“I was only trying to light you up,” wailed a little fellow, holding out his hands pleadingly. “I thought that was your wick.” He pointed a trembling finger at Kabumpo’s tail and another at Pompa’s head. [Illustration: “I was only trying to light you up,” wailed the Candleman] “Wick!” snorted Kabumpo in a rage—while the Prince ran his hand sorrowfully through his one luxuriant pompadour, of which nothing but a short stubble remained—“Wick! What would we be doing with wicks?” “I don’t think he meant any harm,” put in Pompadore, whose kind heart was touched by the little Candleman’s terror. “And it wouldn’t help us any.” “Thought it was my Wick,” shrilled Kabumpo, glaring over his shoulder at his poor scorched tail. “He’s a wick-ed little wretch. He’s ruined your looks.” “I know!” Pompa sighed dismally. “No one will want to marry me now. It’s all coming true, Kabumpo, just as Count It Up said. Remember? ‘If a thin Prince sets out on a fat elephant to find a Proper Princess, how many yards of fringe will the elephant lose from his robe and how bald will the Prince be at the end of the journey?’ And we’ve scarcely begun!” “Great hay stacks!” whistled Kabumpo, his little eyes twinkling. “So I have lost every bit of fringe from my robe and my tail and half the back of my robe besides. This is nice, I must say.” “We only tried to give you a warm welcome,” said the King timidly. “Warm welcome! Well I should think you did,” sniffed Kabumpo. “How do we get out of here?” “Oh, that’s very simple,” said the King, cheering up. “Tommy, go for the Snuffer.” Before Kabumpo or Pompa realized what this would mean a little Candleman named Tommy Tallow had returned with a tall black candle person. He stepped to the side wall, quickly jerked a rope and down over Kabumpo dropped a great brass snuffer and over the Prince another. “That ought to put the cross old things out,” Pompa heard the King say just before his snuffer reached the floor. “This is terrible,” fumed the poor Prince, thumping on the sides of the huge brass dome. “I might as well have stayed at home and disappeared comfortably. My poor old father and my mother! I wonder where they are now?” Sunk in gloomy reflection, Pompadore leaned against the side of the snuffer. And one cannot blame him for feeling dismal. The fall down the deep passage, the shock of losing his hair and now imprisonment under a stifling brass dome were enough to extinguish the hopes of the stoutest hearted adventurer. “I shall never find a Proper Princess!” wailed Pompa, tying and untying his handkerchief. But just then there was a creak from without and the great dome lifted as suddenly as it had fallen—so suddenly in fact that Pompa fell flat on his back. There stood Kabumpo winding up the long rope with his trunk and grumbling furiously all the while.