Chapter XV

The tropical climate did its work well. There wasn’t an iceberg left or a snowflake anywhere in sight. And when the Man with the Growly Voice took a nice swim in the warm water of the Polar Sea, the admiration and enthusiasm of the Eskimos was unbounded. They realized they had been told the truth about the Southland. Kokomo lost her fear of trees, helped Maida weave garlands of flowers, and found the grass nice to tumble about on. Everybody took off their heavy fur coats, with the exception of Fido; of course he couldn’t take _his_ off--and really the heat did distress him terribly. Poor fellow, he wandered about from place to place, seeking a cool spot. Jack-in-the-Box watched his restless movements curiously, then turned to the Candy Kid.

“Fido is a fine piece of handicraft,” he said. “I’ve never seen him wound, yet I don’t believe he ever runs down. Do you know, I think he’s an eight-day bear.”

They had a lovely supper of cocoanuts and breadfruit, with bananas and oranges for dessert; but when they prepared to resume their journey to Illusia they were confronted by a new difficulty,--Kankakee could no longer guide them. He knew the way across the Forbidden Land of course, after leaving Arcturia you go to the third iceberg, and turn to the left, then straight ahead, six hundred miles--so forth and so on. He knew all that, but all his landmarks had been swept away; he could not guide them through a tropical jungle. Then Maida had a brilliant idea. For such a little girl Maida was always thinking lots and lots of clever things. She called Santa Claus who came over, took her on his knee, and chucked her under the chin.

“When you go about at Christmas time,” she said, “how do you get up on the roofs?”

“My reindeers are marvels,” chuckled Santa Claus. “They can run on the snow, in the water, or in the air.”

“Splendid, splendid!” shouted Maida in great glee. “Now I’ll tell you what to do. Take the Man with the Growly Voice in your sledge, and go back to where our flying machine fell. It’s big enough to hold all of us, and we’ll be in Illusia in no time.”

“But my flying ship is broken,” objected the Man with the Growly Voice. “The starboard wing is smashed, and there is a hole in the taffrail.”

“I thought of that, too,” Maida answered. “Santa Claus, you just imagine it’s a great big toy and think it mended. Then it will fly.” Whereupon everybody shouted for joy. Santa Claus sat back laughing till he shook like a jelly.

“I can do better than that,” he said. “I’ll think it mended, then I’ll think it here, and we won’t have to go after it at all.” So he did. He stood up and put his hands in front of his eyes, and _thought_, oh very, very hard indeed. Then presently he said smiling, “It’s all right, it’s mended.” Then he thought and thought again (and let me tell you it takes a good hard think to make an airship fly seven hundred miles), and the first thing they knew the flying ship came sailing through the air and plumped down at their feet, just as good as ever. Of course everyone was delighted--that is, everyone except the Eskimos. _They_ were frightened and climbed trees, crying out the airship was an evil spirit; and it was hard work to coax them down. But at last everybody got aboard, and the reindeers were hitched behind because there wasn’t room on the ship for them. And as everybody was tired and sleepy except Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid, who couldn’t tire, and who never slept, the two were appointed by the Man with the Growly Voice, who was captain, to stand the first watch. They were very proud to be entrusted with the care of the airship. They assumed a knowing air, and cheerily sang the chorus of “Sailing, Sailing!” But the Man with the Growly Voice stopped them (for while they were cunning, they were _not_ good singers--neglecting to sing the same thing at the same time, and absolutely refusing to stay on the same key).

“Jack, you take the wheel,” he said.

“Aye, aye, sir!” said Jack, touching his forelock. “Where’ll I take it?” The Man with the Growly Voice showed him how to guide the ship, and said: “Now steer N. W. by S. E.”

“Oh no,” said Jack, “let’s steer C. O. D. by O. K.,” and he twisted the wheel till the flying ship was waltzing in circles. It took some time to make him behave. Then the Candy Kid was given charge of the engine. “Be very careful not to desert your post”; he was cautioned, “don’t go too high, for we might not get down again, and whatever you do, don’t swallow any of the gas, it’s fatal. Now I’m going below. You’ll be relieved at eight bells.” And the Man with the Growly Voice turned in. The Candy Kid meditated a moment, then said to Jack, “Now we can have our duel.” “I don’t see how,” Jack answered. “You ninny,” retorted the Candy Kid, “didn’t you hear him say the gas was fatal?” “Fatal? Is it really?” inquired Jack. “Bring me a handful, I’ll try it.” Well, of course, the Candy Kid was disgusted. Jack was so silly. “Do you think gas is like cheese?” he snapped. “I can’t carry it around in my hands.” “Oh, I see,” observed Jack, “it’s too heavy.” “By the way,” reflectively, “what is cheese?” “Cheese,” said the Candy Kid, “is the mother of welsh rabbit, grandmother of indigestion--related to nightmare, on the father’s side.” “Very interesting,” murmured Jack, “why can’t we have a duel with cheese?” There was a silence for a moment. Jack had nothing more to say. The Candy Kid had lots, but he was too angry to say it. An idea struck Jack presently. “Kid,” he called. “Kid.” The Candy Kid angrily turned and listened. Jack went on. “We can’t have a duel with gas, without a meter. I never saw a meter, but I’m told they’re terrible things. You run the gas through, then you look at the meter, and drop dead.” The Candy Kid pointed to a rubber tube that hung from the bag overhead. “We’ll eat the gas through this tube,” he said. “I see,” Jack replied, “and who wins the duel--the one who eats the most?” “Oh, no,” said the Candy Kid, “the one wins who dies the quickest.” So they left the flying machine to steer herself and run herself and swallowed all the gas they would hold. If Maida hadn’t happened to come up on deck no one would ever have known what became of them, and there’s no telling what would have happened to the flying machine, for both Jack and the Candy Kid were turned into little balloons by the gas they had swallowed, and they bounced about on the deck, unable to get a foothold--until finally a little breeze swept them gently off, and the last Maida saw of them they were floating away to leeward holding each other’s hand and singing, “Up in a balloon, boys, up in a balloon.”