"Rightful Ruler of Rash," corrected Reddy, with a cheerful bounce. Now that one of the magic rubies was in his possession anything seemed possible. "Hurry up!" he called over his shoulder to the Rash barber and singer. "We're almost there." And they almost were, for beyond a thin fringe of feather brush rose the high buildings and towers of the city they had seen in the moonlight. The trip across the fields of Down had been rather tiresome. The feet of the travellers sank at each step into the soft feathers, so that even the Hungry Tiger was panting a little when they reached the city itself. Over the gates, creaking backward and forward in the brisk morning breeze, was a large silver sign. "Down Town," read Betsy, squinting a little in the bright sunshine. "Why, it looks just like down town at home, Carter." "Home in Oz?" queried the Vegetable Man, pressing his nose against the bars. "No, in Oklahoma!" laughed Betsy hastily. "But let's go in. I see stores and hotels and everything!" "Hotels?" gulped the Hungry Tiger, pricking up his ears. "Hotels! B-r-r-r!" And before Betsy or anyone else could stop him, he had hurled himself headlong at the gates of Down Town. With a creak and bang, they burst open and the whole Rash company fell through. "Food!" roared the Hungry Tiger, charging at full speed down the main street. "Give us food!" At the tiger's roars, such citizens as were in the streets stopped in horror and astonishment. Then, right and left like startled hares, they darted, huddling into doorways, scurrying into side alleys, tumbling over one another in their frenzy to get away. In fact they were as amazed and terrified to see a tiger in their Down Town, as we would be to see one in ours, and when they glimpsed Carter Green, they ran faster than ever. "Stop!" shouted Betsy, flinging both arms around the tiger's neck to keep from falling off. "You're scaring everyone away. Stop! Here's a restaurant!" But the Hungry Tiger had already seen the tempting display of pies and roast turkey in the window. Turning so sharply that the Prince of Rash tumbled off backward, he rushed through the swinging doors and next minute they had the establishment to themselves. One look at the Hungry Tiger had been enough for the early morning customers. Grabbing their hats, and without waiting for their change, they pelted out the rear door of the shop, followed by three waiters and the screaming proprietor. "Oh, well," sighed Betsy, helping herself capably to a spring chicken that was turning slowly on a spit, "if they won't stay to wait on us, we must just help ourselves." "What fun!" chuckled Reddy, burying his nose in a cherry tart, while the barber and sad singer divided a huge sausage between them. The Vegetable Man, not requiring food, busied himself with counting the oranges and apples in the window and wondered wistfully whether he could not find a cart somewhere and stir up some trade.