olks wild folks, eh? Then it's dangerous."

"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the phonograph. "Listen. This song
will prove a rare treat to you, I know. It made the author rich--for an
author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"

Then the phonograph began to play. A strain of odd, jerky sounds was
followed by these words, sung by a man through his nose with great
vigor of expression:

"Ah wants mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu;
Ah wants mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!
Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu,
There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"

"Here--shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man, springing to his feet.
"What do you mean by such impertinence?"

"It's the latest popular song," declared the phonograph, speaking in a
sulky tone of voice.

"A popular song?"

"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember the words of and those
ignorant of music can whistle or sing. That makes a popular song
popular, and the time is coming when it will take the place of all
other songs."

"That time won't come to us, just yet," said the Shaggy Man, sternly:
"I'm something of a singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled
by any Lulus like your coal-black one. I shall take you all apart, Mr.
Phony, and scatter your pieces far and wide over the country, as a
matter of kindness to the people you might meet if allowed to run
around loose. Having performed this painful duty I shall--"

But before he could say more the phonograph turned and dashed up the
road as fast as its four table-legs could carry it, and soon it had
entirely disappeared from their view.

The Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed well pleased. "Some one else
will save me the trouble of scattering that phonograph," said he; "for
it is not possible that such a music-maker can last long in the Land of
Oz. When you are rested, friends, let us go on our way."

During the afternoon the travelers found themselves in a lonely and
uninhabited part of the country. Even the fields were no longer
cultivated and the country began to resemble a wilderness. The road of
yellow bricks seemed to have been neglected and became uneven and more
difficult to walk upon. Scrubby under-brush grew on either side of the
way, while huge rocks were scattered around in abundance.

But this did not deter Ojo and his friends from trudging on, and they
beguiled the journey with jokes and cheerful conversation. Toward
evening they reached a crystal spring which gushed