This the Scarecrow tried to do; but his padded gloves were too clumsy to clutch so small an object, and he held the box toward the boy while Tip selected one of the pills and swallowed it.
“Count!” cried the Scarecrow.
“One-half, one, three, five, seven, nine, eleven,” counted Tip. “thirteen, fifteen, seventeen.”
“Now wish!” said the Tin Woodman anxiously:
But Just then the boy began to suffer such fearful pains that he became alarmed.
“The pill has poisoned me!” he gasped; “O—h! O-o-o-o-o! Ouch! Murder! Fire! O-o-h!” and here he rolled upon the bottom of the nest in such contortions that he frightened them all.
“What can we do for you. Speak, I beg!” entreated the Tin Woodman, tears of sympathy running down his nickel cheeks.
“I—I don’t know!” answered Tip. “O—h! I wish I’d never swallowed that pill!”
Then at once the pain stopped, and the boy rose to his feet again and found the Scarecrow looking with amazement at the end of the pepper-box.
“What’s happened?” asked the boy, a little ashamed of his recent exhibition.