you,” replied Ozma. “Some day I may accept the invitation. But what is to become of the Scarecrow?”
“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one, seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”
“And I have made the Scarecrow my Royal Treasurer,” explained the Tin Woodman. “For it has occurred to me that it is a good thing to have a Royal Treasurer who is made of money. What do you think?”
“I think,” said the little Queen, smiling, “that your friend must be the richest man in all the world.”
“I am,” returned the Scarecrow. “but not on account of my money. For I consider brains far superior to money, in every way. You may have noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to advantage; but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to live comfortably to the end of his days.”
“At the same time,” declared the Tin Woodman, “you must acknowledge that a good heart is a thing that brains can not create, and that money can not buy. Perhaps, after all, it is I who am the richest man in all the world.”
“You are both rich, my friends,” said Ozma, gently; “and your riches are the only riches worth having—the riches of content!”
The Woggle-Bug Book
One day Mr. H. M. WoggleBug, T. E., becoming separated from his comrades who had accompanied him from the Land of Oz, and finding that time hung heavy on his hands (he had four of them), decided to walk down the Main street of the City and try to discover something or other of interest.
The initials “H. M.” before his name meant “Highly Magnified,” for this WoggleBug was several thousand times bigger than any other wogglebug you ever saw. And the initials “T. E.” after his named meant “Thoroughly Educated”—and so he was, in the Land of Oz. But his education, being applied to a wogglebug intellect, was not at all remarkable in this country, where everything is quite different than Oz. Yet the WoggleBug did not suspect this, and being, like so many other thoroughly educated persons, proud of his mental attainments, he marched along the street with an air of importance that made one wonder what great thoughts were occupying his massive brain.
Being about as big, in his magnified state, as a man, the WoggleBug took care to clothe himself like a man; only, instead of choosing sober colors for his garments, he delighted in the most gorgeous reds and yellows and blues and greens; so that if you looked at him long the brilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes.
I suppose the Waggle-Bug did not realize at all what a queer appearance he made. Being rather nervous, he seldom looked into a mirror; and as the people he met avoided telling him he was unusual, he had fallen into the habit of considering himself merely an ordinary citizen of the big city wherein he resided.
So the WoggleBug strutted proudly along the street, swinging a cane in one hand, flourishing a pink handkerchief in the other, fumbling his watch-fob with another, and feeling his necktie was straight with another. Having four hands to use would prove rather puzzling to you or me, I imagine; but the Woggie-Bug was thoroughly accustomed to them.
Presently he came to a very fine store with big plate-glass windows, and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature so beautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance at her nearly took his breath away. Her complexion was lovely, for it was wax; but the thing which really caught the WoggleBug’s fancy was the marvelous dress she wore. Indeed, it was the latest (last year’s) Paris model, although the WoggleBug did not know that; and the designer must have had a real woggly love for bright colors, for the gown was made of red cloth covered with big checks which were so loud the fashion books called them “Wagnerian Plaids.”
Never had our friend the WoggleBug seen such a beautiful gown before, and it afflicted him so strongly that he straightaway fell in love with the entire outfit—even to the wax-complexioned lady herself! Very politely he tipped his to her; but she stared coldly back without in any way acknowledging the courtesy.
“Never mind,” he thought; “‘faint heart never won fair lady.’ And I’m determined to win this kaliedoscope of beauty or perish in the attempt!” You will notice that our insect had a way of using big words to express himself, which leads us to suspect that the school system in Oz is the same they employ in Boston.
As, with swelling heart, the WoggleBug feasted his eyes upon the enchanting vision, a small green tag that was attached to a button of the waist suddenly attracted his attention. Upon the tag was marked: “Price $7.93—GREATLY REDUCED.”
“Ah!” murmured the WoggleBug; “my darling is in greatly reduced circumstances, and $7.93 will make her mine! Where, oh where, shall I find the seven ninety-three wherewith to liberate this divinity and make her Mrs. WoggleBug?”
“Move on!” said a gruff policeman, who came along swinging his club. And the WoggleBug obediently moved on, his brain working fast and furious in the endeavor to think of a way to procure seven dollars and ninety-three cents.
You see, in the Land of Oz they use no money at all, so that when the WoggleBug arrived in America he did not possess a single penny. And no one had presented him with any money since.
“Yet there must be several ways to procure money in this country,” he reflected; “for otherwise everybody would be as penniless as I am. But how, I wonder, do they manage to get it?”
Just then he came along a side street where a number of men were at work digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer.
“Now these men,” thought the WoggleBug, “must get money for shoveling all that earth, else they wouldn’t do it. Here is my chance to win the charming vision of beauty in the shop window!”
Seeking out the foreman, he asked for work, and the foreman agreed to hire him.
“How much do you pay these workmen?” asked the highly magnified one.
“Two dollars a day,” answered the foreman.
“Then,” said the WoggleBug, “you must pay me four dollars a day; for I have four arms to their two, and can do double their work.”
“If that is so, I’ll pay you four dollars,” agreed the man.
The WoggleBug was delighted.
“In two days,” he told himself, as he threw off his brilliant coat and placed his hat upon it, and rolled up his sleeves; “in two days I can earn eight dollars—enough to purchase my greatly reduced darling and buy her seven cents worth of caramels besides.”
He seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four arms that the foreman said: “You must have been forewarned.”
“Why?” asked the Insect.
“Because there’s a saying that to be forewarned is to be four-armed,” replied the other.
“That is nonsense,” said the WoggleBug, digging with all his might; “for they call you the foreman, and yet I only see one of you.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the man, and he was so proud of his new worker that he went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the barkeeper what a treasure he had found.
It was just after noon that the WoggleBug hired as a ditch-digger in order to win his heart’s desire; so at noon on the second day he quit work, and having received eight silver dollars he put on his coat and rushed away to the store that he might purchase his intended bride.
But, alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! Just as the WoggleBug reached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store dressed in identical checks with which he had fallen in love!
At first he did not know what to do or say, for the young lady’s