"Were you ever alive before?" asked Dorothy curiously. The dummy shook his head. "If talking and walking around like this is being alive, then I never have," said the dummy positively. "What shall I do now?" "Why anything you like," laughed Dorothy, beginning to enjoy herself. "But a dummy can only do as he's told," sighed the stuffed king doubtfully. "And who are you my dear? Have you run off to go into the movies?" He looked at Dorothy critically from all sides. "Not bad at all," he murmured approvingly. "They'll be glad to get you, I'm sure. Just stay here with me and presently they will come in a truck and collect us. Yes, that's the ticket, we'll wait until we are collected." "Well, I'm not a ticket," giggled Dorothy, "and I don't want to be collected or go into the movies either. I'm going straight back to Oz, as soon as I can." "Oz?" queried the dummy, pressing his finger to his forehead. "Is that a place or a tonic?" "It's a place," sputtered Dorothy. "Oh dear, wouldn't Ozma be surprised to see you! You know, you're awfully like Scraps and the Scarecrow." "They sound rather awful," smiled the dummy, folding his cloak around him dubiously. "Are they dummies too?" "No, but they're stuffed," explained Dorothy, leaning over to poke him experimentally in the chest. "You talk very queerly. I do wonder what you are stuffed with!" "Hair, I think," yawned the dummy indifferently, and leaning over he picked up his crown and set it jauntily upon the side of his head. "I wouldn't go back to that Oz place if I were you," he advised earnestly. "Stay here and you can see a moving picture every day--exciting and adventurous stuff too." "But what's the fun of looking at other folks having adventures," sniffed Dorothy. "In Oz we have adventures ourselves, and in Oz I'm a Princess and live in a castle." The dummy turned and looked at her respectfully. "A Princess," he murmured in a faint voice. "Oh!" "Have you any name?" asked Dorothy, rather ashamed of her boast about being a Princess. "Well, there's a number on the back of my neck, but I don't think I have any name," answered the stuffed man uneasily. "I'm just a dummy, you know." "But I wouldn't like to call you a dummy," said Dorothy gently. "Well that's what I am," insisted the stuffed king cheerfully, "a regular dummy." Tiptoeing round back of him, Dorothy pulled out a little tag on the back of his collar. "202-B-E-10-B-47" read the little girl. "My, what a long number." "Yes, isn't it," replied the dummy proudly. "Couldn't you call me by that?" "I could never remember it," objected Dorothy. "Let--me--see, I might call you Clifford 'cause you fell off a cliff, or Cal, 'cause I found you in California? Do you know, you are dreadfully humpy in spots. Humpy! Why I believe I'll call you Humpy!" cried Dorothy, clapping her hands softly. "Oooh! Ouch! What's that?" In sudden terror Dorothy clutched at her left shoe.