And now, while all were struggling to recover themselves, the Thing rose slowly from the roof and mounted into the air.
“Here! Come back!” cried Tip, in a frightened voice, as he clung to the chimney with one hand and the Scarecrow with the other. “Come back at once, I command you!”
It was now that the wisdom of the Scarecrow, in bringing the head of the Thing to life instead of the legs, was proved beyond a doubt. For the Gump, already high in the air, turned its head at Tip’s command and gradually circled around until it could view the roof of the palace.
“Come back!” shouted the boy, again.
And the Gump obeyed, slowly and gracefully waving its four wings in the air until the Thing had settled once more upon the roof and become still.
18. In the Jackdaw’s Nest
“This,” said the Gump, in a squeaky voice not at all proportioned to the size of its great body, “is the most novel experience I ever heard of. The last thing I remember distinctly is walking through the forest and hearing a loud noise. Something probably killed me then, and it certainly ought to have been the end of me. Yet here I am, alive again, with four monstrous wings and a body which I venture to say would make any respectable animal or fowl weep with shame to own. What does it all mean? Am I a Gump, or am I a juggernaut?” The creature, as it spoke, wiggled its chin whiskers in a very comical manner.
“You’re just a Thing,” answered Tip, “with a Gump’s head on it. And we have made you and brought you to life so that you may carry us through the air wherever we wish to go.”
“Very good!” said the Thing. “As I am not a Gump, I cannot have a Gump’s pride or independent spirit. So I may as well become your servant as anything else. My only satisfaction is that I do not seem to have a very strong constitution, and am not likely to live long in a state of slavery.”
“Don’t say that, I beg of you!” cried the Tin Woodman, whose excellent heart was strongly affected by this sad speech. “Are you not feeling well today?”
“Oh, as for that,” returned the Gump, “it is my first day of existence; so I cannot Judge whether I am feeling well or ill.” And it waved its broom tail to and fro in a pensive manner.
“Come, come!” said the Scarecrow, kindly. “do try, to be more cheerful and take life as you find it. We shall be kind masters, and will strive to render your existence as pleasant as possible. Are you willing to carry us through the air wherever we wish to go?”
“Certainly,” answered the Gump. “I greatly prefer to navigate the air. For should I travel on the earth and meet with one of my own species, my embarrassment would be something awful!”
“I can appreciate that,” said the Tin Woodman, sympathetically.
“And yet,” continued the Thing, “when I carefully look you over, my masters, none of you seems to be constructed much more artistically than I am.”
“Appearances are deceitful,” said the WoggleBug, earnestly. “I am both Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated.”
“Indeed!” murmured the Gump, indifferently.
“And my brains are considered remarkably rare specimens,” added the Scarecrow, proudly.
“How strange!” remarked the Gump.
“Although I am of tin,” said the Woodman, “I own a heart altogether the warmest and most admirable in the whole world.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” replied the Gump, with a slight cough.
“My smile,” said Jack Pumpkinhead, “is worthy your best attention. It is always the same.”
“Semper idem,” explained the WoggleBug, pompously; and the Gump turned to stare at him.
“And I,” declared the SawHorse, filling in an awkward pause, “am only remarkable because I can’t help it.”
“I am proud, indeed, to meet with such exceptional masters,” said the Gump, in a careless tone. “If I could but secure so complete an introduction to myself, I would be more than satisfied.”
“That will come in time,” remarked the Scarecrow. “To ‘Know Thyself’ is considered quite an accomplishment, which it has taken us, who are your elders, months to perfect. But now,” he added, turning to the others, “let us get aboard and start upon our journey.”
“Where shall we go?” asked Tip, as he clambered to a seat on the sofas and assisted the Pumpkinhead to follow him.
“In the South Country rules a very delightful Queen called Glinda the Good, who I am sure will gladly receive us,” said the Scarecrow, getting into the Thing clumsily. “Let us go to her and ask her advice.”
“That is cleverly thought of,” declared Nick Chopper, giving the WoggleBug a boost and then toppling the SawHorse into the rear end of the cushioned seats. “I know Glinda the Good, and believe she will prove a friend indeed.”
“Are we all ready?” asked the boy.
“Yes,” announced the Tin Woodman, seating himself beside the Scarecrow.
“Then,” said Tip, addressing the Gump, “be kind enough to fly with us to the Southward; and do not go higher than to escape the houses and trees, for it makes me dizzy to be up so far.”
“All right,” answered the Gump, briefly.
It flopped its four huge wings and rose slowly into the air; and then, while our little band of adventurers clung to the backs and sides of the sofas for support, the Gump turned toward the South and soared swiftly and majestically away.
“The scenic effect, from this altitude, is marvelous,” commented the educated WoggleBug, as they rode along.
“Never mind the scenery,” said the Scarecrow. “Hold on tight, or you may get a tumble. The Thing seems to rock badly.”
“It will be dark soon,” said Tip, observing that the sun was low on the horizon. “Perhaps we should have waited until morning. I wonder if the Gump can fly in the night.”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” returned the Gump quietly. “You see, this is a new experience to me. I used to have legs that carried me swiftly over the ground. But now my legs feel as if they were asleep.”
“They are,” said Tip. “We didn’t bring ‘em to life.”
“You’re expected to fly,” explained the Scarecrow. “not to walk.”
“We can walk ourselves,” said the WoggleBug.
“I begin to understand what is required of me,” remarked the Gump; “so I will do my best to please you,” and he flew on for a time in silence.
Presently Jack Pumpkinhead became uneasy.
“I wonder if riding through the air is liable to spoil pumpkins,” he said.
“Not unless you carelessly drop your head over the side,” answered the WoggleBug. “In that event your head would no longer be a pumpkin, for it would become a squash.”
“Have I not asked you to restrain these unfeeling jokes?” demanded Tip, looking at the WoggleBug with a severe expression.
“You have; and I’ve restrained a good many of them,” replied the insect. “But there are opportunities for so many excellent puns in our language that, to an educated person like myself, the temptation to express them is almost irresistible.”
“People