"Now, don't ask me that, please." The Cowardly Lion raised his paw pleadingly and looked so uncomfortable Notta dropped the subject at once. He felt a little uncomfortable himself, for he had determined, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, to tie up the great creature and somehow or other deliver him to Mustafa. What else could he do? The clown sighed regretfully, for already he had taken a great fancy to the Cowardly Lion. But fancy or not, one could not risk turning blue, and he had Bob Up to think of. To gain the lion's confidence he decided to travel with him for a while toward the Emerald City and, so long as they did that with the fixed purpose of capturing the Cowardly Lion, Mustafa's ring could not turn black.
Notta said nothing of his plans to Bob, for the boy was so happy at the thought of visiting the Emerald City, and so delighted with this new and interesting friend, he hated to spoil a bit of his pleasure. So he merely opened another pack of Mustafa's sandwiches and they all had a cheerful breakfast together. Then, with Bob proudly riding the lion, they started off once again toward the north.
"Would you mind telling me why you pretended to be a huntsman?" asked the Cowardly Lion. He had been looking sideways at Notta for some time, trying to puzzle the thing out for himself.
"Not at all," chuckled the clown, chinning himself on the branch of a tree. "I disguised myself as a huntsman to frighten off any wild animals while we were asleep. I always disguise myself when there is danger in the wind—don't I, Bobbie?" The little boy nodded his head solemnly.
"Does it help?" asked the Cowardly Lion in an interested voice. Bob Up looked thoughtful, but as the clown nodded emphatically, he said nothing. It seemed to Bob that Notta always picked the wrong disguise, but the clown was so confident and cheerful about it he could not bear to discourage him. So he listened politely while Notta explained his rules of disguise, politeness, joke and run. When he had finished the Cowardly Lion shook his head.
"I suppose," said he, half closing his eyes, "that you cannot help your disguises any more than I can help my cowardice."
"It isn't that I am afraid," explained Notta hastily, "but I can fight better when I'm not looking like myself. When I look like myself I feel funny and when I feel funny, I can't fight."