The Wobbly Wob Wizard

Southland Times, Issue 21273, 19 December 1930, Page 18

The Wobbly Wob Wizard

(By

Olive Chandler,)

“Hil” piped the Wobbly Wob Wizard, pulling Santa Claus out of his sack by his heels. “I’ll finish filling it. You’re wanted on the ’phone." He was; the bell had already cracked itself ringing him up. He unhooked the receiver.

“Hullo! . . . Yes . • . Santa Claus speaking from the Moon. Who is it? . . . The Fudge Family ? . ... Oh, of course, delighted, my dears! . . . Spending Christmas with Uncle Thomas and Aunt Ursula, are you? . .. .. What do you want?” What didn’t they want? The whole Fudge Family fought for the receiver at the other end.

“I say, Santa, it’s Augustus speaking . . • Don’t shove so ... I want a model nightflying aeroplane that will run along the ground and fly in the air for ten secs... . . Got that ? . . . It’s four shillings and fourpence. . .

“Go away, Gusty, it’s my turn . . . Pepita speaking. Do send me a two-seater motor car, there’s a darling! Promise that the clockwork won’t snap, first, wind up.” “I’ll promise, my pretty,” chuckled Santa. “That you, Cuthbert? • . . You want a model train, do you? Three saloon carriages, eight curved rails, powerful loco . . . Couldn’t catch the rest . . . Nothing like a big noise, is there?” There was certainly one at the Fudge end.’ “Hullo! Hullo! Hold on, Santa.’ Marmaduke speaking. I want a Noah’s Ark . . . Yes, Ido . ... A big Noah’s Ark with big animals in it. And wc all want . .. Algy, don’t pinch . . . Your Wobbly Wob Wizard to play us conjuring tricks.” “My stars!” exclaimed Santa, “but he makes real magic, not make-believe. Sorry, my hearties, he isn’t’for hire . . .Oh, what a howl!” The Wobby Wob Wizard heard the howl. He was dancing on a plum pudding when Santa put the receiver to his ear. “Ow ... Wow .. Wc want Wobbly.” But Santa couldn’t stop. Whizz! Wobbly was swept by mistake inside the sack by the Stocking Sprites. Millions of them staggering under heavy loads of Christmas stockings bulging with toys. Moored to the moon was an airship looking like a stout silver sausage. Only, it wasn’t a sausage. They stuffed it with stockings and loosed the moon-ray ropes. Down flew the airship to earth, Santa steering and shouting “Merry Christmas!” “Same to you,” they shrilled, pelting him with crackers.

The first chimney pot he reached was the Fudges’ own, »

“I get out here,” said Santa, shouldering his sack. He popped down the chimneys like a rabbit, up again, down again, up. Then he steered the sausage that wasn’t to the next house. Meanwhile, Augustus Fudge woke up. 00-er! Running across the floor of his room was the model of a.four and fourpenny night-flying aeroplane. “It’s a corker!” decided Augustus. It was. It had two red lights in the front, and one green light in the rear. Whew! it was growing! Its wings struck the water-jug and the bed post. Crikey! It was rising—higher—higher. He must open the window wider. He did. Whoop! He sprang into the cockpit and nose-dived outside. He all but bumped into the flashing head lamps of a two seatcr toot-tooting at Pepita’s open window. Never had Augustus seen a motor-car skid down the wall of a house. But he did that time. “Like a toboggan,” squealed Pepita at the steering wheel, landing with a thrilling crash! “Good gracious! What’s that?” It was the thundering roar of a powerful locomotive, with three salo.on carriages on eight curved rails, rushing bumptity-bump-buftip downstairs. “Great Scott!’ exclaimed Uncle Thomas, flinging open the front door just in time. The loco dashed down the drive, steaming and whistling furiously, Cuthbert yelling for joy in the tender. Suddenly an awful uproar shook the house. “Where arc you, children?” shouted Uncle Thomas, running Aunt Ursula out on the lawn. “Look at the windows.” They were wide open, swarming with roaring lions, growling bears and snarling tigers from the Noah’s Ark. A giraffe stuck his head out of a chimney-pot. Marmaduke was hugging a hyena and laughing just like him. There was a made stampede down the stairs; then, two by two, all the animals marched but through ' the front door. They were as friendly and as frolicsome as the Fudges, even more so. They' made a jungle of the garden in no time. The Fudges fell in love with them all. They had glorious games in the jungle until Santa flew back in the sausage that wasn’t one.

“Fudges, ahoy!” he ’ yelled through a megaphone, “have you seen ?” What looked like a monkey in the jungle scrambled up a moon ray rope dangling from the airship as it flew up to the moon. “Merry Christmas,” he piped in passing. “It’s Wobbly Wob!” they screamed. It was. The kindly little Wizard had made them real magic after all. For the presents turned into toys again.