“Oh, you—_you_ can disappear any time you want,” said the Prince unfeelingly. “It all started with that wretched cake,” sighed the Queen. “I am positive the scroll flew out of the cake when it exploded.” “Of course it did!” cried Pompus. “Let us send for the cook and question him.” So Hashem, very wet and blue from his dip, was brought before the King. “A fine cook you are!” roared Pompus, “mixing gun powder and scrolls in a birthday cake.” “But I didn’t,” wailed Hashem, falling on his knees. “Only eggs, your Highness—very best eggs—sugar, flour, spice and—” “Bombshells!” cried the King angrily. “The cake disappeared _before_ the party, your Majesty!” cried Eejabo. Everyone jumped at the sudden interruption, and Eejabo, who had crept in unnoticed, stepped before the throne. “Disappeared,” continued Eejabo hoarsely, dripping blue water all over the royal rugs. “One minute there it was on the pantry table. Next minute—_gone!_” croaked Eejabo, flinging up his hands and shrugging his shoulders. “Then, before a fellow could turn around, it was back. ’Tweren’t our fault if magic got mixed into it, and here we have been dipped for nothing!” “Well, why didn’t you say so before!” asked the King in exasperation. “Fine chance I had to say anything!” sniffed Eejabo, wringing out his lace ruffles. “Eh—rr—you may have the day off, my good man,” said Pompus, with an apologetic cough—“And _you_ also,” with a wave at Hashem. Very stiffly the two walked to the door. “It’s an off day for us, all right,” said Eejabo ungraciously, and without so much as a bow the two disappeared. “I fear you were a bit hasty, my love,” murmured Queen Pozy, looking after them with a troubled little frown. “Well, who wouldn’t be!” cried Pompus, ruffling up his hair. “Here we are liable to disappear any minute and all you do is to stand around and criticize me. _Begone!_” he puffed angrily, as a page stuck his head in the door. “No use shouting at people to begone,” said the Elegant Elephant testily. “We’ll all begone soon enough.” At this Queen Pozy began to weep into her silk handkerchief, which sight so affected Prince Pompadore that he rushed forward and embraced her tenderly. “I’ll marry!” cried the Prince impulsively. “I’ll do anything! The trouble is there aren’t any Fairy Princesses around here!” “There must be,” said the King. “There is—There are!” screamed the Prime Pumper, bouncing up suddenly. “Oyez, Oyez! Has your Majesty forgotten Faleero, royal Princess of Follensby forest?” “Why, of course!” The King snapped his fingers joyfully. “Everyone says Faleero is a Fairy Princess. She must be the proper one!” “Fa—_leero_!” trumpeted the Elegant Elephant, sitting down with a terrific thud. “That awful old creature! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” “Silence!” thundered the King. “Nonsense!” trumpeted Kabumpo. “She’s a thousand years old and as ugly as a stone Lukoogoo. Don’t you marry her, Pompa.”