Chapter Nine

They Meet the Woozy

“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 Lad 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.

“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 Class 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 Woosy.”

“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 he is

crooked; 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.