“I told you not to help him,” cried Scraps, coming over to stand beside Peter. “You’ll be sorry for this.”
“Oh, keep quiet!” mumbled Scrapper, mopping his forehead with his patched hanky. To tell the truth, the sudden disappearance of the Gnome King had upset him terribly. “I don’t see what you’re fussing about,” he finished fretfully. “Here you have a nice new slave to work for you. Out of my way there!”
Taking the old Quilty woman by the arm, he brushed rudely past Peter, unlocked the door and went out. As the key clicked in the lock, Peter sank down on the floor, the picture of discouragement.
“Why did you say that about Zamagoochie?” asked Scraps, dropping down beside the little boy and regarding him curiously.
“Because it was the first place that came into my head,” explained Peter. “Jimminy, but I hope it’s a long way from the Emerald City, and I hope something happens to keep him there.”
“Will the cloak take him anywhere he wants to go?” demanded Scraps. Peter nodded gloomily.
“Then good-bye to the Emerald City and Ozma!” moaned Scraps. “Good-bye to all of us.”
“Yes, but what’s to be done with the slave?” Grumpy had lifted the lid of the chest again and was regarding Peter with great interest.
“He’s not a slave!” exclaimed Scraps scornfully. “I can tell by his looks, he’s a mortal child like Dorothy and Betsy. How did you find your way to Oz, boy?” Peter was anxious to escape from the castle, but when Scraps assured him that there was no present hope of such a thing, he told her all that had happened since the balloon bird carried him off from Philadelphia. As the story progressed, Grumpy climbed out of the chest and sat as close to Peter as he could possibly squeeze.