“But I promised to keep it safe for the oztrich,” objected Peter uneasily, “and I can’t break my promise, can I?”
“You’d be breaking the egg, not your promise,” said Scraps earnestly. “Besides, Ozma’s more important than an oztrich egg.”
“I’ll threaten to throw it,” decided Peter. “Anyway, we’ll wait till we come to the Emerald City. Hello, what’s this?” Looming up ahead was a high yellow wall. With a snort of displeasure, the oztrich came to a halt.
“Do you see any gate?” he wheezed, curling his long neck around at Peter.
“I see something over there to the right,” answered the little boy, “but are you sure this is a safe place to go through?”
“No,” admitted the Oztrich hoarsely, “but unless we go through, how are we to go on to the Emerald City?”
“I’ll open the gate,” volunteered Scraps, slipping easily to the ground. Running over to the right, Scraps soon found the hollowed out space Peter had noticed, but instead of a gate, an upright piano was wedged into the opening. Scraps tried to see over the top, but it was too tall. Then she tried to shove it aside, but it was too heavy. So shrugging her shoulders and tossing back her yarn, Scraps sat down at the piano and started to play the Grand March of Oz, which she had been practicing faithfully on Dorothy’s piano back at the palace. At the first chord, the piano, as if moved on an invisible hinge, fell backwards and Scraps, taken entirely by surprise, jumped over the top. The oztrich was not slow to follow and he had barely jumped over the fallen piano before it snapped back into its upright position, shutting them into the queerest city Peter had yet seen.
