The turnstyle was a magic one, that Jenny had once found among the ruins of a magician’s house. It was a shiny contraption with four arms and rows of buttons marked COLOR, STYLE, SIZE, etc. When the proper buttons were pressed, the results were always satisfying.

  Jenny let Dorothy, Jellia, Betsy, and Trot do the talking, for she was busily engaged with the creature in the crow’s nest.

  “Now, let’s see your true form,” said Jenny, putting the little villain into the turnstyle and pressing several buttons.

  “No, no, no!” squealed the rubber victim. “Don’t expose me!”

  “This is for your own good,” said Jenny. “Your character has been too elastic. From now on, you’ll amount to something!”

  “I don’t want to amount to anything,” wailed the ghost. “I wanna be a mystery!”

  The ghost limped on its snipped toe as it went through the turnstyle. When it came out, the crow’s nest was gone, and a flat, pancake-shaped object rolled on its side toward Jenny.

  “Why, bless us!” laughed Jenny. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

  The flat creature was very much reduced in size and was wearing bells on its ears. A smell like dry mustard came from it.

  Jenny peered closely at it Then she burst out

  laughing.

  “why you’re no ghost at all! You’re nothing but the little flabbergasted Bell-snickle!”

  The flat-eyed creature stamped its feet and glared at Jenny, but it would not answer.

  “If you’re going to keep a dogged silence, there’s only one thing to do.”

  Once more she forced the creature through the turnstyle. It came out on a leash.

  Jenny picked up the end of the leash. “Now, you flat-headed little BELL-SNICKLE, come on!”

  “Exposed! Revealed! No more a mystery!” wailed the Bell-snickle, wringing its curly hands.

  “Ozma shall decide what to do with you,” said

  Jenny.

  “It doesn’t matter what becomes of me,” said the Bell-snickle. “My toe has been my undoing. There’s no reason for rubbing along.”

  “Ozma will give you a reason,” said Dorothy sympathetically. “Don’t take it too hard.”

  “I’ve always had it soft as rubber,” said the Bell-

  snickle.

  “You can’t go on like that in Oz,” spoke up Jellia in rather a severe tone. “Here, everyone is expected to be something useful.”

  “That’s right,” added Betsy, “you must make your

  mark.”

  “Make my mark? Be useful?” wailed the Snickle. “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have let myself get caught.”

  Dorothy, Betsy, Trot, and Jellia decided to remain in the shop and try the latest styles. Jenny went out and took the Snickle into her scalawagon.

  “Mind, now, no foolishness,” she warned it.

  The Snickle’s disagreeable odor filled the air. “We’ve got to do something about that,” thought Jenny.

  She steered directly toward the Elephant Fountain. There the crowd was so great that Jenny had a hard time driving through. The trees were dipping their

  roots into the fountain. Many stray people and animals loitered about Jenny drove to one of the spouts. Pulling the Snickle out of the scalawagon, she got him under the water and gave him a good dousing. The Snickle set up a roar. Then he whistled. Then he grunted like a pig. But the washing did not stop until every whiff of the flabbergas was gone.

  “Now you’re almost respectable enough to go to Ozma’s palace,” said Jenny. She dragged the Snickle back to her scalawagon.

  Just then the voice of Scraps came through the

  crowd:

  “Public traffic jammed up hard

  All along the boo-lee-vard!

  Are you friend or enemee?

  May I ask in poetree?” Scraps catapulted in front of Jenny’s scalawagon. Seeing the Bell-snickle, the patchwork girl stood on her head and chanted:

  “Tickle the Snickle

  He’s full of woe,

  With a sick kick

  In a sore toe!” The crowd was delightei They pressed around the scalawagon. The Snickle stood on its flat edge and

  squinted, making ferocious noises and shaking its bells. Instead of being frightened, the people were amused. They shouted to the Snick to do more.

  When Jenny was able to steer her scalawagon out of the crowd, she drove directly to Ozma’s palace. Arriving there, she dismounted, jerked the Bell-snickle to its feet, and ran up the palace stairs.

  Ozma was standing on the balcony, overlooking the city. She turned to Jenny with a broad smile.

  “Hello, Duchess. So you brought the little mischief-maker. what do you want me to do with it?”

  “Why, I don’t know,” said Jenny. “I thought it my duty to bring it straight to you. For you’re the Queen, and its fate is in your hands.”

  Ozma laughed cheerily. “It’s not easy to deal with an unpleasant subject” She gave the Snickle a long look and then said, “Suppose I left it in your hands, Jenny. what would you do?”

  “Why-why, I’d have to think about that, your Highness,” stuttered Jenny.

  “Well, go ahead and think,” said Ozma, whose eyes were twinkling. “You’ve handled the situation so well this far, I’m sure you can find the solution.”

  Jenny sat down and put her chin in her hands. She began to think very hard. The Snickle crouched at her feet, quite well-mannered now, for it realized that

  it was in the presence of its queen.

  “I have it!” said Jenny, looking up.

  “Quick work,” said Ozma with a nod of approval. “What do you propose?”

  “If it please your Highness, I could use it in my shop,” said Jenny.

  “Good. Then it’s to be useful. But how can you use it, Jenny dear?”

  “I could put it through the turnstyle and make it smaller. And then it could make its stamp as a creature of mark.”

  “I see,” said Ozma.

  The Bell-snickle jerked its head up and said, “I don’t see at all. what’re you talking about?”

  “I mean that we could put your rubbering to some use,” laughed Jenny.

  The Bell-snickle howled, “It’s still a mystery! I thought I was the last of the mysteries!”

  “That’s pure conceit,” said Ozma with a gentle rebuke. “For there will always be some mysteries in Oz. We need them to keep up the people’s interest” Jenny said admiringly, “That’s what makes you such a popular queen, Ozma. You always think of ways to keep your people interested.”

  “Thank you,” said Ozrna. “But maybe we ought

  to enlighten the Bell-snickle a bit further.”

  Jenny looked down at the Snickle. “Did you ever hear of an important business conducted without a Rubber Stamp?” she asked.

  “No, never,” replied the Snickle promptly. “From now on, my Style Shop will have you for its Rubber Stamp.”

  The Snickle shuddered. “You mean I have to

  WORK?”

  “Your duties will be simple,” said Jenny. “You’ll do the same little thing over and over again.”

  “How simple?” persisted the Snickle, distrustfully.

  “Why, all you’ll have to do is fasten a little stamp to each costume that comes out of my turnstyle that will read: JENNY’S EXCLUSIVE MODEL— Easy,

  isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” grumbled the Snickle. “I’d be giving up my freedom!”

  “You only used your freedom to get into trouble,” put in Ozma. “Jenny’s idea is good. You are going to like your work. And everyone will respect you for

  it.”

  “Do you really think so?” said the Snickle, looking a little interested.

  “Of course,” Ozma assured it.

  The Snickle appeared to think it over. Then it shook

  its head.

  “No, it won’t do.”

  “What’s the matter now?” said Jenny in exasperation.

  “Not enough variety. I’m a creature of talent. I’ve always led a spicy life. Spice the job, and I’ll take it.”

  Jenny looked at Ozma as if to say, “What can you do with someone like that?” Ozma’s patient smile answered her.

  “I think you’re right,” said Ozma to the Bell-snickle. “Spice is the variety of life, isn’t it?”

  “You bet!” said the Snick.

  “No, I never do. I don’t consider it queen-like,” said Ozma. “But about this variety-I think I can provide you with plenty.”

  “Kindly explain,” said the Snickle haughtily.

  Ozma laughed. “There are a good many things going on in Oz that I intend to put a stop to,” she said. “For instance, my forest scouts report that Munchkin seeds have been blown into Quadling country, and blue grass is growing among the red. I intend to put a stop to that.”

  “You should-at once,” said the Snickle. “Blue grass among the red! It’s enough to give one eye-strain.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Ozma. “And then, there’s an impertinent house in Apple Alley that keeps its shutters closed all day and open all night. That’s got to be stopped!”

  “You bet!” said the Snickle.

  “No, never,” said the queen. “But if you’ll accept the position, I’ll appoint you my Royal Rubber Stopper.”

  “Oh, Your Majesty!” exclaimed the Snickle, overcome by this honor. “A Rubber Stamp and a Rubber Stopper, all in the same day. I don’t know what to

  say!”

  “Never mind. Go along with Duchess Jenny now. Your troubles are stamped out forever!”

  Jenny rose and bid Ozma goodbye. She led the Snickle away, just as a fresh commotion sounded within the palace.

  CHAPTER 24

  Ozma Holds Court

  THE commotion came from Ozma’s Throne Room. Ozma knew it was time to hold court. She left the balcony and hurried to a high room decorated in crystal and gauze.

  Within the Throne Room stood Ozma’s throne, carved out of a single huge emerald. On either side of it crouched the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. Aunt Em, who loved to attend Court, sat in the rear, knitting a pair of socks for Uncle Henry. The Soldier with the Green Whiskers raised his trumpet and blew a salute to the Queen. All the people waiting there bowed low as Ozma ascended her throne. Jellia, dressed in a fresh style, handed Oz-ma her crown and sceptre. The Queen pointed the sceptre at the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.

  “Call the first case,” she said.

  “Your Highness, I can’t call ‘em, for there are too many of ‘em. A whole forest,” said the Soldier. “But I have allowed Kabumpo to represent ‘em.”

  The Soldier waved his trumpet at Kabumpo the Elephant. Kabumpo came forward. In that mighty Throne Room, he looked small for his size. Ojo, his keeper, had dressed him in a robe sewn with gems and had polished his skin until it shone.

  “Kabumpo, you look lovely,” said Ozma, smiling at the Elephant

  “Thank you, your Majesty. You look like a queen, yourself,” said the Elephant, with a courteous wave of his trunk.

  “What’s this about a forest?” said Ozma. “Is it the same forest that I saw in my magic picture?”

  “Probably,” said Kabumpo. “It’s a visiting delegation of trees. But I fear that these will outstay the time permitted to visitors. They mean to take root

  here!”

  “That’s impossible,” said Ozma, drawing her brows together seriously. “They’re purple, and they’d clash with the color scheme of our city.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell them, your Highness,” interposed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers. “But they were bound to stay.”

  “That’s because they haven’t any other place to be,” said Kabumpo quickly. “Please show them mercy, Ozma.”

  “Of course,” said Ozma, smiling her kindliest smile.

  “But I must be fafr. Now, let me think.”

  She put her head on her hand and thought. Everyone was very quiet.

  “I have it,” she said, at last.

  The Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger began to applaud by thumping their tails on the floor.

  “Thank you,” said Ozma. She put her hand on her magic belt, and giving It a little rub, said,

  “Foresters of Oz, appear before me.”

  There was a sound like wind passing through the chamber. The curtains blew inward, and there, standing before the throne, was a band of tiny woodsmen. They were dressed in waterproof breeches and fireproof vests. They had long green feathers in their caps. Their yellow, blue, red, and purple faces showed them to be from every country of Oz.

  “Woodsmen, welcome,” said Ozma.

  “Greetings, your Majesty,” spoke one of the band.

  “How goes your work of putting out forest fires started by the breath of careless dragons?”

  “Well, your Majesty.”

  “You have no complaint?”

  “Well …” The man hesitated.

  “Go on,” urged the Queen. “Don’t be afraid to register any complaint.”

  “It’s those scalawagons, your Highness. They’re very willing, and fine for groundwork. But they aren’t quite what we need in the upper branches of our profession. We could see over more territory if we were elevated at our posts.”

  Ozma smiled happily. “That is why I have summoned you. I have a band of roving, do-nothing trees.

  They can lead useful lives and help you to higher posts. My carpenters will build platforms high in the

  trees. You men can do your scouting from there. Each will be responsible for one tree, lead it to water whenever it is thirsty, and hold a monthly reunion.”

  “A valuable idea, your Majesty,” said the forester, giving Ozma a look of admiration.

  Again the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger applauded by thumping their tails on the floor. The others in the Throne Room joined in the applause. When the applause was over, Aunt Em’s voice came from the rear,

  “There’s just one thing I can’t understand. Whatever do trees need to hold reunions for?”

  Ozma looked over at Aunt Em. “The trees will benefit one another. The Spruce will remind them to keep their appearances neat. The Box Elders will teach them how to put up a good fight, using the Hemlock. The Sass-afras will learn to hold its tongue. There are ever so many reasons why the trees should get together like one big family.”

  Aunt Em nodded. “I approve of a family tree myself. You’re right, Ozma.”

  Ozma turned back to the little forest men. “You are free to go now. Join the trees at the Elephant Fountain. Kabumpo will take you there.”

  “Get on my back,” invited Kabumpo. The band of little men jumped onto Kabumpo’s

  back.

  “Comfortable?” asked Ozma. “Not quite, Your Majesty,” they said. Ozma raised her sceptre and beckoned to something at the side of the Throne Room. A large animal got to its feet and came forward. It was the Comfortable Camel, contentedly chewing its cud.

  “You want me to assist Kabumpo?” said the Camel. “If you please.” Ozma waited until half the band of woodsmen had climbed onto the Camel’s back. Then, as the two animals started out, she called, “Goodbye, and thank you all.”

  When the woodsmen were out of sight, Ozma looked at the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.

  “I’d like to go down to Jenny’s Style Shop and try some new clothes.”

  “And I’d like to have a game of marbles with the Guardian of the Gate,” said the Soldier. “But we must attend to business first, your Highness.”

  Ozma sighed. “You are right. Bring on the next

  case.”

  The Soldier with the Green Whiskers went to the door and admitted the eighty-eight Nota-bells. The bellmen lined up before the throne, dressed in their light green uniforms. They they bowed low.

  “You did a fine job of warning the city that the forest was moving on us,” said Ozma. “I wish to reward you. Is there anything you gentlemen would

  like?”

  The Vesper Bell spoke up promptly: “We’re tired of these uniforms. They’re not dignified enough for our new jobs. You might give us a couple of play suits.”

  Ozma answered, “I’ll take you over to the Style Shop myself. Jenny is sure to think of something youthful for you.”

  “Hurrah! We’ll look like bellboys,” shouted the Nota-bells.

  “But isn’t there something else you’d like? You performed a great service to our city, and you deserve more than uniforms,” said Ozma.

  Again the Vesper Bell answered promptly: “We haven’t had anything sweet since we left Sugar Mountain in Boboland. My sweet tooth is getting quite weak from undernourishment.”

  The Vesper Bellman put his fingers into his mouth and pulled out a small white tooth. Every other bellman put his finger into his mouth and took out his sweet tooth, holding it up in the air.

  “Oh, you poor things, losing your teeth like that!” said a voice within the courtroom crowd. There was a sound of weeping. Everyone turned to see the Town

  Crier shedding tears and wringing his hands most piteously.

  “There’s no need to feel so bad,” said the Vesper Bell. “Molasses would soon make our teeth stick.”

  “Why, then, you shall have molasses. Barrels of it!” declared Ozma.