Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Tin Woodman Objects

The Tin Woodman was one of the most important

personages in all Oz. Though Emperor of the

Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all

the land, and the girl and the tin man were warm

personal friends. He was something of a dandy and

kept his tin body brilliantly polished and his tin

joints well oiled. Also he was very courteous in

manner and so kind and gentle that everyone loved

him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and Scraps with

cordial hospitality and ushered the entire party

into his handsome tin parlor, where all the

furniture and pictures were made of tin. The walls

were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling

hung tin chandeliers.

The Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of

all, where Dorothy had found the Patchwork

Girl, so between them the visitors told the story

of how Scraps was made, as well as the accident

to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie and how Ojo

had set out upon a journey to procure the things

needed for the Crooked Magician’s magic

charm. Then Dorothy told of their adventures

in the Quadling Country and how at last they

succeeded in getting the water from a dark well.

While the little girl was relating these

adventures the Tin Woodman sat in an easy chair

listening with intense interest, while the others

sat grouped around him. Ojo, however, had kept his

eyes fixed upon the body of the tin Emperor, and

now he noticed that under the joint of his left

knee a tiny drop of oil was forming. He watched

this drop of oil with a fast-beating heart, and

feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of

crystal, which he held secreted in his hand.

Presently the Tin Woodman changed his

position, and at once Ojo, to the astonishment

of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal

vial under the Emperor’s knee joint. Just then

the drop of oil fell, and they boy caught it in

his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then,

with a red face and embarrassed manner, he rose

to confront the others.

“What in the world were you doing?” asked

the Tin Woodman.

“I caught a drop of oil that fell from your

knee-joint,” confessed Ojo.

“A drop of oil!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman.

“Dear me, how careless my valet must have

been in oiling me this morning. I’m afraid I

shall have to scold the fellow, for I can’t be

dropping oil wherever I go.”

“Never mind,” said Dorothy. Ojo seems glad

to have the oil, for some reason.”

“Yes,” declared the Munchkin boy, “I am

glad. For one of the things the Crooked Magician

sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man’s

body. I had no idea, at first, that there was such

a thing; but it’s now safe in the little crystal

vial.”

“You are very welcome to it, indeed,” said

the Tin Woodman. “Have you now secured all

the things you were in search of?”

“Not quite all,” answered Ojo. “There were five

things I had to get, and I have found four of

them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a

Woozy’s tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water

from a dark well and a drop of oil from a live

man’s body. The last thing is the easiest of all

to get, and I’m sure that my dear Unc Nunkie—and

good Margolotte, as well—will soon be restored to

life.”

The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and

pleasure.

“Good!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “I

congratulate you. But what is the fifth and last

thing you need, in order to complete the magic

charm?”

“The left wing of a yellow butterfly,” said

Ojo. “In this yellow country, and with your

kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to

find.”

The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.

“Surely you are joking!” he said.

“No,” replied Ojo, much surprised; “I am in

earnest.”

“But do you think for a moment that I would

permit you, or anyone else, to pull the left wing

from a yellow butterfly?” demanded the Tin Woodman

sternly.

“Why not, sir?”

“Why not? You ask me why not? It would be

cruel—one of the most cruel and heartless deeds

I ever heard of,” asserted the Tin Woodman.

“The butterflies are among the prettiest of all

created things, and they are very sensitive to

pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it

exquisite torture and it would soon die in great

agony. I would not permit such a wicked deed

under any circumstances!”

Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too,

looked grave and disconcerted, but she knew in her

heart that the Tin Woodman was right. The

Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his

friend’s speech, so it was evident that he agreed

with the Emperor’s decision. Scraps looked from

one to another in perplexity.

“Who cares for a butterfly?” she asked.

“Don’t you?” inquired the Tin Woodman.

“Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart,”

said the Patchwork Girl. “But I want to help

Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle whom

he loves, and I’d kill a dozen useless butterflies

to enable him to do that.”

The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.

“You have kind instincts,” he said, “and with a

heart you would indeed be a fine creature. I

cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you

cannot understand the feelings of those who

possess hearts. I, for instance, have a very neat

and responsive heart which the wonderful Wizard

of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never—never—

never permit a poor yellow butterfly to be

tortured by anyone.”

“The yellow country of the Winkies,” said Ojo

sadly, “is the only place in Oz where a yellow

butterfly can be found.”

“I’m glad of that,” said the Tin Woodman.

“As I rule the Winkie Country, I can protect

my butterflies.”

Unless I get the wing—just one left wing—”

said Ojo miserably, “I can’t save Unc Nunkie.”

“Then he must remain a marble statue forever,”

declared the Tin Emperor, firmly.

Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back

the tears.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Scraps. “We’ll

take a whole yellow butterfly, alive and well, to

the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the left

wing off.”

“No, you won’t,” said the Tin Woodman.

“You can’t have one of my dear little butterflies

to treat in that way.

“Then what in the world shall we do?” asked

Dorothy.

They all became silent and thoughtful. No

one spoke for a long time. Then the Tin Woodman

suddenly roused himself and said:

“We must all go back to the Emerald City

and ask Ozma’s advice. She’s a wise little girl,

our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo

save his Unc Nunkie.”

So the following morning the party started

on the journey to the Emerald City, which they

reached in due time without any important

adventure. It was a sad journey for Ojo, for

without the wing of the yellow butterfly he saw

no way to save Unc Nunkie—unless he waited

six years for the Crooked Magician to make a

new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was

utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he

groaned aloud.

“Is anything hurting you?” inquired the Tin

Woodman in a kindly tone, for the Emperor

was with the party.

“I’m Ojo the Unlucky,” replied the boy. “I

might have known I would fail in anything

I tried to do.”

“Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?” asked the tin

man.

“Because I was born on a Friday.”

“Friday is not unlucky,” declared the Emperor.

“It’s just one of seven days. Do you suppose all

the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the

time?”

“It was the thirteenth day of the month,” said

Ojo.

“Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number,”

replied the Tin Woodman. “All my good luck seems

to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most

people never notice the good luck that comes to

them with the number 13, and yet if the least bit

of bad luck falls on that day, they blame it to

the number, and not to the proper cause.”

“Thirteen’s my lucky number, too,” remarked the

Scarecrow

“And mine,” said Scraps. “I’ve just thirteen

patches on my head.”

“But,” continued Ojo, “I’m left-handed.”

“Many of our greatest men are that way,”

asserted the Emperor. “To be left-handed is

usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people

are usually one-handed.”

“And I’ve a wart under my right arm,” said Ojo.

“How lucky!” cried the Tin Woodman. “If

it were on the end of your nose it might be

unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out

of the way.”

“For all those reasons,” said the Munchkin

boy, “I have been called Ojo the Unlucky.”

“Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you

henceforth Ojo the Lucky,” declared the tin man.

“Every reason you have given is absurd. But I have

noticed that those who continually dread ill luck

and fear it will overtake them, have no time to

take advantage of any good fortune that comes

their way. Make up your mind to be Ojo the

Lucky.”

“How can I?” asked the boy, “when all my

attempts to save my dear uncle have failed?”

“Never give up, Ojo,” advised Dorothy. “No

one ever knows what’s going to happen next.”

Ojo did not reply, but he was so dejected that

even their arrival at the Emerald City failed to

interest him.

The people joyfully cheered the appearance of

the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow and Dorothy, who

were all three general favorites, and on entering

the royal palace word came to them from Ozma that

she would at once grant them an audience.

Dorothy told the girl Ruler how successful

they had been in their quest until they came to

the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin

Woodman positively refused to sacrifice to the

magic potion.

“He is quite right,” said Ozma, who did not seem

a bit surprised. “Had Ojo told me that one of the

things he sought was the wing of a yellow

butterfly I would have informed him, before he

started out, that he could never secure it. Then

you would have been saved the troubles and

annoyances of your long journey.”

“I didn’t mind the journey at all,” said

Dorothy; “it was fun.”

“As it has turned out,” remarked Ojo, “I can

never get the things the Crooked Magician sent

me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for

him to make the Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie

cannot be saved.”

Ozma smiled.

“Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life,

I promise you,” said she. “I have sent for him

and had him brought to this palace, where he

now is, and his four kettles have been destroyed

and his book of recipes burned up. I have also

had brought here the marble statues of your

uncle and of Margolotte, which are standing in

the next room.

They were all greatly astonished at this

announcement.

“Oh, let me see Unc Nunkie! Let me see him

at once, please!” cried Ojo eagerly.

“Wait a moment,” replied Ozma, “for I have

something more to say. Nothing that happens

in the Land of Oz escapes the notice of our wise

Sorceress, Glinda the Good. She knew all about

the magic-making of Dr. Pipt, and how he had

brought the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl

to life, and the accident to Unc Nunkie and

Margolotte, and of Ojo’s quest and his journey

with Dorothy. Glinda also knew that Ojo would

fail to find all the things he sought, so she sent

for our Wizard and instructed him what to do.

Something is going to happen in this palace,

presently, and that ‘something’ will, I am sure,

please you all. And now,” continued the girl

Ruler, rising from her chair, “you may follow

me into the next room.”