"You are on the Silver Island," said the Scarecrow slowly. "And I am the Emperor—or his good-for-nothing spirit—and tomorrow," the Scarecrow glared around wildly, "tomorrow I'll be eighty-five going on eighty-six." His voice broke and ended in a barely controlled sob.
"Doubt that," drawled the Doubtful Dromedary sleepily.
"Eighty-five years old!" gasped Dorothy. "Why, no one in Oz grows any older!"
"We are no longer in Oz." The Scarecrow shook his head sadly. Then, fixing the group with a puzzled stare, he exclaimed, "But how did you get here?"
"On a wish," said the Knight in a hollow voice.
"Yes," said Dorothy, "we've been hunting you all over Oz, and at last we came to Wish Way, and I said 'I wish we were all with the Scarecrow,' just like that—and next minute—"
"We fell and fell—and fell—and fell," wheezed the Comfortable Camel.
"And fell—and fell—and fell—and fell," droned the Dromedary, "And—"
"Here you are," finished the Scarecrow hastily, for the Dromedary showed signs of going on forever.
