THE TROUBLESOME PHONOGRAPHChap. 7
The Troublesome Phonograph
Chap. 7
WHEN the boy opened his eyes next morning he looked carefully around the room. These small Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in them. That in which Ojo now found himself had three beds, set all in a row on one side of it. The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in the second, and the third was neatly made up and smoothed for the day. On the other side of the room was a round table on which breakfast was already placed, smoking hot. Only one chair was drawn up to the table, where a place was set for one person. No one seemed to be in the room except the boy and Bungle.
Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a toiletstand at the head of his bed he washed his face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he went to the table and said:
"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"
"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, so near that Ojo jumped. But no person could he see.
He was hungry, and the breakfast looked good; so he sat down and ate all he wanted. Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the Glass Cat.
"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go."
He cast another glance about the room and, speaking to the air, he said: "Whoever lives here has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."
There was no answer, so he took his basket and went out the door, the cat following him. In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork Girl, playing with pebbles she had picked up.
"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I thought you were never coming out. It has been daylight a long time."
"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.
"Sat here and watched the stars and the moon," she replied. "They're interesting. I never saw them before, you know."
"Of course not," said Ojo.
"You were crazy to act so badly and get thrown outdoors," remarked Bungle, as they renewed their journey.
"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn't have seen the stars, nor the big gray wolf."
"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.
"The one that came to the door of the house three times during the night."
"I don't see why that should be," said the boy, thoughtfully; "there was plenty to eat in that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I slept in a nice bed."
"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork Girl, noticing that the boy yawned.
"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well."
"And aren't you hungry?"
"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good breakfast, and yet I think I'll now eat some of my crackers and cheese."
Scraps danced up and down the path. Then she sang:
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;The wolf is at the door,There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,And a bill from the grocery store."
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;The wolf is at the door,There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,And a bill from the grocery store."
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;The wolf is at the door,There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,And a bill from the grocery store."
"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.
"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what comes into my head, but of course I know nothing of a grocery store or bones without meat or—very much else."
"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring, raving crazy, and her brains can't be pink, for they don't work properly."
"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares for 'em,anyhow? Have you noticed how beautiful my patches are in this sunlight?"
Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps pattering along the path behind them and all three turned to see what was coming. To their astonishment they beheld a small round table running as fast as its four spindle legs could carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a phonograph with a big gold horn.
"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for me!"
"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the Crooked Magician scattered the Powder of Life over," said Ojo.
"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of voice; and then, as the phonograph overtook them, the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are you doing here, anyhow?"
"I've run away," said the music thing. "After you left, old Dr. Pipt and I had a dreadful quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if I didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that, because a talking-machine is supposed to talk and make a noise—and sometimes music. So I slipped out of the house while the Magician was stirring his four kettles and I've been running after you all night. Now that I've found such pleasant company, I can talk and play tunes all I want to."
Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome addition to their party. At first he did not know what to say to the newcomer, but a little thought decided him not to make friends.
"We are traveling on important business," he declared, "and you'll excuse me if I say we can't be bothered."
"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.
"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'll have to go somewhere else."
"This is very unkind treatment, I must say," whined the phonograph, in an injured tone. "Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended to amuse people."
"It isn't you we hate, especially," observed the Glass Cat; "it's your dreadful music. When I lived in the same room with you I was much annoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls and grumbles and clicks and scratches so it spoils the music, and your machinery rumbles so that the racket drowns every tune you attempt."
"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my records. I mustadmit that I haven't a clear record," answered the machine.
"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said Ojo.
"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This music thing interests me. I remember to have heard music when I first came to life, and I would like to hear it again. What is your name, my poor abused phonograph?"
"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.
"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said the Patchwork Girl. "Go ahead and play something."
"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.
"I'm crazy now, according to your statement. Loosen up and reel out the music, Vic."
"The only record I have with me," explained the phonograph, "is one the Magician attached just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly classical composition."
"A what?" inquired Scraps.
"It is classical music, and is considered the best and most puzzling ever manufactured. You're supposed to like it, whether you do or not, and if you don't, the proper thing is to look as if you did. Understand?"
"Not in the least," said Scraps.
"Then, listen!"
At once the machine began to play and in a few minutes Ojo put his hands to his ears to shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and Scraps began to laugh.
"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."
But the phonograph continued playing the dreary tune, so Ojo seized the crank, jerked it free and threw it into the road. However, the moment the crank struck the ground it bounded back to the machine again and began winding it up. And still the music played.
"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all started and ran down the path as fast as they could go. But the phonograph was right behind them and could run and play at the same time. It called out, reproachfully:
"What's the matter? Don't you love classical music?"
"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We will passical the classical and preserve what joy we have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness, but your music makes my cotton shrink."
"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time tune on the other side," said the machine.
"What's rag-time?"
"The opposite of classical."
"All right," said Scraps, and turned over the record.
The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble of sounds which proved so bewildering that after a moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron into the gold horn and cried: "Stop—stop! That's the other extreme. It's extremely bad!"
Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.
"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash your record," threatened Ojo.
The music stopped, at that, and the machine turned its hornfrom one to another and said with great indignation: "What's the matter now? Is it possible you can't appreciate rag-time?"
"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," said the cat; "but I simply can't stand it; it makes my whiskers curl."
"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, with a shudder.
"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad," murmured the Patchwork Girl. "I'll tell you what, Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron and put it on again, "for some reason or other you've missed your guess. You're not a concert; you're a nuisance."
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," asserted the phonograph sadly.
"Then we're not savages. I advise you to go home and beg the Magician's pardon."
"Never! He'd smash me."
"That's what we shall do, if you stay here," Ojo declared.
"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else," advised Scraps. "Find some one who is real wicked, and stay with him till he repents. In that way you can do some good in the world."
The music thing turned silently away and trotted down a side path, toward a distant Munchkin village.
"Is that the waywego?" asked Bungle anxiously.
"No," said Ojo; "I think we shall keep straight ahead, for this path is the widest and best. When we come to some house we will inquire the way to the Emerald City."
THE FOOLISH OWL and the WISE DONKEYChap. 8
The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey
Chap. 8
ON they went, and half an hour's steady walking brought them to a house somewhat better than the two they had already passed. It stood close to the roadside and over the door was a sign that read: "Miss Foolish Owl and Mr. Wise Donkey: Public Advisers."
When Ojo read this sign aloud Scraps said laughingly: "Well, here is a place to get all the advice we want, maybe more than we need. Let's go in."
The boy knocked at the door.
"Come in!" called a deep bass voice.
So they opened the door and entered the house, where a little light-brown donkey, dressed in a blue apron and a blue cap, wasengaged in dusting the furniture with a blue cloth. On a shelf over the window sat a great blue owl with a blue sunbonnet on her head, blinking her big round eyes at the visitors.
"Good morning," said the donkey, in his deep voice, which seemed bigger than he was. "Did you come to us for advice?"
"Why, we came, anyhow," replied Scraps, "and now we are here we may as well have some advice. It's free, isn't it?
"Certainly," said the donkey. "Advice doesn't cost anything—unless you follow it. Permit me to say, by the way, that you are the queerest lot of travelers that ever came to my shop. Judging you merely by appearances, I think you'd better talk to the Foolish Owl yonder."
They turned to look at the bird, which fluttered its wings and stared back at them with its big eyes.
"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot!" cried the owl.
"Fiddle-cum-foo,Howdy—do?Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum,Too-ra-la-loo!"
"Fiddle-cum-foo,Howdy—do?Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum,Too-ra-la-loo!"
"Fiddle-cum-foo,Howdy—do?Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum,Too-ra-la-loo!"
"That beats your poetry, Scraps," said Ojo.
"It's just nonsense!" declared the Glass Cat.
"But it's good advice for the foolish," said the donkey, admiringly. "Listen to my partner, and you can't go wrong."
Said the owl in a grumbling voice:
"Patchwork Girl has come to life;No one's sweetheart, no one's wife;Lacking sense and loving fun,She'll be snubbed by everyone."
"Patchwork Girl has come to life;No one's sweetheart, no one's wife;Lacking sense and loving fun,She'll be snubbed by everyone."
"Patchwork Girl has come to life;No one's sweetheart, no one's wife;Lacking sense and loving fun,She'll be snubbed by everyone."
"Quite a compliment! Quite a compliment, I declare," exclaimed the donkey, turning to look at Scraps. "You are certainly a wonder, my dear, and I fancy you'd make a splendid pincushion. If you belonged to me, I'd wear smoked glasses when I looked at you."
"Why?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Because you are so gay and gaudy."
"It is my beauty that dazzles you," she asserted. "You Munchkin people all strut around in your stupid blue color, while I—"
"You are wrong in calling me a Munchkin," interrupted the donkey, "for I was born in the Land of Mo and came to visit the Land of Oz on the day it was shut off from all the rest of the world. So here I am obliged to stay, and I confess it is a very pleasant country to live in."
"Hoot-ti-toot!" cried the owl;
"Ojo's searching for a charm,'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.Charms are scarce; they're hard to get;Ojo's got a job, you bet!"
"Ojo's searching for a charm,'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.Charms are scarce; they're hard to get;Ojo's got a job, you bet!"
"Ojo's searching for a charm,'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.Charms are scarce; they're hard to get;Ojo's got a job, you bet!"
"Is the owl so very foolish?" asked the boy.
"Extremely so," replied the donkey. "Notice what vulgar expressions she uses. But I admire the owl for the reason that sheispositively foolish. Owls are supposed to be so very wise, generally, that a foolish one is unusual, and you perhaps know that anything or anyone unusual is sure to be interesting to the wise."
The owl flapped its wings again, muttering these words:
"It's hard to be a glassy cat—No cat can be more hard than that;She's so transparent, every actIs clear to us, and that's a fact."
"It's hard to be a glassy cat—No cat can be more hard than that;She's so transparent, every actIs clear to us, and that's a fact."
"It's hard to be a glassy cat—No cat can be more hard than that;She's so transparent, every actIs clear to us, and that's a fact."
"Have you noticed my pink brains?" inquired Bungle, proudly. "You can see 'em work."
"Not in the daytime," said the donkey. "She can't see very well by day, poor thing. But her advice is excellent. I advise you all to follow it."
"The owl hasn't given us any advice, as yet," the boy declared.
"No? Then what do you call all those sweet poems?"
"Just foolishness," replied Ojo. "Scraps does the same thing."
"Foolishness! Of course! To be sure! The Foolish Owl must be foolish or she wouldn't be the Foolish Owl. You are very complimentary to my partner, indeed," asserted the donkey, rubbing his front hoofs together as if highly pleased.
"The sign says thatyouare wise," remarked Scraps to the donkey. "I wish you would prove it."
"With great pleasure," returned the beast. "Put me to the test, my dear Patches, and I'll prove my wisdom in the wink of an eye."
"What is the best way to get to the Emerald City?" asked Ojo.
"Walk," said the donkey.
"I know; but what road shall I take?" was the boy's next question.
"The road of yellow bricks, of course. It leads directly to the Emerald City."
"And how shall we find the road of yellow bricks?"
"By keeping along the path you have been following. You'll come to the yellow bricks pretty soon, and you'll know them when you see them because they're the only yellow things in the blue country."
"Thank you," said the boy. "At last you have told me something."
"Is that the extent of your wisdom?" asked Scraps.
"No," replied the donkey; "I know many other things, but they wouldn't interest you. So I'll give you a last word of advice: move on, for the sooner you do that the sooner you'll get to the Emerald City of Oz."
"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!" screeched the owl;
"Off you go! fast or slow,Where you're going you don't know.Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,Facing fortunes good and bad,Meeting dangers grave and sad,Sometimes worried, sometimes glad—Where you're going you don't know,Nor do I, but off you go!"
"Off you go! fast or slow,Where you're going you don't know.Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,Facing fortunes good and bad,Meeting dangers grave and sad,Sometimes worried, sometimes glad—Where you're going you don't know,Nor do I, but off you go!"
"Off you go! fast or slow,Where you're going you don't know.Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,Facing fortunes good and bad,Meeting dangers grave and sad,Sometimes worried, sometimes glad—Where you're going you don't know,Nor do I, but off you go!"
"Sounds like a hint, to me," said the Patchwork Girl.
"Then let's take it and go," replied Ojo.
They said good-bye to the Wise Donkey and the Foolish Owl and at once resumed their journey.
THEY MEET THE WOOZYChap. Nine
They Meet the Woozy
Chap. Nine
"THERE seem to be very few houses around here, after all," remarked Ojo, after they had walked for a time in silence.
"Never mind," said Scraps; "we are not looking for houses, but rather the road of yellow bricks. Won't it be funny to run across something yellow in this dismal blue country?"
"There are worse colors than yellow in this country," asserted the Glass Cat, in a spiteful tone.
"Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call your brains, and your red heart and green eyes?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"No; I mean you, if you must know it," growled the cat.
"You're jealous!" laughed Scraps. "You'dgive your whiskers for a lovely variegated complexion like mine."
"I wouldn't!" retorted the cat. "I've the clearest complexion in the world, and I don't employ a beauty-doctor, either."
"I see you don't," said Scraps.
"Please don't quarrel," begged Ojo. "This is an important journey, and quarreling makes me discouraged. To be brave, one must be cheerful, so I hope you will be as good-tempered as possible."
They had traveled some distance when suddenly they faced a high fence which barred any further progress straight ahead. It ran directly across the road and enclosed a small forest of tall trees, set close together. When the group of adventurers peered through the bars of the fence they thought this forest looked more gloomy and forbidding than any they had ever seen before.
They soon discovered that the path they had been following now made a bend and passed around the enclosure, but what made Ojo stop and look thoughtful was a sign painted on the fence which read:
"BEWARE OF THE WOOZY!"
"That means," he said, "that there's a Woozy inside that fence, and the Woozy must be a dangerous animal or they wouldn't tell people to beware of it."
"Let's keep out, then," replied Scraps. "That path is outside the fence, and Mr. Woozy may have all his little forest to himself, for all we care."
"But one of our errands is to find a Woozy," Ojo explained. "The Magician wants me to get three hairs from the end of a Woozy's tail."
"Let's go on and find some other Woozy," suggested the cat. "This one is ugly and dangerous, or they wouldn't cage him up. Maybe we shall find another that is tame and gentle."
"Perhaps there isn't any other, at all," answered Ojo. "The sign doesn't say: 'BewareaWoozy'; it says: 'BewaretheWoozy,' which may mean there's only one in all the Land of Oz."
"Then," said Scraps, "suppose we go in and find him? Very likely if we ask him politely to let us pull three hairs out of the tip of his tail he won't hurt us."
"It would hurthim, I'm sure, and that would make him cross," said the cat.
"You needn't worry, Bungle," remarked the Patchwork Girl; "for if there is danger you can climb a tree. Ojo and I are not afraid; are we, Ojo?"
"I am, a little," the boy admitted; "but this danger must be faced, if we intend to save poor Unc Nunkie. How shall we get over the fence?"
"Climb," answered Scraps, and at once she began climbing up the rows of bars. Ojo followed and found it more easythan he had expected. When they got to the top of the fence they began to get down on the other side and soon were in the forest. The Glass Cat, being small, crept between the lower bars and joined them.
Here there was no path of any sort, so they entered the woods, the boy leading the way, and wandered through the trees until they were nearly in the center of the forest. They now came upon a clear space in which stood a rocky cave.
So far they had met no living creature, but when Ojo saw the cave he knew it must be the den of the Woozy.
It is hard to face any savage beast without a sinking of the heart, but still more terrifying is it to face an unknown beast, which you have never seen even a picture of. So there is little wonder that the pulses of the Munchkin boy beat fast as he and his companions stood facing the cave. The opening was perfectly square, and about big enough to admit a goat.
"I guess the Woozy is asleep," said Scraps. "Shall I throw in a stone, to waken him?"
"No; please don't," answered Ojo, his voice trembling a little. "I'm in no hurry."
But he had not long to wait, for the Woozy heard the sound of voices and came trotting out of his cave. As this is the only Woozy that has ever lived, either in the Land of Oz or out of it, I must describe it to you.
The creature was all squares and flat surfaces and edges. Its head was an exact square, like one of the building-blocksa child plays with; therefore it had no ears, but heard sounds through two openings in the upper corners. Its nose, being in the center of a square surface, was flat, while the mouth was formed by the opening of the lower edge of the block. The body of the Woozy was much larger than its head, but was likewise block-shaped—being twice as long as it was wide and high. The tail was square and stubby and perfectly straight, and the four legs were made in the same way, each being four-sided. The animal was covered with a thick, smooth skin and had no hair at all except at the extreme end of its tail, where there grew exactly three stiff, stubby hairs. The beast was dark blue in color and his face was not fierce nor ferocious in expression, but rather good-humored and droll.
Seeing the strangers, the Woozy folded his hind legs as if they had been hinged and sat down to look his visitors over.
"Well, well," he exclaimed; "what a queer lot you are! At first I thought some of those miserable Munchkin farmers had come to annoy me, but I am relieved to find you in their stead. It is plain to me that you are a remarkable group—as remarkable in your way as I am in mine—and so you are welcome to my domain. Nice place, isn't it? But lonesome—dreadfully lonesome."
"Why did they shut you up here?" asked Scraps, who was regarding the queer, square creature with much curiosity.
"Because I eat up all the honey-bees which the Munchkin farmers who live around here keep to make them honey."
"Are you fond of eating honey-bees?" inquired the boy.
"Very. They are really delicious. But the farmers did not like to lose their bees and so they tried to destroy me. Of course they couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"My skin is so thick and tough that nothing can get through it to hurt me. So, finding they could not destroy me, they drove me into this forest and built a fence around me. Unkind, wasn't it?"
"But what do you eat now?" asked Ojo.
"Nothing at all. I've tried the leaves from the trees and the mosses and creeping vines, but they don't seem to suit my taste. So, there being no honey-bees here, I've eaten nothing for years."
"You must be awfully hungry," said the boy. "I've got some bread and cheese in my basket. Would you like that kind of food?"
"Give me a nibble and I will try it; then I can tell you better whether it is grateful to my appetite," returned the Woozy.
So the boy opened his basket and broke a piece off the loaf of bread. He tossed it toward the Woozy, who cleverly caught it in his mouth and ate it in a twinkling.
"That's rather good," declared the animal. "Any more?"
"Try some cheese," said Ojo, and threw down a piece.
The Woozy ate that, too, and smacked its long, thin lips.
"That's mighty good!" it exclaimed. "Any more?"
"Plenty," replied Ojo. So he sat down on a stump and fed the Woozy bread and cheese for a long time; for, no matter how much the boy broke off, the loaf and the slice remained just as big.
"That'll do," said the Woozy, at last; "I'm quite full. I hope the strange food won't give me indigestion."
"I hope not," said Ojo. "It's what I eat."
"Well, I must say I'm much obliged, and I'm glad you came," announced the beast. "Is there anything I can do in return for your kindness?"
"Yes," said Ojo earnestly, "you have it in your power to do me a great favor, if you will."
"What is it?" asked the Woozy. "Name the favor and I will grant it."
"I—I want three hairs from the tip of your tail," said Ojo, with some hesitation.
"Three hairs! Why, that's all I have—on my tail or anywhere else," exclaimed the beast.
"I know; but I want them very much."
"They are my sole ornaments, my prettiest feature," said the Woozy, uneasily. "If I give up those three hairs I—I'm just a blockhead."
"Yet I must have them," insisted the boy, firmly, and he then told the Woozy all about the accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and how the three hairs were to be a part of themagic charm that would restore them to life. The beast listened with attention and when Ojo had finished the recital it said, with a sigh:
"I always keep my word, for I pride myself on being square. So you may have the three hairs, and welcome. I think, under such circumstances, it would be selfish in me to refuse you."
"Thank you! Thank you very much," cried the boy, joyfully. "May I pull out the hairs now?"
"Any time you like," answered the Woozy.
So Ojo went up to the queer creature and taking hold of one of the hairs began to pull. He pulled harder. He pulled with all his might; but the hair remained fast.
"What's the trouble?" asked the Woozy, which Ojo had dragged here and there all around the clearing in his endeavor to pull out the hair.
"It won't come," said the boy, panting.
"I was afraid of that," declared the beast. "You'll have to pull harder."
"I'll help you," exclaimed Scraps, coming to the boy's side. "You pull the hair, and I'll pull you, and together we ought to get it out easily."
"Wait a jiffy," called the Woozy, and then it went to a tree and hugged it with its front paws, so that its body couldn't be dragged around by the pull. "All ready, now. Go ahead!"
Ojo grasped the hair with both hands and pulled with all his strength, while Scraps seized the boy around his waist and added her strength to his. But the hair wouldn't budge. Instead, it slipped out of Ojo's hands and he and Scraps both rolled upon the ground in a heap and never stopped until they bumped against the rocky cave.
"Give it up," advised the Glass Cat, as the boy arose and assisted the Patchwork Girl to her feet. "A dozen strong men couldn't pull out those hairs. I believe they're clinched on the under side of the Woozy's thick skin."
"Then what shall I do?" asked the boy, despairingly. "If on our return I fail to take these three hairs to the Crooked Magician, the other things I have come to seek will be of no use at all, and we cannot restore Unc Nunkie and Margolotte to life."
"They're goners, I guess," said the Patchwork Girl.
"Never mind," added the cat. "I can't see that old Unc and Margolotte are worth all this trouble, anyhow."
But Ojo did not feel that way. He was so disheartened that he sat down upon a stump and began to cry.
The Woozy looked at the boy thoughtfully.
"Why don't you take me with you?" asked the beast. "Then, when at last you get to the Magician's house, he can surely find some way to pull out those three hairs."
Ojo was overjoyed at this suggestion.
"That's it!" he cried, wiping away the tears and springing to his feet with a smile. "If I take the three hairs to the Magician, it won't matter if they are still in your body."
"It can't matter in the least," agreed the Woozy.
"Come on, then," said the boy, picking up his basket; "let us start at once. I have several other things to find, you know."
But the Glass Cat gave a little laugh and inquired in her scornful way:
"How do you intend to get the beast out of this forest?"
That puzzled them all for a time.
"Let us go to the fence, and then we may find a way," suggested Scraps. So they walked through the forest to the fence, reaching it at a point exactly opposite that where they had entered the enclosure.
"How did you get in?" asked the Woozy.
"We climbed over," answered Ojo.
"I can't do that," said the beast. "I'm a very swift runner, for I can overtake a honey-bee as it flies; and I can jump very high, which is the reason they made such a tall fence to keep me in. But I can't climb at all, and I'm too big to squeeze between the bars of the fence."
Ojo tried to think what to do.
"Can you dig?" he asked.
"No," answered the Woozy, "for I have no claws. My feet are quite flat on the bottom of them. Nor can I gnaw away the boards, as I have no teeth."
"You're not such a terrible creature, after all," remarked Scraps.
"You haven't heard me growl, or you wouldn't say that,"declared the Woozy. "When I growl, the sound echoes like thunder all through the valleys and woodlands, and children tremble with fear, and women cover their heads with their aprons, and big men run and hide. I suppose there is nothing in the world so terrible to listen to as the growl of a Woozy."
"Please don't growl, then," begged Ojo, earnestly.
"There is no danger of my growling, for I am not angry. Only when angry do I utter my fearful, ear-splitting, soul-shuddering growl. Also, when I am angry, my eyes flash fire, whether I growl or not."
"Real fire?" asked Ojo.
"Of course, real fire. Do you suppose they'd flash imitation fire?" inquired the Woozy, in an injured tone.
"In that case, I've solved the riddle," cried Scraps, dancing with glee. "Those fence-boards are made of wood, and if the Woozy stands close to the fence and lets his eyes flash fire, they might set fire to the fence and burn it up. Then he could walk away with us easily, being free."
"Ah, I have never thought of that plan, or I would have been free long ago," said the Woozy. "But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am very angry."
"Can't you get angry 'bout something, please?" asked Ojo.
"I'll try. You just say 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me."
"Will that make you angry?" inquired the boy.
"Terribly angry."
"What does it mean?" asked Scraps.
"I don't know; that's what makes me so angry," replied the Woozy.
He then stood close to the fence, with his head near one of the boards, and Scraps called out "Krizzle-Kroo!" Then Ojo said "Krizzle-Kroo!" and the Glass Cat said "Krizzle-Kroo!" The Woozy began to tremble with anger and small sparks darted from his eyes. Seeing this, they all cried "Krizzle-Kroo!" together, and that made the beast's eyes flash fire so fiercely that the fence-board caught the sparks and began to smoke. Then it burst into flame, and the Woozy stepped back and said triumphantly:
"Aha! That did the business, all right. It was a happy thought for you to yell all together, for that made me as angry as I have ever been. Fine sparks, weren't they?"
"Reg'lar fireworks," replied Scraps, admiringly.
In a few moments the board had burned to a distance of several feet, leaving an opening big enough for them all to pass through. Ojo broke some branches from a tree and with them whipped the fire until it was extinguished.
"We don't want to burn the whole fence down," said he, "for the flames would attract the attention of the Munchkin farmers, who would then come and capture the Woozy again. I guess they'll be rather surprised when they find he's escaped."
"So they will," declared the Woozy, chuckling gleefully. "When they find I'm gone the farmers will be badly scared, for they'll expect me to eat up their honey-bees, as I did before."
"That reminds me," said the boy, "that you must promise not to eat honey-bees while you are in our company."
"None at all?"
"Not a bee. You would get us all into trouble, and we can't afford to have any more trouble than is necessary. I'll feed you all the bread and cheese you want, and that must satisfy you."
"All right; I'll promise," said the Woozy, cheerfully. "And when I promise anything you can depend on it, 'cause I'm square."
"I don't see what difference that makes," observed the Patchwork Girl, as they found the path and continued their journey. "The shape doesn't make a thing honest, does it?"
"Of course it does," returned the Woozy, very decidedly. "No one could trust that Crooked Magician, for instance, just because heiscrooked; but a square Woozy couldn't do anything crooked if he wanted to."
"I am neither square nor crooked," said Scraps, looking down at her plump body.
"No; you're round, so you're liable to do anything," asserted the Woozy. "Do not blame me, Miss Gorgeous, if I regard you with suspicion. Many a satin ribbon has a cotton back."
Scraps didn't understand this, but she had an uneasy misgiving that she had a cotton back herself. It would settle down, at times, and make her squat and dumpy, and then she had to roll herself in the road until her body stretched out again.
SHAGGY MAN TO THE RESCUEChap. 10
Shaggy Man to the Rescue
Chap. 10
THEY had not gone very far before Bungle, who had run on ahead, came bounding back to say that the road of yellow bricks was just before them. At once they hurried forward to see what this famous road looked like.
It was a broad road, but not straight, for it wandered over hill and dale and picked out the easiest places to go. All its length and breadth was paved with smooth bricks of a bright yellow color, so it was smooth and level except in a few places where the bricks had crumbled or been removed, leaving holes that might cause the unwary to stumble.
"I wonder," said Ojo, looking up and down the road, "which way to go."
"Where are you bound for?" asked the Woozy.
"The Emerald City," he replied.
"Then go west," said the Woozy. "I know this road pretty well, for I've chased many a honey-bee over it."
"Have you ever been to the Emerald City?" asked Scraps.
"No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have noticed, so I haven't mingled much in society."
"Are you afraid of men?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"Me? With my heart-rending growl—my horrible, shudderful growl? I should say not. I am not afraid of anything," declared the Woozy.
"I wish I could say the same," sighed Ojo. "I don't think we need be afraid when we get to the Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that Ozma, our girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and tries to help everyone who is in trouble. But they say there are many dangers lurking on the road to the great Fairy City, and so we must be very careful."
"I hope nothing will break me," said the Glass Cat, in a nervous voice. "I'm a little brittle, you know, and can't stand many hard knocks."
"If anything should fade the colors of my lovely patches it would break my heart," said the Patchwork Girl.
"I'm not sure you have a heart," Ojo reminded her.
"Then it would break my cotton," persisted Scraps. "Do you think they are all fast colors, Ojo?" she asked anxiously.
"They seem fast enough when you run," he replied; andthen, looking ahead of them, he exclaimed: "Oh, what lovely trees!"
They were certainly pretty to look upon and the travelers hurried forward to observe them more closely.
"Why, they are not trees at all," said Scraps; "they are just monstrous plants."
That is what they really were: masses of great broad leaves which rose from the ground far into the air, until they towered twice as high as the top of the Patchwork Girl's head, who was a little taller than Ojo. The plants formed rows on both sides of the road and from each plant rose a dozen or more of the big broad leaves, which swayed continually from side to side, although no wind was blowing. But the most curious thing about the swaying leaves was their color. They seemed to have a general groundwork of blue, but here and there other colors glinted at times through the blue—gorgeous yellows, turning to pink, purple, orange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns and grays—each appearing as a blotch or stripe anywhere on a leaf and then disappearing, to be replaced by some other color of a different shape.
The changeful coloring of the great leaves was very beautiful, but it was bewildering, as well, and the novelty of the scene drew our travelers close to the line of plants, where they stood watching them with rapt interest.
Suddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and touched the Patchwork Girl. Swiftly it enveloped her in its embrace, coveringher completely in its thick folds, and then it swayed back upon its stem.