"But it's tied," answered the Queen of Down Town calmly. "What are the charges, officer?" "Ninety-nine dollars and sixty-eight cents," answered the officer hoarsely, and leaning over he handed Dad a long slip of paper. "But we only wanted a little breakfast," began Betsy tremulously, "and----" "A little breakfast!" wheezed Dad, and putting on his specs started to read off the list: "Twelve roasts, Four turkeys, One spring chicken, Three dozen tarts, Fourteen doughnuts One ham and twenty-four biscuits, Three quarts of potato salad, One six-pound sausage." "Monstrous!" muttered the Queen, tapping her foot indignantly on the floor. "They shall pay well for this." "Why, that's a mere bite for a fellow like me," rumbled the Hunger Tiger, impatiently, "and I ate most of it." "Who--who are you?" demanded Dad, holding on to the arms of his chair and blinking nervously at the great beast. "I am the Hungry Tiger of Oz, and these are my friends. We are on our way to the Emerald City. This little girl is Betsy Bobbin and allow me to present the Vegetable Man and the Pasha of--" "Your tale drags," yawned her Majesty, fanning herself with her handkerchief. "Cut it short. Time is money down here and the thing for you to do is to pay up and settle down." "How clearly you put things," murmured Dad, looking affectionately at his Queen. Betsy had been staring at Her Highness in perfect astonishment, for she was made entirely of money. Her face and hair were of purest gold, her hands and feet of silver and her dress was made from hundreds of yellow bills that crinkled crisply when she moved. Yet, with all her glitter and brilliance, she seemed to Betsy the hardest and most disagreeable being she had ever met. Dad, himself looked kind and care-worn, resembling vaguely many of the daddies Betsy had known in the United States. If he had just decided things for himself and not depended so much upon the Queen, Betsy would have liked him better. "Well, are you ready to pay up?" asked Dad, looking from one to the other of the travellers. "Ninety-nine dollars and sixty-eight cents, please." "But we haven't any money," explained Betsy breathlessly. "We started off in such a hurry and--" "You should not have come Down Town if you had no money," muttered Dad reprovingly. "How dare you be without money?" cried the Queen, springing up in a perfect fury. "How dare you come Down Town without money?" "Now, don't get frenzied, Fi Nance," begged Dad, patting her anxiously on the hand. "They can easily make some money, you know." His words seemed to soothe the Queen. "That's so," she mused thoughtfully. "Anybody can make money Down Town, if they just try hard enough." Almost pleasantly she turned to Betsy. "You, my child," purred the Queen, resuming her seat, "you, may start as a cash girl. I myself was a cash girl once," she went on dreamily, "and now look at me--Fi Nance, Queen of Down Town. I'm simply made of money!"