“She’s bewitched,” groaned the King.
“She’s bewitching,” corrected Grampa.
“Stop! Stop!” said Dorothy. “We’ll never get things straightened out this way. Everybody sit down and—quick—quick—catch that Prophet!” Abrog had been slyly edging toward the door, but the Forgetful Poet, with a quick bound, brought him back.
“Now then,” said Dorothy, when they were all seated, “I believe Abrog is at the bottom of the whole business. Let’s make him tell. Did you bewitch this Princess?” she demanded sternly.
Abrog only mumbled and scowled and refused to speak a word. “Better answer this young lady,” puffed Peer Haps warningly. “She is a Princess of Oz, and can have you well punished.”
“Speak up, you old villain!” shouted Grampa, waving his sword over the Prophet’s head. But Abrog stood still and stubbornly refused to say a word, until the old soldier suddenly bethought himself of the wizard’s medicine. “Maybe there’s a cure for the tongue tied on this,” muttered Grampa. Taking out the bottle, he began to scan the green label. At the first sight of the medicine, a dreadful change came over the Prophet. He turned a sickly green and began to tremble violently.
“Give me that bottle! Give me that bottle, and I will tell all,” he panted, trying desperately to snatch it from Grampa.
“Don’t you do it,” cried the Prince of Ragbad. “Why, Grampa, I believe—I believe this is the wizard himself.”
“But it says ‘Gorba’” muttered the old soldier, holding the bottle high above his head. “Don’t you remember?”
“Gorba!” exclaimed Dorothy, writing the word with her finger in the air. “Why G-o-r-b-a is A-b-r-o-g spelled backwards!”