"We?" Dorothy brightened up considerably at the Wizard's plural.
"Yes, we," repeated the Wizard, turning round to smile at the little girl. "Counting Ozma and those of us here, there will be eight passengers—four for each plane."
"Now please don't bother about me!" begged the Cowardly Lion, his tail dragging on the ground at the very thought of flying. "I'd not think of troubling you. Besides, I'm much too heavy for flying."
"Not at all, not at all," the Wizard reassured him with a wink. "I have made exact calculations about weight, old fellow, and you and the Scarecrow balance each other nicely. So don't worry about that."
"Oh, I'm not worrying about that!" rumbled the lion, rearing up on his hind legs to read the names outlined in emeralds on the luminous sides of the Wizard's ships.
"Ozpril and Oztober!" The lion spoke in a slightly trembling roar. "Mmmn! Mmmnnnnmn! Kerumph!"
"Why, those are beautiful names," exclaimed Dorothy, tilting back her head to spell them out for herself.
"I thought they were rather neat," said the Wizard complacently. "Suitable too, one to rise and one to fall!" Expressively he lifted an arm and let it fall limply to his side.
"To—to fall?" quavered the lion, dropping to all fours.