“Dear father,” wrote Kuma, “a small mortal boy and a gnome came to my cottage yesterday afternoon. The boy is lost and the gnome quite evidently means mischief. Knowing the perils for a mortal boy traveling in a magic country, I offered to lend him my hand if he ever needed it. This morning he sent for help and I have dispatched my right arm and hand to help him escape from the Kingdom of Patch and am sending my left to you for instructions. Can you, by your magic, suggest a way to locate the gnome and keep the boy from harm? “Your dutiful and affectionate son Kuma.” Pushing his specs high on his forehead and knocking his wig sideways, Wumbo dashed over to his desk, and wrote: “Send your arm to the Emerald City. The gnome has gone there wearing a cloak of invisibility. Take a letter of warning to Ozma and find and hold the gnome till Ozma can by her magic overpower him.” Folding the paper, he slipped it into Kuma’s hand. The hand closed over it at once and in a flash the arm swept out of the cave and away over the Gillikin mountains. “Well,” sighed Wumbo, sinking into his chair, which immediately gave him a reassuring little hug, “that ought to help some. But the gnome certainly means to make trouble!” Wumbo had never mastered long-distance magic and his spells and chants worked only when he was present, but feeling that he had done all that he could without breaking the law, and being fatigued by so much thinking before breakfast, he gently clapped his hands. In a flash an appetizing repast floated in on a golden tray and settled upon his desk. Pulling up his chair, Wumbo mumbled a few words over the pens and pencils scattered about his desk. Next instant they had rolled to the floor and straightened up into an orchestra of five pieces. Softly and sweetly they began to play an old Oz quadrille and, somewhat soothed and comforted, the Wonder Worker began eating his breakfast. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER 17 Mystery In The Emerald City “Of course,” said Dorothy, leaning down to tie her gold slipper, “of course, Ozma has only been gone since yesterday, but even so, I think it would be fun to have a party to welcome her home.” “So do I! I love parties!” Clasping his knee with his clumsy, stuffed hand, the Scarecrow smiled down at the little girl. He had just walked over from his corn-ear residence and they were sitting cozily in a big swing on the front porch of the palace. “Where did Ozma go?” asked the Scarecrow, taking off his hat and smoothing back the few wisps of straw that served him for hair. “Just to spend the night with Glinda,” said Dorothy, picking up a book of party games and beginning to flip over the pages. “Ozma has her magic belt with her and is going to wish herself back at three o’clock. Why, what are you laughing at?” Putting down the book, Dorothy stared reproachfully at her companion.