One ham and twenty-four biscuits,
Three quarts of potato salad,
One six-pound sausage."
"Monstrous!" muttered the Queen, tapping her foot indignantly on the floor. "They shall pay well for this."
"Why, that's a mere bite for a fellow like me," rumbled the Hunger Tiger, impatiently, "and I ate most of it."
"Who—who are you?" demanded Dad, holding on to the arms of his chair and blinking nervously at the great beast.
"I am the Hungry Tiger of Oz, and these are my friends. We are on our way to the Emerald City. This little girl is Betsy Bobbin and allow me to present the Vegetable Man and the Pasha of—"
"Your tale drags," yawned her Majesty, fanning herself with her handkerchief. "Cut it short. Time is money down here and the thing for you to do is to pay up and settle down."
"How clearly you put things," murmured Dad, looking affectionately at his Queen. Betsy had been staring at Her Highness in perfect astonishment, for she was made entirely of money. Her face and hair were of purest gold, her hands and feet of silver and her dress was made from hundreds of yellow bills that crinkled crisply when she moved. Yet, with all her glitter and brilliance, she seemed to Betsy the hardest and most disagreeable being she had ever met. Dad, himself looked kind and care-worn, resembling vaguely many of the daddies Betsy had known in the United States. If he had just decided things for himself and not depended so much upon the Queen, Betsy would have liked him better.
