"But a dummy can only do as he's told," sighed the stuffed king doubtfully. "And who are you my dear? Have you run off to go into the movies?" He looked at Dorothy critically from all sides. "Not bad at all," he murmured approvingly. "They'll be glad to get you, I'm sure. Just stay here with me and presently they will come in a truck and collect us. Yes, that's the ticket, we'll wait until we are collected."
"Well, I'm not a ticket," giggled Dorothy, "and I don't want to be collected or go into the movies either. I'm going straight back to Oz, as soon as I can."
"Oz?" queried the dummy, pressing his finger to his forehead. "Is that a place or a tonic?"
"It's a place," sputtered Dorothy. "Oh dear, wouldn't Ozma be surprised to see you! You know, you're awfully like Scraps and the Scarecrow."
"They sound rather awful," smiled the dummy, folding his cloak around him dubiously. "Are they dummies too?"
"No, but they're stuffed," explained Dorothy, leaning over to poke him experimentally in the chest. "You talk very queerly. I do wonder what you are stuffed with!"
"Hair, I think," yawned the dummy indifferently, and leaning over he picked up his crown and set it jauntily upon the side of his head. "I wouldn't go back to that Oz place if I were you," he advised earnestly. "Stay here and you can see a moving picture every day—exciting and adventurous stuff too."