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"And," the Professor frowned severely on the Scarecrow, "with your Majesty's
permission, I shall start at once!"
"
Please do," said the Scarecrow with a wave toward the door, "and we will go
on with the party!"
Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, who had been staring fixedly at the Professor
with her silver suspender-button eyes, now sprang to her feet:
"
What puts such notions in your head?
What is a genealogist?
It's something no one here has missed;
Turn out your toes--or go to bed!"
she shouted gaily, then, catching Ozma's disapproving glance, fell over
backwards.
"
"
I don't understand it at all," said Jack Pumpkinhead in a depressed voice.
I'm afraid my head's too ripe."
"Nor I," said Tik-Tok, the copper clockwork man. "Please wind me up a lit-tle
tight-er Dor-o-thy, I want to think!"
Dorothy obligingly took a key suspended from a hook on his back and
wound him up under his left arm. Everybody began to talk at once, and
what with the Cowardly Lion's deep growl and Tik-Tok's squeaky voice and
all the rest of the tin and meat and wooden voices, the confusion was
terrible.
"Wait!" cried Ozma, clapping her hands.
Immediately the room grew so still that one could hear Tik-Tok's machinery
whirring 'round.
"Now!" said Ozma, "One at a time, please, and let us hear from the
Scarecrow first."
The Scarecrow rose. "I think, your Highness," he said modestly, "that anyone
who has studied his Geozify already knows who we are and--"
"
Who you are?" broke in the Wogglebug scornfully--"Of course they do--but I
shall tell them who you were!"
"
Who I were?" gasped the Scarecrow in a dazed voice, raising his cotton
glove to his forehead. "Who I were? Well, who were I?"
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