The Princess of Cozytown/The Bald-headed Kingdom/Chapter 1
Snip-snap went the relentless shears ...
THE BALD-HEADED KINGDOM
Chapter I.
HERE was once a King who had no hair; in fact, he was bald! But that was not all; he was bad tempered besides! With his high crown set atop his bald-headedness he sat upon his high throne in a most high dudgeon and made his poor subjects skip, I can tell you! They were continually dodging and ducking.
Just about the time of our story the Court Poet, with his hand pressed to his eye, was scribbling furiously with a gold pen. The Queen and her Ladies were whispering together in scared voices, while the Gentlemen, with one anxious eye upon the King and one foot well to the fore, were making ready to dodge at the slightest warning. "Well!" thundered the bad-tempered King at last, "is it finished?" "No, your Majesty—I mean, Yes, your Royal Highness!" stuttered the Poet, upsetting the inkwell in his furry. "Well, read it then!" growled the King, leaning back and closing his eyes.
"Our Sovereign's head is like the sun,
Its brightness dims the eye."
read the Poet, then stopped, 'cause that was all he had written.
"Go on! Go on!" said the King, opening his eyes with a pleased expression, "Uh—uh—uh," floundered the Poet, trying to think of a word to rhyme with sun. "'Tis round and shiny like a bun!" he brought out triumphantly, "a playground for the fly!" he finished with a rush. Then, hopelessly muddled, he gasped: "That is all, your Royal Baldness! Oh, dear! Oh, my dear! what have I done?"
At the word "baldness" the Ladies of the Court fell swooning in heaps to the marble floor while the Gentlemen dodged, ducked and scurried into the corners. "Baldness!" shrieked the King, dancing with rage. "Baldness!" and he tore off his pointy crown and flung it at the Poet's head. But the Poet was wildly tugging the great door open and out he fled, the King's sceptre and buckled shoes clattering after him. Having nothing left to throw, the King began stamping his stockinged feet and roaring, "Bun! Bun, indeed!"
After he had said everything possible—and more besides—he fell a-thinking. He thought and thought and thought. Then suddenly he began to chuckle and his little green eyes began to dance wickedly. "Fetch the Court Barber!" he shouted at the trembling pages. And when the Barber in obedience to the King's summons came waddling in he fairly roared with glee. Then he arose and wiping the tears of mirth from his little green eyes he commanded, "Let the Court Painter step forward."
"Ha!" said the King, fixing his eye upon the trembling Painter, "is my head not beautiful?"
"Yes—yes—certainly—yes!" stammered the painter.
"Would you not like to have one as beautiful?"
"Oh! Oh! No! I mean yes—oh, my hair—oh, my head! My career and my art!" wailed the Painter and fell over in a heap. "Do your work!" ordered the King. The Barber stepped forward importantly and tying a red towel round the Painter's neck began snipping off his long locks. As each one fell the Painter groaned and the King chuckled. Dears, it was terrible! When the snipping was over he lathered the poor fellow's crown and shaved off every single hair—ev-e-ry one. Think of that! "Beautiful!" exclaimed the King. "Bee-yutiful! Now pay the Barber, sir! One must pay well for such a favor."