“Vanish!” coughed Kabumpo. “Great Grump! Put it away, Pompa. Wait till we reach Ev and make that wicked little Ruggedo open it for us. Who is this Glegg, anyway?”
“A lawless magician, I guess,” said Wag, “or he wouldn’t have owned a box of Mixed Magic. Ozma doesn’t allow anyone to practice magic, you know.”
“Why, I’ll bet he was the person who sent the scroll!” exclaimed the Prince suddenly. “Don’t you remember, Kabumpo, it was signed J. G.?”
“Not a doubt in the world,” rumbled Kabumpo. “I’ll throw him up a tree when I catch him and Ruggedo, too!”
“Oh, please don’t,” begged Peg Amy. “Perhaps they are sorry.”
“Not half as sorry as they will be,” wheezed Kabumpo, plowing ahead through the long grass like a big ferryboat under full steam.
Wag hopped close behind and Peg kept her eyes fixed upon Pompa’s back. In spite of his scorched head, he seemed to Peg the most delightful Prince imaginable.
“I’ll brush off his cloak and cut his hair all evenly,” thought Peg. “Then, perhaps Ozma will say yes when he tells her his story and asks for her hand. But I wonder what will become of me,” Peg sighed ever so softly and looked down with distaste at her wooden hands and torn old dress. Nothing very exciting could happen to a shabby Wooden Doll.
“Why, I haven’t even any right to be alive,” she reflected sadly. “I’m only meant to be funny. Well, never mind! Perhaps I can help Pompa and maybe that’s why I was brought to life.”