“Money! Money in Oz!” cried the Tin Woodman. “What a queer idea! Did you suppose we are so vulgar as to use money here?”
“Why not?” asked the shaggy man.
“If we used money to buy things with, instead of love and kindness and the desire to please one another, then we should be no better than the rest of the world,” declared the Tin Woodman. “Fortunately money is not known in the Land of Oz at all. We have no rich, and no poor; for what one wishes the others all try to give him, in order to make him happy, and no one in all Oz cares to have more than he can use.”
“Good!” cried the shaggy man, greatly pleased to hear this. “I also despise money—a man in Butterfield owes me fifteen cents, and I will not take it from him. The Land of Oz is surely the most favored land in all the world, and its people the happiest. I should like to live here always.”
The Tin Woodman listened with respectful attention. Already he loved the shaggy man, although he did not yet know of the Love Magnet. So he said:
“If you can prove to the Princess Ozma that you are honest and true and worthy of our friendship, you may indeed live here all your days, and be as happy as we are.”
“I’ll try to prove that,” said the shaggy man, earnestly.
“And now,” continued the Emperor, “you must all go to your rooms and prepare for dinner, which will presently be served in the grand tin dining-hall. I am sorry, Shaggy Man, that I can not offer you a change of clothing; but I dress only in tin, myself, and I suppose that would not suit you.”
“I care little about dress,” said the shaggy man, indifferently.
“So I should imagine,” replied the Emperor, with true politeness.
They were shown to their rooms and permitted to make such toilets as they could, and soon they assembled again in the grand tin dining-hall, even Toto being present. For the Emperor was fond of Dorothy’s little dog, and the girl explained to her friends that in Oz all animals were treated with as much consideration as the people—"if they behave themselves,” she added.
Toto behaved himself, and sat in a tin high-chair beside Dorothy and ate his dinner from a tin platter.
Indeed, they all ate from tin dishes, but these were of pretty shapes and brightly polished; Dorothy thought they were just as good as silver.
Button-Bright looked curiously at the man who had “no appetite inside him,” for the Tin Woodman, although he had prepared so fine a feast for his guests, ate not a mouthful himself, sitting patiently in his place to see that all built so they could eat were well and plentifully served.
What pleased Button-Bright most about the dinner was the tin orchestra that played sweet music while the company ate. The players were not tin, being just ordinary Winkies; but the instruments they played upon were all tin—tin trumpets, tin fiddles, tin drums and cymbals and flutes and horns and all. They played so nicely the “Shining Emperor Waltz,” composed expressly in honor of the Tin Woodman by Mr. H. M. Wogglebug, T.E., that Polly could not resist dancing to it. After she had tasted a few dewdrops, freshly gathered for her, she danced gracefully to the music while the others finished their repast; and when she whirled until her fleecy draperies of rainbow hues enveloped her like a cloud, the Tin Woodman was so delighted that he clapped his tin hands until the noise of them drowned the sound of the cymbals.
Altogether it was a merry meal, although Polychrome ate little and the host nothing at all.
“I’m sorry the Rainbow’s Daughter missed her mist-cakes,” said the Tin Woodman to Dorothy; “but by a mistake Miss Polly’s mist-cakes were mislaid and not missed until now. I’ll try to have some for her breakfast.”
They spent the evening telling stories, and the next morning left the splendid tin castle and set out upon the road to the Emerald City. The Tin Woodman went with them, of course, having by this time been so brightly polished that he sparkled like silver. His axe, which he always carried with him, had a steel blade that was tin plated and a handle covered with tin plate beautifully engraved and set with diamonds.
The Winkies assembled before the castle gates and cheered their Emperor as he marched away, and it was easy to see that they all loved him dearly.
16. Visiting the Pumpkin-Field
Dorothy let Button-Bright wind up the clock-work in the copper man this morning—his thinking machine first, then his speech, and finally his action; so he would doubtless run perfectly until they had reached the Emerald City. The copper man and the tin man were good friends, and not so much alike as you might think. For one was alive and the other moved by means of machinery; one was tall and angular and the other short and round. You could love the Tin Woodman because he had a fine nature, kindly and simple; but the machine man you could only admire without loving, since to love such a thing as he was as impossible as to love a sewing-machine or an automobile. Yet Tik-tok was popular with the people of Oz because he was so trustworthy, reliable and true; he was sure to do exactly what he was wound up to do, at all times and in all circumstances. Perhaps it is better to be a machine that does its duty than a flesh-and-blood person who will not, for a dead truth is better than a live falsehood.
About noon the travelers reached a large field of pumpkins—a vegetable quite appropriate to the yellow country of the Winkies—and some of the pumpkins which grew there were of remarkable size. Just before they entered upon this field they saw three little mounds that looked like graves, with a pretty headstone to each one of them.
“What is this?” asked Dorothy, in wonder.
“It’s Jack Pumpkinhead’s private graveyard,” replied the Tin Woodman.
“But I thought nobody ever died in Oz,” she said.
“Nor do they; although if one is bad, he may be condemned and killed by the good citizens,” he answered.
Dorothy ran over to the little graves and read the words engraved upon the tombstones. The first one said:
Here Lies the Mortal Part of
JACK PUMPKINHEAD
Which Spoiled April 9th.
She then went to the next stone, which read:
Here Lies the Mortal Part of
JACK PUMPKINHEAD
Which Spoiled October 2nd.
On the third stone were carved these words:
Here Lies the Mortal Part of
JACK PUMPKINHEAD
Which Spoiled January 24th.
“Poor Jack!” sighed Dorothy. “I’m sorry he had to die in three parts, for I hoped to see him again.”
“So you shall,” declared the Tin Woodman, “since he is still alive. Come with me to his house, for Jack is now a farmer and lives in this very pumpkin field.”
They walked over to a monstrous big, hollow pumpkin which had a door and windows cut through the rind. There was a stovepipe running through the stem, and six steps had been built leading up to the front door.
They walked up to this door and looked in. Seated on a bench was a man clothed in a spotted shirt, a red vest, and faded blue trousers, whose body was merely sticks of wood, jointed clumsily together. On his neck was set a round, yellow pumpkin, with a face carved on it such as a boy often carves on a jack-lantern.
This queer man was engaged in snapping slippery pumpkin-seeds with his wooden fingers, trying to hit a target on the other side of the room with them. He did not know he had visitors until Dorothy exclaimed:
“Why, it’s Jack Pumpkinhead himself!”
He turned and saw them, and at once came forward to greet the little Kansas girl and Nick Chopper, and to be introduced to their new friends.
Button-Bright was at first rather shy with the quaint Pumpkinhead, but Jack’s face was so jolly and smiling—being carved that way—that the boy soon grew to like him.
“I thought a while ago that you were buried in three parts,” said Dorothy, “but now I see you’re just the same as ever.”
“Not quite the sam
e, my dear, for my mouth is a little more one-sided than it used to be; but pretty nearly the same. I’ve a new head, and this is the fourth one I’ve owned since Ozma first made me and brought me to life by sprinkling me with the Magic Powder.”
“What became of the other heads, Jack?”
“They spoiled and I buried them, for they were not even fit for pies. Each time Ozma has carved me a new head just like the old one, and as my body is by far the largest part of me, I am still Jack Pumpkinhead, no matter how often I change my upper end. Once we had a dreadful time to find another pumpkin, as they were out of season, and so I was obliged to wear my old head a little longer than was strictly healthy. But after this sad experience I resolved to raise pumpkins myself, so as never to be caught again without one handy; and now I have this fine field that you see before you. Some grow pretty big—too big to be used for heads—so I dug out this one and use it for a house.”
“Isn’t it damp?” asked Dorothy.
“Not very. There isn’t much left but the shell, you see, and it will last a long time yet.”
“I think you are brighter than you used to be, Jack,” said the Tin Woodman. “Your last head was a stupid one.”
“The seeds in this one are better,” was the reply.
“Are you going to Ozma’s party?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes,” said he, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Ozma’s my parent, you know, because she built my body and carved my pumpkin head. I’ll follow you to the Emerald City to-morrow, where we shall meet again. I can’t go to-day, because I have to plant fresh pumpkin-seeds and water the young vines. But give my love to Ozma, and tell her I’ll be there in time for the jubilation.”
“We will,” she promised; and then they all left him and resumed their journey.
17. The Royal Chariot Arrives
The neat yellow houses of the Winkies were now to be seen standing here and there along the roadway, giving the country a more cheerful and civilized look. They were farm-houses, though, and set far apart; for in the Land of Oz there were no towns or villages except the magnificent Emerald City in its center.
Hedges of evergreen or of yellow roses bordered the broad highway and the farms showed the care of their industrious inhabitants. The nearer the travelers came to the great city the more prosperous the country became, and they crossed many bridges over the sparkling streams and rivulets that watered the lands.
As they walked leisurely along the shaggy man said to the Tin Woodman:
“What sort of a Magic Powder was it that made your friend the Pumpkinhead live?”
“It was called the Powder of Life,” was the answer; “and it was invented by a crooked Sorcerer who lived in the mountains of the North Country. A Witch named Mombi got some of this powder from the crooked Sorcerer and took it home with her. Ozma lived with the Witch then, for it was before she became our Princess, while Mombi had transformed her into the shape of a boy. Well, while Mombi was gone to the crooked Sorcerer’s, the boy made this pumpkin-headed man to amuse himself, and also with the hope of frightening the Witch with it when she returned. But Mombi was not scared, and she sprinkled the Pumpkinhead with her Magic Powder of Life, to see if the Powder would work. Ozma was watching, and saw the Pumpkinhead come to life; so that night she took the pepper-box containing the Powder and ran away with it and with Jack, in search of adventures.
“Next day they found a wooden Saw-Horse standing by the roadside, and sprinkled it with the Powder. It came to life at once, and Jack Pumpkinhead rode the Saw-Horse to the Emerald City.”
“What became of the Saw-Horse, afterward?” asked the shaggy man, much interested in this story.
“Oh, it’s alive yet, and you will probably meet it presently in the Emerald City. Afterward, Ozma used the last of the Powder to bring the Flying Gump to life; but as soon as it had carried her away from her enemies the Gump was taken apart, so it doesn’t exist any more.”
“It’s too bad the Powder of Life was all used up,” remarked the shaggy man; “it would be a handy thing to have around.”
“I am not so sure of that, sir,” answered the Tin Woodman. “A while ago the crooked Sorcerer who invented the Magic Powder fell down a precipice and was killed. All his possessions went to a relative—an old woman named Dyna, who lives in the Emerald City. She went to the mountains where the Sorcerer had lived and brought away everything she thought of value. Among them was a small bottle of the Powder of Life; but of course Dyna didn’t know it was a Magic Powder, at all. It happened she had once had a big blue bear for a pet; but the bear choked to death on a fishbone one day, and she loved it so dearly that Dyna made a rug of its skin, leaving the head and four paws on the hide. She kept the rug on the floor of her front parlor.”
“I’ve seen rugs like that,” said the shaggy man, nodding, “but never one made from a blue bear.”
“Well,” continued the Tin Woodman, “the old woman had an idea that the Powder in the bottle must be moth-powder, because it smelled something like moth-powder; so one day she sprinkled it on her bear rug to keep the moths out of it. She said, looking lovingly at the skin: ‘I wish my dear bear were alive again!’ To her horror, the bear rug at once came to life, having been sprinkled with the Magic Powder; and now this live bear rug is a great trial to her, and makes her a lot of trouble.”
“Why?” asked the shaggy man.
“Well, it stands up on its four feet and walks all around, and gets in the way; and that spoils it for a rug. It can’t speak, although it is alive; for, while its head might say words, it has no breath in a solid body to push the words out of its mouth. It’s a very slimpsy affair altogether, that bear rug, and the old woman is sorry it came to life. Every day she has to scold it, and make it lie down flat on the parlor floor to be walked upon; but sometimes when she goes to market the rug will hump up its back skin, and stand on its four feet, and trot along after her.”
“I should think Dyna would like that,” said Dorothy.
“Well, she doesn’t; because every one knows it isn’t a real bear, but just a hollow skin, and so of no actual use in the world except for a rug,” answered the Tin Woodman. “Therefore I believe it is a good thing that all the Magic Powder of Life is now used up, as it can not cause any more trouble.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said the shaggy man, thoughtfully.
At noon they stopped at a farmhouse, where it delighted the farmer and his wife to be able to give them a good luncheon. The farm people knew Dorothy, having seen her when she was in the country before, and they treated the little girl with as much respect as they did the Emperor, because she was a friend of the powerful Princess Ozma.
They had not proceeded far after leaving this farm-house before coming to a high bridge over a broad river. This river, the Tin Woodman informed them, was the boundary between the Country of the Winkies and the territory of the Emerald City. The city itself was still a long way off, but all around it was a green meadow as pretty as a well-kept lawn, and in this were neither houses nor farms to spoil the beauty of the scene.
From the top of the high bridge they could see far away the magnificent spires and splendid domes of the superb city, sparkling like brilliant jewels as they towered above the emerald walls. The shaggy man drew a deep breath of awe and amazement, for never had he dreamed that such a grand and beautiful place could exist—even in the fairyland of Oz.
Polly was so pleased that her violet eyes sparkled like amethysts, and she danced away from her companions across the bridge and into a group of feathery trees lining both the roadsides. These trees she stopped to look at with pleasure and surprise, for their leaves were shaped like ostrich plumes, their feather edges beautifully curled; and all the plumes were tinted in the same dainty rainbow hues that appeared in Polychrome’s own pretty gauze gown.
“Father ought to see these trees,” she murmured; “they are almost as lovely as hi
s own rainbows.”
Then she gave a start of terror, for beneath the trees came stalking two great beasts, either one big enough to crush the little Daughter of the Rainbow with one blow of his paws, or to eat her up with one snap of his enormous jaws. One was a tawny lion, as tall as a horse, nearly; the other a striped tiger almost the same size.
Polly was too frightened to scream or to stir; she stood still with a wildly beating heart until Dorothy rushed past her and with a glad cry threw her arms around the huge lion’s neck, hugging and kissing the beast with evident joy.
“Oh, I’m SO glad to see you again!” cried the little Kansas girl. “And the Hungry Tiger, too! How fine you’re both looking. Are you well and happy?”
“We certainly are, Dorothy,” answered the Lion, in a deep voice that sounded pleasant and kind; “and we are greatly pleased that you have come to Ozma’s party. It’s going to be a grand affair, I promise you.”
“There will be lots of fat babies at the celebration, I hear,” remarked the Hungry Tiger, yawning so that his mouth opened dreadfully wide and showed all his big, sharp teeth; “but of course I can’t eat any of ‘em.”
“Is your Conscience still in good order?” asked Dorothy, anxiously.
“Yes; it rules me like a tyrant,” answered the Tiger, sorrowfully. “I can imagine nothing more unpleasant than to own a Conscience,” and he winked slyly at his friend the Lion.
“You’re fooling me!” said Dorothy, with a laugh. “I don’t b’lieve you’d eat a baby if you lost your Conscience. Come here, Polly,” she called, “and be introduced to my friends.”
Polly advanced rather shyly.
“You have some queer friends, Dorothy,” she said.
“The queerness doesn’t matter so long as they’re friends,” was the answer. “This is the Cowardly Lion, who isn’t a coward at all, but just thinks he is. The Wizard gave him some courage once, and he has part of it left.”
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