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Shaggy Man of Oz (version 2)

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<h2>CHAPTER 2 On the Isle of Conjo</h2> "Good afternoon, children," said the clown quite clearly and calmly. "G-g-g-good afternoon!" stammered Twink and Tom. The little clown suddenly doubled up with merriment and then gasped: "If you could only see yourselves! You're all eyes—positively bug-eyed if I ever saw anyone who was!" "But what are you doing in the television picture?" asked Twink, regaining a little of her composure. The clown disregarded her question and was suddenly serious. "Come on," he ordered. "Conjo can hold this picture only a few minutes and you just have time to walk through." <hr class="chap" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus13.jpg" width-obs="650" height-obs="337" alt=""/></div> <hr class="chap" /> "Walk through?" echoed Tom. "What do you mean?" "Start walking toward the television screen and you'll find out," answered the clown. "Or perhaps," he added, "you would rather stay there where it is raining and you can't go outdoors." "But you're only a picture," objected Twink. "Will you please do as I tell you and start walking toward the television screen?" asked the clown sternly. Twink and Tom looked at each other questioningly. Tom smiled and shrugged. "Might as well try it—can't do any harm," he said. "That's the spirit!" exclaimed the little clown, smiling again. "Just join hands and walk straight toward me." Tom took Twink's hand and the two children slowly advanced toward the television screen. The screen was nearly five feet high—several inches taller than the children—and almost six feet wide. So vivid and real was the picture that Twink imagined she could really walk right into it. Just as the children were about to take the last step that would bring them directly in front of the television screen, a sudden powerful gust of wind hit their backs and sent them tumbling forward. "This is where we'll catch it," thought Tom, sure that the wind must have blown them into the screen. He sat up, fully expecting to see the expensive screen torn to shreds. <hr class="chap" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus14.jpg" width-obs="253" height-obs="350" alt=""/></div> <hr class="chap" /> Instead he saw an expanse of rolling meadowland, and he felt the warm sun beating down on his head. Twink was sitting beside him on the green grass, staring about in utter bewilderment. Before them stood the clown, smiling broadly. "It's magic," breathed Twink, "pure magic." "Well, it's magic, all right," answered the clown, "but I wouldn't say how pure it is." "But what has become of our library, and how did we get here, and how can this be real, and why is it you're not upstairs in my room?" The questions tumbled out almost faster than Twink could ask them. "One question at a time, please," said the clown, "and I'll try to answer. Your library is right where it always is. This can be real because it is real. And I am not in your room because I belong here." "But, Twoffle," protested Tom, "we left you in Twink's room not fifteen minutes ago." "You didn't leave me there, and don't call me Twoffle," objected the clown. By this time Twink and Tom were standing up and brushing off their clothes. "But you are our Twoffle, you know," stated the girl. "We have had you for years and years." "I am not your Twoffle—of all the silly names," said the clown with some irritation. "I am my own Twiffle." "Then how is it you look so much like our Twoffle?" asked Tom, who noted the clown was the same size as Twoffle and looked like his double. "I was about to tell you," explained the clown, "that my name is Twiffle, and Twoffle is my third cousin." "Oh, so then you know Twoffle?" asked Twink curiously. "Know him?" replied Twiffle. "Of course I know him. And I also know you two very well. Many nights Twoffle and I have sat in your rooms with the moonlight streaming through the window and talked by the hour while you children slept." Twink and Tom said nothing. They were busy thinking. All this was so strange and had happened so unexpectedly and suddenly that they were still bewildered. Tom's eyes were puzzled as he asked: "Just before we came through the screen, you said something about Conjo being able to 'hold the picture for only a few minutes.' Who is Conjo?" Twiffle was suddenly alert. "That reminds me," he said, "that we must be on our way at once. Conjo is expecting you and we mustn't keep him waiting." Without another word, Twiffle started walking across the grass. The children followed. "But who is this Conjo, and where does he live?" asked Twink. "And what does he want with us?" added Tom. Without pausing to look at the children, Twiffle answered: "Conjo is a Wizard—the sole ruler of this island, the Isle of Conjo. He lives in the castle you can see in the distance. What he wants with you, he will undoubtedly tell you himself." With this, the little clown flashed Twink and Tom a bright smile and then walked steadily on toward the glittering castle. Twink found that she had no trouble at all in keeping up with Twiffle, because his legs were so short and his stride so small. She had plenty of time to pause occasionally and gather the colorful wild flowers that dotted the green meadowland. <hr class="chap" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus15.jpg" width-obs="472" height-obs="350" alt=""/></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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