"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 must admit 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 horn from 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 way _we_ go?" 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 DONKEY
CHAP. 8
[Illustration]
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, was engaged
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!"
"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."
"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!"
"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 she _is_ positively
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 act
Is 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.
[Illustration]
"The sign says that _you_ are 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!"
"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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THEY MEET THE WOOZY
CHAP. NINE
[Illustration]
"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'd give 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: 'Beware _a_ Woozy'; it says: 'Beware _the_ Woozy,' 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 hurt _him_, 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 easy than 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-blocks a 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 the magic 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.
[Illustration]
"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?"
[Illustration]
"Reg'lar fireworks," replied Scraps, admiringly.