“You mean throw them,” corrected Dorothy. But Tik Tok shook his head violently.
“Not throw them,” said the Copper Man slowly, “threat-en to throw them.”
“But how can we threaten a giant so far below us?” asked Ozma.
“Print a sign,” directed Tik Tok calmly, “and low-er it down to him.”
“Tik Tok,” cried the Scarecrow, rushing forward and embracing him impulsively, “your patent-action-double-guaranteed brains are marvels. I couldn’t have thought up a better plan myself.”
Now off ran Scraps to fetch a huge piece of cardboard, and the Scarecrow for a paint brush, and Sir Hokus for a piece of rope.
“It’s growing lighter,” quavered Trot, looking toward the windows. The sky was turning gray with little streaks of pink, and the three girls huddled together on the mattress gave a sigh of relief; for nothing, not even a giant, seems so bad by daylight.
“Perhaps someone has already started to help us,” said Ozma hopefully. “But here’s the sign board. What shall we write?”
“How shall I begin?” asked the Scarecrow, dipping the brush into a can of green paint. “Dear Ruggedo?”