"Hello!" cried a bluff voice suddenly. "What's the matter here? Did you bust your balloon, little girl, or what?" Glancing up, Ozma saw a tall red-faced fellow in a leather apron just behind her. The head of the airman did look like a great balloon, and while Ozma quickly dried her tears, Atmos simply stared at the newcomer, almost forgetting his misfortune in his curiosity.
"What is this?" he whispered huskily. "I thought earth was inhabited by Princesses like yourself. Is this a Princess, too?"
"Hah, hah, hah!" roared the stranger, slapping his great thigh. "Do I look like a Princess?" Then, as the curiousness of a balloon's conversing struck him, his eyes grew rounder and rounder and his mouth hung open with astonishment.
"It's an airman," explained Ozma with dignity, "and I am the Princess of Oz."
"Airman!" muttered the big fellow under his breath. "Oz? Well, I've heard of Oz, but you're a long way from home, little lady, and where on earth did you pick up this fellow?"
"He's from the sky," Ozma hastened to inform him.
"And I've had a serious accident," added Atmos, to save the little fairy from telling her part in the affair.
"You look like an accident," observed the stranger, kneeling down beside the collapsed form of the airman. "Was it a puncture or an explosion?"
"A—a puncture," sighed Atmos, with a sidelong glance at Ozma, "but what manner of earth creature are you?"
"I'm an ornamental iron worker," announced the stranger proudly. "There's my shack over yonder. Rusty Ore is my name, and say!" He rose and looked triumphantly at the little fairy. "I believe I could blow this fellow up again. I've a bellows in the shop. Shall I try?"