“The most charming King I’ve ever met,” chuckled Kabumpo, scooping up the rolls and handing them to Pompa. Pompa, staring dreamily ahead, first took a drink of soup, then a nibble of roll, too happy for speech. Four times the Elegant Elephant refilled the bowl. Then, his stomach full for the first time since they had left Pumperdink, the Prince stretched himself out on the sands. “Now,” puffed the Elegant Elephant ceremoniously, “if you think you’ve had quite enough, I’ll snatch a few bites myself.” Chuckling softly he made his way back to some young trees, and dined luxuriously off their tops. When he returned to the beach, Pompa was fast asleep, and for a few moments Kabumpo was inclined to sleep himself. “But then,” he reflected, “Ozma may require a lot of coaxing before she consents to marry Pompa, and two of our precious seven days are gone. It is plainly my duty to save Pumperdink. Besides, when Pompa is married he will be King of Oz! Then I, the Elegant Elephant, will be the biggest figure at Court.” Kabumpo threw up his trunk and trumpeted softly to the stars. Then, giving himself a big shake and a little stretch, he lifted the sleeping Prince to his back and started on again. In about two hours he had circled the Soup Sea and, guiding himself by a particularly bright and twinkling star, ran swiftly and steadily toward the South. As the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, Kabumpo passed through a quaint little Gilliken village. He snatched a bag of rolls from a doorstep and stuck them into his pocket, but he did not stop, and so fast asleep was the little village that except for a few wideawake roosters, no one knew how important a person had passed through. The sky grew pinker and pinker. You have no idea how pink the morning skies in Oz can be. Just as the sun got out of bed, the Elegant Elephant came to the wonderful Emerald City itself, shining and fairylike as a dream under the lovely colors of sunrise. Kabumpo paused and took a deep breath. Even he was impressed, and it took a good bit to impress him. He reached back and touched Pompa with his trunk. “Wake up, my boy,” whispered Kabumpo in a trembling voice. “Wake up and put on your crown, for we have come to the city of your Proper Princess.” Pompa sat up and rubbed his eyes in amazement. Without a word, he took the crown Kabumpo handed up to him, and set it on his scorched, golden head. Accustomed as Pompa was to grandeur, for Pumperdink is very magnificent in its funny old-fashioned way, he could not help but gasp at Ozma’s fair city. The lovely green parks, the houses studded with countless emeralds, the shining marble streets, filled the Prince with wonder. “I don’t believe she’ll ever marry me,” he stuttered, beginning to feel quite frightened at his boldness. “Nonsense,” wheezed Kabumpo faintly. He was beginning to have misgivings himself. “Sit up now! Look your best, and I’ll carry you straight into the palace gardens.”