“Show us at once to your master, the Emperor.”
The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way, and finally answered:
“I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving this morning.”
“How is that?” enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”
“Oh, no; nothing serious,” returned the man. “But this is his Majesty’s day for being polished; and just now his august presence is thickly smeared with putz-pomade.”
“Oh, I see!” cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. “My friend was ever inclined to be a dandy, and I suppose he is now more proud than ever of his personal appearance.”
“He is, indeed,” said the man, with a polite bow. “Our mighty Emperor has lately caused himself to be nickel-plated.”
“Good Gracious!” the Scarecrow exclaimed at hearing this. “If his wit bears the same polish, how sparkling it must be! But show us in—I’m sure the Emperor will receive us, even in his present state”
“The Emperor’s state is always magnificent,” said the man. “But I will venture to tell him of your arrival, and will receive his commands concerning you.”
So the party followed the servant into a splendid ante-room, and the Saw-Horse ambled awkwardly after them, having no knowledge that a horse might be expected to remain outside.