"Yes," said the Scarecrow kindly, "who are you?"
"Oh, don't you remember little Happy Toko?" wheezed the little man, the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I was only a boy, but you used to be fond of me."
"Why, of course, my dear Tappy," said the Scarecrow, not liking to hurt the little fellow's feelings. "But why do you beat the drum?"
"It is customary to sound the drum at the approach of your Royal Highness," put in the Grand Chew Chew importantly.
"Was customary," said the Scarecrow firmly. "My dear Tappy Oko, never sound it in my presence again; it is too upsetting." Which was true enough, for one blow of the drum sent the flimsy Scarecrow flying into the air.
"You're dismissed, Happy," snapped the Grand Chew Chew. At this, the little Silver Islander began weeping and roaring with distress.
"Stop! What else can you do besides beat a drum?" asked the Scarecrow kindly.
"I can sing, stand on my head, and tell jokes," sniffed Happy Toko, shuffling from one foot to the other.
"Very good," said the Scarecrow. "You are henceforth Imperial Punster to my Person. Come along, we're going to look over the Island."
The Grand Chew Chew frowned so terribly that Happy Toko's knees shook with terror.