“En-chant-ment,” said the Copper Man. “Some—” With a click and a whirr Tik Tok’s machinery ran down, and as Scraps and the Scarecrow were too upset to think of winding him, he stood as silent and dumb as the rest.
“What shall we do?” cried the Scarecrow, seizing Scraps’ arm. “Jump out of the window and go for help, or stay here and guard the palace?”
Scraps looked out of the window. “Stay here,” shuddered the Patch Work Girl, drawing in her head quickly.
“Then,” said the Scarecrow, “let us arm ourselves and prepare to withstand any attack.” He snatched up a pair of fire tongs and Scraps grasped the poker. Falling into step, the two marched from the top to the bottom of the palace. Everywhere the same sight met their gaze; rooms turned topsy turvy, and spread over floors and sofas and chairs the sleeping figures of Ozma’s once lively Courtiers and servants. The effect was so distressing that Scraps and the Scarecrow found themselves whispering and treading about on tip-toe. After inspecting the whole palace they returned to Dorothy’s room and placed themselves disconsolately in the doorway.
“Anyway, Ruggedo is quiet,” sighed the Scarecrow, “and that is something.”
Scraps started to make a verse, but the silence and the ghostlike atmosphere of the sleeping palace had dashed even the spirits of the Patch Work Girl and she subsided with an indistinct mumble.
Ruggedo was silent for a very good reason. Ruggedo was asleep, too—asleep sitting up as stiff as a stone image, for even in his sleep he dreamed of the dreaded bombardment of eggs.
All this had happened because the little man in gray had taken Ozma’s palace for an air castle, and who could blame him for that? Even the Sand Man would not expect to find a regular palace set among the clouds. There are plenty of dream castles, to be sure, and one of the Sand Man’s chief delights is to jump through them and admire their lovely furniture. But sure-enough castles—the little fellow could not get over it. Sitting cross-legged on the white cloud, which floated close to Ruggedo’s head, he stared and stared.
The Tin Woodman, oiling up his joints