FANTASTICAL ADVENTURES – L. Frank Baum Edition (Childhood Essentials Library). Лаймен Фрэнк Баум
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all remarkable in this country, where everything is quite different than Oz. Yet the WoggleBug did not suspect this, and being, like so many other thoroughly educated persons, proud of his mental attainments, he marched along the street with an air of importance that made one wonder what great thoughts were occupying his massive brain.
Being about as big, in his magnified state, as a man, the WoggleBug took care to clothe himself like a man; only, instead of choosing sober colors for his garments, he delighted in the most gorgeous reds and yellows and blues and greens; so that if you looked at him long the brilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes.
I suppose the Waggle-Bug did not realize at all what a queer appearance he made. Being rather nervous, he seldom looked into a mirror; and as the people he met avoided telling him he was unusual, he had fallen into the habit of considering himself merely an ordinary citizen of the big city wherein he resided.
So the WoggleBug strutted proudly along the street, swinging a cane in one hand, flourishing a pink handkerchief in the other, fumbling his watch-fob with another, and feeling his necktie was straight with another. Having four hands to use would prove rather puzzling to you or me, I imagine; but the Woggie-Bug was thoroughly accustomed to them.
Presently he came to a very fine store with big plate-glass windows, and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature so beautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance at her nearly took his breath away. Her complexion was lovely, for it was wax; but the thing which really caught the WoggleBug’s fancy was the marvelous dress she wore. Indeed, it was the latest (last year’s) Paris model, although the WoggleBug did not know that; and the designer must have had a real woggly love for bright colors, for the gown was made of red cloth covered with big checks which were so loud the fashion books called them “Wagnerian Plaids.”
Never had our friend the WoggleBug seen such a beautiful gown before, and it afflicted him so strongly that he straightaway fell in love with the entire outfit—even to the wax-complexioned lady herself! Very politely he tipped his to her; but she stared coldly back without in any way acknowledging the courtesy.
“Never mind,” he thought; “‘faint heart never won fair lady.’ And I’m determined to win this kaliedoscope of beauty or perish in the attempt!” You will notice that our insect had a way of using big words to express himself, which leads us to suspect that the school system in Oz is the same they employ in Boston.
As, with swelling heart, the WoggleBug feasted his eyes upon the enchanting vision, a small green tag that was attached to a button of the waist suddenly attracted his attention. Upon the tag was marked: “Price $7.93—GREATLY REDUCED.”
“Ah!” murmured the WoggleBug; “my darling is in greatly reduced circumstances, and $7.93 will make her mine! Where, oh where, shall I find the seven ninety-three wherewith to liberate this divinity and make her Mrs. WoggleBug?”
“Move on!” said a gruff policeman, who came along swinging his club. And the WoggleBug obediently moved on, his brain working fast and furious in the endeavor to think of a way to procure seven dollars and ninety-three cents.
You see, in the Land of Oz they use no money at all, so that when the WoggleBug arrived in America he did not possess a single penny. And no one had presented him with any money since.
“Yet there must be several ways to procure money in this country,” he reflected; “for otherwise everybody would be as penniless as I am. But how, I wonder, do they manage to get it?”
Just then he came along a side street where a number of men were at work digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer.
“Now these men,” thought the WoggleBug, “must get money for shoveling all that earth, else they wouldn’t do it. Here is my chance to win the charming vision of beauty in the shop window!”
Seeking out the foreman, he asked for work, and the foreman agreed to hire him.
“How much do you pay these workmen?” asked the highly magnified one.
“Two dollars a day,” answered the foreman.
“Then,” said the WoggleBug, “you must pay me four dollars a day; for I have four arms to their two, and can do double their work.”
“If that is so, I’ll pay you four dollars,” agreed the man.
The WoggleBug was delighted.
“In two days,” he told himself, as he threw off his brilliant coat and placed his hat upon it, and rolled up his sleeves; “in two days I can earn eight dollars—enough to purchase my greatly reduced darling and buy her seven cents worth of caramels besides.”
He seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four arms that the foreman said: “You must have been forewarned.”
“Why?” asked the Insect.
“Because there’s a saying that to be forewarned is to be four-armed,” replied the other.
“That is nonsense,” said the WoggleBug, digging with all his might; “for they call you the foreman, and yet I only see one of you.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the man, and he was so proud of his new worker that he went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the barkeeper what a treasure he had found.
It was just after noon that the WoggleBug hired as a ditch-digger in order to win his heart’s desire; so at noon on the second day he quit work, and having received eight silver dollars he put on his coat and rushed away to the store that he might purchase his intended bride.
But, alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! Just as the WoggleBug reached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store dressed in identical checks with which he had fallen in love!
At first he did not know what to do or say, for the young lady’s complexion was not wax—far from it. But a glance into the window showed him the wax lady now dressed in a plain black tailor-made suit, and at once he knew the wearer of the Wagnerian plaids was his real love, and not the stiff creature behind the glass.
“Beg pardon!” he exclaimed, stopping the young lady; “but you’re mine. Here’s the seven ninety-three, and seven cents for candy.”
But she glanced at him in a haughty manner, and walked away with her nose slightly elevated.
He followed. He could not do otherwise with those delightful checks shining before him like beacon-lights to urge him on.
The young lady stepped into a car, which whirled away rapidly. For a moment he was nearly paralyzed at his loss; then he started after the car as fast as he could go, and this was very fast indeed—he being a wogglebug.
Somebody cried: “Stop, thief!” and a policeman ran out to arrest him. But the WoggleBug used his four hands to push the officer aside, and the astonished man went rolling into the gutter so recklessly that his uniform bore marks of the encounter for many days.
Still keeping an eye on the car, the WoggleBug rushed on. He frightened two dogs, upset a fat gentleman who was crossing the street, leaped over an automobile that shot in front of him, and finally ran plump into the car, which had abruptly stopped to let off a passenger. Breathing hard from his exertions, he jumped upon the rear platform of the car, only to see his charmer step off at the front and walk mincingly up the steps of a house. Despite his fatigue, he flew after her at once, crying out:
“Stop, my variegated dear—stop! Don’t you know you’re mine?”
But she slammed the door in his face, and he sat down upon the steps and wiped his forehead with his pink handkerchief and fanned himself with his hat and tried to think what he should do next.
Presently a very angry man came out of the house. He had a revolver in one hand and a carvingknife in the other.
“What do you mean by insulting my wife?” he demanded.
“Was that your wife?” asked the WoggleBug, in meek astonishment.
“Of