“It immediately occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to escape. I was proud of my great size, and realized that now I could safely travel anywhere in the world, while my superior culture would make me a fit associate for the most learned person I might chance to meet.
“So, while the Professor picked the little girls—who were more frightened than hurt—off the ground, and the pupils clustered around him closely grouped, I calmly walked out of the school-house, turned a corner, and escaped unnoticed to a grove of trees that stood near”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, admiringly.
“It was, indeed,” agreed the WoggleBug. “I have never ceased to congratulate myself for escaping while I was Highly Magnified; for even my excessive knowledge would have proved of little use to me had I remained a tiny, insignificant insect.”
“I didn’t know before,” said Tip, looking at the WoggleBug with a puzzled expression, “that insects wore clothes.”
“Nor do they, in their natural state,” returned the stranger. “But in the course of my wanderings I had the good fortune to save the ninth life of a tailor—tailors having, like cats, nine lives, as you probably know. The fellow was exceedingly grateful, for had he lost that ninth life it would have been the end of him; so he begged permission to furnish me with the stylish costume I now wear. It fits very nicely, does it not?” and the WoggleBug stood up and turned himself around slowly, that all might examine his person.
“He must have been a good tailor,” said the Scarecrow, somewhat enviously.
“He was a good-hearted tailor, at any rate,” observed Nick Chopper.
“But where were you going, when you met us?” Tip asked the WoggleBug.
“Nowhere in particular,” was the reply, “although it is my intention soon to visit the Emerald City and arrange to give a course of lectures to select audiences on the ‘Advantages of Magnification.’”
“We are bound for the Emerald City now,” said the Tin Woodman; “so, if it pleases you to do so, you are welcome to travel in our company.”
The WoggleBug bowed with profound grace.
“It will give me great pleasure,” said he “to accept your kind invitation; for nowhere in the Land of Oz could I hope to meet with so congenial a company.”
“That is true,” acknowledged the Pumpkinhead. “We are quite as congenial as flies and honey.”
“But—pardon me if I seem inquisitive—are you not all rather—ahem! rather unusual?” asked the WoggleBug, looking from one to another with unconcealed interest.
“Not more so than yourself,” answered the Scarecrow. “Everything in life is unusual until you get accustomed to it.”
“What rare philosophy!” exclaimed the WoggleBug, admiringly.
“Yes; my brains are working well today,” admitted the Scarecrow, an accent of pride in his voice.
“Then, if you are sufficiently rested and refreshed, let us bend our steps toward the Emerald City,” suggested the magnified one.
“We can’t,” said Tip. “The SawHorse has broken a leg, so he can’t bend his steps. And there is no wood around to make him a new limb from. And we can’t leave the horse behind because the Pumpkinhead is so stiff in his Joints that he has to ride.”
“How very unfortunate!” cried the WoggleBug. Then he looked the party over carefully and said:
“If the Pumpkinhead is to ride, why not use one of his legs to make a leg for the horse that carries him? I judge that both are made of wood.”
“Now, that is what I call real cleverness,” said the Scarecrow, approvingly. “I wonder my brains did not think of that long ago! Get to work, my dear Nick, and fit the Pumpkinhead’s leg to the SawHorse.”
Jack was not especially pleased with this idea; but he submitted to having his left leg amputated by the Tin Woodman and whittled down to fit the left leg of the SawHorse. Nor was the SawHorse especially pleased with the operation, either; for he growled a good deal about being “butchered,” as he called it, and afterward declared that the new leg was a disgrace to a respectable SawHorse.
“I beg you to be more careful in your speech,” said the Pumpkinhead, sharply. “Remember, if you please, that it is my leg you are abusing.”
“I cannot forget it,” retorted the SawHorse, “for it is quite as flimsy as the rest of your person.”
“Flimsy! me flimsy!” cried Jack, in a rage. “How dare you call me flimsy?”
“Because you are built as absurdly as a jumping-jack,” sneered the horse, rolling his knotty eyes in a vicious manner. “Even your head won’t stay straight, and you never can tell whether you are looking backwards or forwards!”
“Friends, I entreat you not to quarrel!” pleaded the Tin Woodman, anxiously. “As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism; so let us bear with each others’ faults.”
“An excellent suggestion,” said the WoggleBug, approvingly. “You must have an excellent heart, my metallic friend.”
“I have,” returned Nick, well pleased. “My heart is quite the best part of me. But now let us start upon our Journey.
They perched the one-legged Pumpkinhead upon the SawHorse, and tied him to his seat with cords, so that he could not possibly fall off.
And then, following the lead of the Scarecrow, they all advanced in the direction of the Emerald City.
14. Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft
They soon discovered that the SawHorse limped, for his new leg was a trifle too long. So they were obliged to halt while the Tin Woodman chopped it down with his axe, after which the wooden steed paced along more comfortably. But the SawHorse was not entirely satisfied, even yet.
“It was a shame that I broke my other leg!” it growled.
“On the contrary,” airily remarked the WoggleBug, who was walking alongside, “you should consider the accident most fortunate. For a horse is never of much use until he has been broken.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Tip, rather provoked, for he felt a warm interest in both the SawHorse and his man Jack; “but permit me to say that your joke is a poor one, and as old as it is poor.”
“Still, it is a Joke,” declared the WoggleBug; firmly, “and a Joke derived from a play upon words is considered among educated people to be eminently proper.”
“What does that mean?” enquired the Pumpkinhead, stupidly.
“It means, my dear friend,” explained the WoggleBug, “that our language contains many words having a double meaning; and that to pronounce a joke that allows both meanings of a certain word, proves the joker a person of culture and refinement, who has, moreover, a thorough command of the language.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Tip, plainly; “anybody can make a pun.”
“Not so,” rejoined the WoggleBug, stiffly. “It requires education of a high order. Are you educated, young sir?”
“Not especially,” admitted Tip.
“Then you cannot judge the matter. I myself am Thoroughly Educated, and I say that puns display genius. For instance, were I to ride upon this SawHorse, he would not only be an animal he would become an equipage. For he would then be