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The Cowardly Lion of Oz

careless of you, Tazzywaller, to bring me half a lion— the wrong half, too! Monstrous annoying to see the back legs and tail of a lion jumping about in the reservation. Unnatural, I call it.”

“But, your Highness will remember that had not a fortunate blow of my scimitar cut off the right half of the lion I would have been devoured, eaten, destroyed!”

Tazzywaller’s eyes bulged at the unhappy recollection.

“I'd have endeavored to console myself,” sniffed Mustafa disagreeably, “and Panapee would make an excellent chamberlain, But this is wasting time. I must have another lion. A lion, I tell you, at once!”

Mustafa’s voice rose to a roar. Springing from his throne, he began stamping first one foot, then the other. The round face of poor Tazzywaller grew paler at each stamp.

“But there are no more lions in Mudge,” he pleaded, “Your Highness must know that, The royal hunters have tracked them all down, and even if there were more, we cannot afford another single lion. I beg of your Highness to consider the nine thousand nine hun- dred and ninety-nine already cating us out of our san- dals. The Mudgers are complaining of the lion tax—”

“Silence!” screamed Mustafa, jumping into the air

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