The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
“But this is terrible,” said the Tin Woodman. “How shall I ever get my
heart?”
“Or I my courage?” asked the Lion.
“Or I my brains?” wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes
with his coat sleeve.
“My dear friends,” said Oz, “I pray you not to speak of these little
things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I’m in at being found
out.”
“Doesn’t anyone else know you’re a humbug?” asked Dorothy.
“No one knows it but you four—and myself,” replied Oz. “I have fooled
everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a
great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will
not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible.”
“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it
that you appeared to me as a great Head?”
“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and I
will tell you all about it.”
He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and
they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the great
Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully
painted face.
“This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,” said Oz. “I stood behind the
screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open.”
“But how about the voice?” she inquired.
“Oh, I am a ventriloquist,” said the little man. “I can throw the sound
of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming out of
the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive you.” He showed
the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn when he seemed to be
the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that his terrible Beast was
nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their
sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that also
from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil was
poured upon it the ball burned fiercely.
“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for
being such a humbug.”
“I am—I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it was
the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of
chairs; and I will tell you my story.”
So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.
“I was born in Omaha—”
“Why, that isn’t very far from Kansas!” cried Dorothy.
“No, but it’s farther from here,” he said, shaking his head at her
sadly. “When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was very
well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird or
beast.” Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his ears
and looked everywhere to see where she was. “After a time,” continued
Oz, “I tired of that, and became a balloonist.”
“What is that?” asked Dorothy.
“A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of
people together and get them to pay to see the circus,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said, “I know.”
“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so
that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so
far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles
away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the
morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a
strange and beautiful country.
“It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself
in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds,
thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because
they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to.
“Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to
build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well.
Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call
it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green
spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green.”
“But isn’t everything here green?” asked Dorothy.
“No more than in any other city,” replied Oz; “but when you wear green
spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The
Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man
when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my
people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long that most of them
think it really is an Emerald City, and it certainly is a beautiful
place, abounding in jewels and precious metals, and every good thing
that is needed to make one happy. I have been good to the people, and
they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself
up and would not see any of them.
“One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical
powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do
wonderful things. There were four of them in this country, and they
ruled the people who live in the North and South and East and West.
Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South were good, and I knew
they would do me no harm; but the Witches of the East and West were
terribly wicked, and had they not thought I was more powerful than they
themselves, they would surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in
deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I
was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East.
When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would
only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I
am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises.”
“I think you are a very bad man,” said Dorothy.
“Oh, no, my dear; I’m really a very good man, but I’m a very bad
Wizard, I must admit.”
“Can’t you give me brains?” asked the Scarecrow.
“You don’t need them. You are learning something every day. A baby has
brains, but it doesn’t know much. Experience is the only thing that
brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the more experience
you are sure to get.”
“That may all be true,” said the Scarecrow, “but I shall be very
unhappy unless you give me brains.”
The false Wizard looked at him carefully.
“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not much of a magician, as I said;
but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head
with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find
that out for yourself.”
“Oh, thank you—thank you!” cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to use
them, never fear!”
“But how about my courage?” asked the Lion anxiously.
“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is
confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid
when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are
afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”
“Perhaps I have, but I’m scared just the same,” said the Lion. “I shall
really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage that
makes one forget he is afraid.”
“Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,” replied Oz.
“How about my heart?” asked the Tin Woodman.
“Why, as for that,” answered Oz, “I think you are wrong to want a
heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in
luck not to have a heart.”
“That must be a matter of opinion,” said the Tin Woodman. “For my part,
I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will give me
the heart.”
“Very well,” answered Oz meekly. “Come to me tomorrow and you shall
have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as well
continue the part a little longer.”
“And now,” said Dorothy, “how am I to get back to Kansas?”
“We shall have to think about that,” replied the little man. “Give me
two or three days to consider the matter and I’ll try to find a way to
carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as
my guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon
you and obey your slightest wish. There is only one thing I ask in
return for my help—such as it is. You must keep my secret and tell no
one I am a humbug.”
They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to
their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that “The Great and
Terrible Humbug,” as she called him, would find a way to send her back
to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him everything.
Chapter XVI
The Magic Art of the Great Humbug
Next morning the Scarecrow said to his friends:
“Congratulate me. I am going to Oz to get my brains at last. When I
return I shall be as other men are.”
“I have always liked you as you were,” said Dorothy simply.
“It is kind of you to like a Scarecrow,” he replied. “But surely you
will think more of me when you hear the splendid thoughts my new brain
is going to turn out.” Then he said good-bye to them all in a cheerful
voice and went to the Throne Room, where he rapped upon the door.
“Come in,” said Oz.
The Scarecrow went in and found the little man sitting down by the
window, engaged in deep thought.
“I have come for my brains,” remarked the Scarecrow, a little uneasily.
“Oh, yes; sit down in that chair, please,” replied Oz. “You must excuse
me for taking your head off, but I shall have to do it in order to put
your brains in their proper place.”
“That’s all right,” said the Scarecrow. “You are quite welcome to take
my head off, as long as it will be a better one when you put it on
again.”
So the Wizard unfastened his head and emptied out the straw. Then he
entered the back room and took up a measure of bran, which he mixed
with a great many pins and needles. Having shaken them together
thoroughly, he filled the top of the Scarecrow’s head with the mixture
and stuffed the rest of the space with straw, to hold it in place.
When he had fastened the Scarecrow’s head on his body again he said to
him, “Hereafter you will be a great man, for I have given you a lot of
bran-new brains.”
The Scarecrow was both pleased and proud at the fulfillment of his
greatest wish, and having thanked Oz warmly he went back to his
friends.
Dorothy looked at him curiously. His head was quite bulged out at the
top with brains.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I feel wise indeed,” he answered earnestly. “When I get used to my
brains I shall know everything.”
“Why are those needles and pins sticking out of your head?” asked the
Tin Woodman.
“That is proof that he is sharp,” remarked the Lion.
“Well, I must go to Oz and get my heart,” said the Woodman. So he
walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door.
“Come in,” called Oz, and the Woodman entered and said, “I have come
for my heart.”
“Very well,” answered the little man. “But I shall have to cut a hole
in your breast, so I can put your heart in the right place. I hope it
won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, no,” answered the Woodman. “I shall not feel it at all.”
So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith’s shears and cut a small, square hole
in the left side of the Tin Woodman’s breast. Then, going to a chest of
drawers, he took out a pretty heart, made entirely of silk and stuffed
with sawdust.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” he asked.
“It is, indeed!” replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased. “But is
it a kind heart?”
“Oh, very!” answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman’s breast and
then replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly together where it
had been cut.
“There,” said he; “now you have a heart that any man might be proud of.
I’m sorry I had to put a patch on your breast, but it really couldn’t
be helped.”
“Never mind the patch,” exclaimed the happy Woodman. “I am very
grateful to you, and shall never forget your kindness.”
“Don’t speak of it,” replied Oz.
Then the Tin Woodman went back to his friends, who wished him every joy