"A barn, if you ask me!" guessed the Scarecrow. "But why build it of glass, Mr. Wiz?"
"Because glass is the latest and lightest building material known. But this is no barn, as you'll soon discover." Handing his flashlight to Dorothy, the Wizard slid back the vast doors, switched on the lights and stood back, his hands in his pockets, as the little group in silence and astonishment viewed the two shining planes housed as snugly as giant butterflys in a glass cocoon.
"Airplanes!" exclaimed Dorothy, when she found her voice at last.
"No, Ozoplanes," corrected the Wizard, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Somewhat like the planes in America, but more powerful, for remember, my dear, I had not only the scientific knowledge of aeronautics available to mortals, but the scientific knowledge of magic to help me as well!"
"Well!" echoed the Tin Woodman, gazing approvingly at the Wizard's planes, which, except for their silver wings, might have been huge, silver-and-glass torpedoes.
"Not for the army, I hope," exclaimed the Soldier, clutching his whiskers nervously. Being the entire army himself, and quite old-fashioned and set in his ways, the Soldier felt sure he never could pilot these gleaming airplanes.
"Oh, No! No! NO!" The Wizard frowned at the mere thought of war. "These are pleasure planes for travelling and exploring the unknown regions of the upper air. As soon as Ozma returns from the South, I plan to present them both to our illustrious young Ruler and arrange for her to make the first triumphant flight."
"But there are two," said Dorothy a little wistfully. She had hoped to make the first flight with the Wizard, herself.
"Of course, of course!" he answered in a matter-of-fact way. "Most experimental flights fail because they depend on one ship. We shall have two!"