefully, Mustafa led them out of the royal tent, through a double line of the Mudger Guard, to the great iron enclosure that surrounded his kingdom. The lions were snarling and quarreling among themselves, but as soon as Mustafa came in sight they began calling him names and screaming for their dinner.

"Be quiet, my little pets," chuckled the Monarch of Mudge good-naturedly. "This is not dinner, only a silly wizard."

"Give us the boy, then," roared the largest of the lions, licking his chops.

"Give us the boy," roared all the other lions immediately. Notta and Bob Up stared at Mustafa's pets in horror and disbelief, for neither had in their lives ever heard a lion talk before. Bob, especially, was terribly dismayed by the personal nature of their conversation. But, while they were still trembling, two heavy doors were slipped through the bars, about five feet apart, making a safe and narrow passageway through the enclosure. The gates on the inside and outside of the enclosure were unlocked and Mustafa waved imperiously for them to go. This Notta and Bob lost no time in doing.

"Remember," called Mustafa warningly, as they scurried through, "if you run away instead of hunting for the Cowardly Lion, I shall know of it. When a messenger disobeys me, my magic ring turns black. If it turns black I shall know you are deceiving me, and in that case"—Mustafa held up his thumb so that Notta could see his ring—"in that case I shall take it off, and if I take it off you will both turn as blue as my whiskers and find yourselves unable to move until you decide to do as I have commanded. Good-bye, my chalk-faced wizard, a pleasant journey and a swift return!"

Notta was too shocked and astounded to answer. Grasping Bob Up more firmly than before, he rushed out the iron gate and off through a field of blue daisies, until the dreadful roaring of the lions of Mudge could no longer be heard.

"And this," puffed the clown at last, sinking down under a great tree, "this is what comes of trying to be funny. Never try to be funny, my boy."

"No, sir," answered Bob, staring anxiously over his shoulder to see whether any of Mustafa's lions had followed them.

Chapter 5

Two Cowardly Lion Hunters

For a time Notta and Bob Up sat quietly under the tree, each busy with his own thoughts. The clown was repeating to himself Mustafa's warning, and trying to recall some mention of such a country as Mudge in the geographies he had studied. The little boy was thinking that at this time yesterday he was calmly eating oatmeal and apple sauce, with nothing more exciting ahead than lessons and bed. Perhaps he was asleep, and dreaming about lions and blue whiskered Mudgers. He touched Notta experimentally, to see if he would disappear or turn suddenly to the harsh-voiced matron of the orphan asylum. But the clown only turned a neat somersault, walked a few paces on his hands and sat down again.

"Bob," asked the clown, tilting his cap forward so he could scratch his ear, "do I look like a lion hunter?"

Bob Up shook his head slowly and almost laughed. Something inside tickled tremendously, but he remembered, just in time, that laughing was against the rules of the orphan home, so he swallowed instead.

"We're both lion hunters," observed the clown reflectively, "and that being the case we had better start hunting at once, for it would never do for the lions to find us first. It's like a game of hide-and-seek, Bob. So long as we are hunting him, this Cowardly Lion is it. But if we stop hunting, then we're it. In a game of hide-and-seek with a lion, it's your hide or his. Being it, means being et, hide-and-seek and all!"

Notta glanced slyly at Bob out of the corner of his eye to see whether he was going to smile. Bob was looking uncertainly at the forest, stretching so darkly ahead, and thinking he would just as soon not play this game of hide-and-seek at all. But as Notta had already started toward the forest, there was nothing for him to do but follow. The short, spring afternoon was drawing to a close and a round silver moon showed faintly over the tree tops.

"Things might be a lot better, and again they might be a lot worse," mused Notta, as they walked along under the trees. "Why, if you were in the home, you would probably be eating corn meal mush for supper and—"

"What are we going to have for supper, Notta?" asked Bob, looking up at the clown inquiringly.

"Well, hurrah!" shouted the clown, turning a rapid cartwheel. "You're getting on, my lad; called me Notta as natural as a brother. As to supper, that depends on Mustafa. Let's see what the old rascal has given us."