cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well
jones_casey

  • Music:

i think the trouble is that we haven't been properly introduced

"allow me, miss patchwork," said the shaggy man, "to present my friend, the right royal scarecrow of oz. scarecrow, this is miss scraps patches; scraps, this is the scarecrow. scarecrow--scraps; scraps--scarecrow."

they both bowed with much dignity.

"forgive me for staring so rudely," said the scarecrow, "but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld."

"that is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful," murmured scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head. "but, tell me, good sir, are you not a trifle lumpy?"

"yes, of course; that's my straw, you know. it bunches up, sometimes, in spite of all my efforts to keep it even. doesn't your straw ever bunch?"

"oh, i'm stuffed with cotton," said scraps. "it never bunches, but it's inclined to pack down and make me sag."

"but cotton is a high-grade stuffing. i may say it is even more stylish, not to say aristocratic, than straw," said the scarecrow politely. "still, it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely should have the best stuffing there is going. i-- er--i'm so glad i've met you, miss scraps! introduce us again, shaggy."

"once is enough," replied the shaggy man, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm.

"then tell me where you found her, and--dear me, what a queer cat! what are you made of--gelatine?"

"pure glass," answered the cat, proud to have attracted the scarecrow's attention. "i am much more beautiful than the patchwork girl. i'm transparent, and scraps isn't; i've pink brains-- you can see 'em work; and i've a ruby heart, finely polished, while scraps hasn't any heart at all."

"no more have i," said the scarecrow, shaking hands with scraps, as if to congratulate her on the fact. "i've a friend, the tin woodman, who has a heart, but i find i get along pretty well without one. and so--well, well! here's a little munchkin boy, too. shake hands, my little man. how are you?"

ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove that served the scarecrow for a hand, and the scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the straw in his glove crackled.

meantime, the woozy had approached the sawhorse and begun to sniff at it. the sawhorse resented this familiarity and with a sudden kick pounded the woozy squarely on its head with one gold-shod foot.

"take that, you monster!" it cried angrily.

the woozy never even winked.

"to be sure," he said; "i'll take anything i have to. but don't make me angry, you wooden beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you up."

the sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly and kicked again, but the woozy trotted away and said to the scarecrow:

"what a sweet disposition that creature has! i advise you to chop it up for kindling-wood and use me to ride upon. my back is flat and you can't fall off."

"i think the trouble is that you haven't been properly introduced," said the scarecrow, regarding the woozy with much wonder, for he had never seen such a queer animal before.







^from (here


bythos gave me (after exit music for a film) a song called yellow brick road! true story!
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