"Are you sure you'd rather not live in the Strat as a Starina, than stay here with us?" asked Ozma, smiling mischievously, as Jellia backed away from the frowning airman.
"Never! Never! NEVER!" cried Jellia, taking a long step backward at each word. "I've had enough of Kings to last me the rest of my life!"
A little ripple of laughter followed Jellia's blunt refusal, and taking pity on the mortified Airlander, Ozma touched her belt and whispered the magic word that would transport him to his own country.
"But can you trust him?" worried Nick Chopper, as the Stratovanian vanished before their eyes. "How do you know he won't blow things up as soon as he returns?"
"Because I've removed all power from his Blowmen's horns," Ozma told him quietly. "He'll be all right, and for the kind of people he rules—Strut probably is the best sort of ruler they could have."
"If you ask me," observed the Cowardly Lion, shaking his mane vigorously, "the worst punishment anyone could have would be to live on wind pudding and air-ade. Wooof!"
"Oh, what a shame!" Dorothy ran over to the mantel where the flying stick had been standing. "The winged staff's gone! I rather had hoped we could keep it for Hallow'een or New Year's or something!"
"Haven't you had enough flying?" grinned the Scarecrow, settling on the green sofa beside Ozma. "By the way, where's the tell-all-escope?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Dorothy felt ruefully in the pocket of her coat. "I must have left it in Strut's Royal Pavilion!"