The Royal Book of Oz
"I doubt that. Somebody told you," said the Doubtful Dromedary bitterly.
"Pon my honor," said Sir Hokus.
"I doubt it, I doubt it very much," persisted the Dromedary, wagging his head sorrowfully.
"You seem to doubt everything!" Dorothy laughed in spite of herself, and the Dromedary regarded her sulkily.
"He does," said the Camel. "It makes him very doubtful company. Now, I like to be comfortable and happy, and you can't be if you're always doubting things and people and places. Eh, my dear?"
"Where did you comfortable and doubtful parties come from?" asked the Cowardly Lion. "Strangers here?"
"Well, yes," admitted the Camel, nibbling the branch of a tree. "There was a terrific sandstorm, and after blowing and blowing and blowing, we found ourselves in this little wood. The odd part of it is that you talk in our language. Never knew a two-leg to understand a word of Camelia before."
"You're not talking Camelia, you're talking Ozish," laughed Dorothy. "All animals can talk here."
"Well, now, that's very comfortable, I must say," sighed the Camel, "and if you'd just tell me where to go, it would be more comfortable still."
"I doubt that," snapped the Dromedary. "They're no caravan."
"Where do you want to go?" asked the Cowardly Lion, ignoring the Doubtful Dromedary.
"Anywhere, just so we keep moving. We're used to being told when to start and stop, and life is mighty lonely without our Karwan Bashi," sighed the Comfortable Camel.
"Why, I didn't know you smoked!" exclaimed Dorothy in surprise. She thought the camel was referring to a brand of tobacco.
"He means his camel driver," whispered Sir Hokus, eyeing the soft, pillowed seat on the camel's back longingly. Besides the seat, great sacks and bales of goods hung from its sides. The Doubtful Dromedary was similarly loaded.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Dorothy. A sudden idea had struck her. "You haven't anything to eat in those sacks, have you?"
"Plenty, my child—plenty!" answered the Camel calmly.
"Three cheers for the Comfortable Camel!
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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