But at that minute there was a wheeze from the underbrush and the head of the Cottabus was thrust out. Its tongue was hanging out and it was panting with exhaustion. “How old are you?” it gasped rolling its eyes pitifully. “Who was your grandfather on your father’s side, and was he bald?”
“Kerumberty Bumpus!” raged the Elegant Elephant, flouncing to the other side of the road.
“But why was the door knob in the cake?” gulped the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.
“How should we know,” said Pompa coldly.
“Then just tell me the date of your birth,” wailed the Cottabus, two tears trickling off its nose.
“No! No!” screamed Kabumpo, and this time he ran so fast that the tearful voice of the Cottabus became fainter and fainter and finally died away altogether.
“Provokingest creature I’ve ever met,” grumbled the Elegant Elephant, and this time Pompa agreed with him.
“Isn’t it almost lunch time?” asked the Prince. He was beginning to feel terribly hungry.
“And aren’t there any villages or cities between here and the Emerald City?” Pompa spoke again.
“Don’t know,” wheezed Kabumpo, swinging ahead.