Chapter II
Torpedo followed the road paved with contact paper to a cornfield, where she stopped to rest.
She perched herself on the fence that separated the road from the field and opened the basket the Witch of the North had given her. It contained a quantity of bread and cheese, and a little jar of no-scuff silver shoe polish. Satisfied that she had just what she needed for her journey, she closed the basket.
She thought she heard a rustling in the cornstalks behind her, but upon turning around she discovered that there was nobody there but a Scarecrow, stuck up high on a pole. There was no one who could have made the rustling there except for a lone yellow crow that perched on the suffed man's shoulder, but as it remained perfectly motionless, she decided that it must have been stuffed also, and turned away.
Torpedo presently heard the rustling again, and this time when she turned around, she observed the Scarecrow scratching furiously at his neck. She saw her looking at him in bewilderment, and he hastily explained: "I should have asked for hay instead of straw. It doesn't itch so much."
Torpedo crossed the fence and stood before the Scarecrow. "You're...alive?" she ventured.
"Of course I'm not alive," replied the Scarecrow, propping his arms up on the horizontal slat that was lashed onto the pole for that very purpose. "I'm a scarecrow."
"I can see that." Torpedo frowned. "You look awfully familiar...Aren't you dressed a bit much like a jester to be an effective scarecrow?"
The Scarecrow turned up his bill in disdain. "An effective scarecrow in today's crow-scaring market needs to be innovative," he informed her. "I've found that jinglebells do the job quite nicely."
Torpedo nodded at the crow on the stuffed man's shoulder, and pointed out: "They don't seem to have worked on that one."
The Scarecrow fidgeted. "Ah, yes, well...This particular crow seems to be a bit hard of hearing." He shook his head fiercely, making quite a racket with the jinglebells on his jester's hat. The yellow crow just continued to stare straight ahead and grin toothily. The Scarecrow sighed. "What I need is a foghorn," he declared.
"What you need is a brain," mumbled Torpedo in disgust.
"Ah, a brain!" The Scarecrow perked up a little. "It would be nice to have one of those, wouldn't it? Where do you suppose I could get one?" He didn't wait for Torpedo to answer. "By the by," he continued, "who are you and where are you going? I don't get many chances to meet anyone way out here."
The tern decided that there was no harm in telling the Scarecrow her name and destination. "My name is Torpedo," she informed the stuffed man, "and I am going to see the great Wizard of Oz to ask him to give me some direction in life."
"You're going all the way to the Emerald City?" the Scarecrow asked, astounded. "Won't that take a while?" Again, he didn't wait for an answer to his question. "Do you suppose the Wizard could give me a brain?"
Torpedo grunted. "He'd have to penetrate that thick skull first...but he is a wizard, so maybe he can." She paused. "I suppose now you're going to ask if you can go with me."
"Ask to go with you?" The Scarecrow brightened. "That's a good idea."
"Come on, then," Torpedo said, giving in. As things were already so odd, she concluded that a walking, talking scarecrow accompanying her to the Emerald City would not be so bad. She reached up and lifted the Scarecrow easily off his pole - as he was stuffed with straw, which made him quite light - and set him on the ground.
The Scarecrow stumbled around for a moment before gaining his balance, and Torpedo had to hold his arm to keep him from falling flat on his face.
"Thank you," said the stuffed man gratefully.
Torpedo couldn't help being a bit concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked him.
"Oh, I will be," answered the Scarecrow, "if there aren't any mice around."
"What's the matter with mice?" Torpedo had to know.
"Well," explained the Scarecrow, "I'm made of straw, and mice like to make their nests in straw. I was never afraid of being made into mouse nests before, because I was up on that pole, but now that I'm down here on the ground..." He looked at Torpedo questioningly. "Do you think there might be mice around here?"
Torpedo shrugged. "Field mice maybe," she said. "This is a field."
The Scarecrow became nervous. "Oh, dear," he said. "What we need is a mouser...small dogs make good mousers. Do you have a dog?"
Torpedo spread her arms out helplessly. "Do I look like I have a dog?"
The Scarecrow eyed her reproachfully. "You ought to have a dog," he stated.
Torpedo sighed. "I suppose it's the fault of the props department that I don't have one."
"Well, here." The Scarecrow reached up his sleeve and pulled out a small stuffed toy dog mounted on the end of a wooden dowel that measured about a yard long. He offered it to Torpedo, who took it gingerly. She held the stick out before her with the dog resting on the ground. It didn't look very lifelike.
"Push the button on the handle," the Scarecrow told her when she shot him a withering look.
Torpedo found the small trigger-like button, and pushed it. The dog squeaked and gave a little hop forward.
"Oh, you can't be serious!" wailed the tern.
"What's the matter? It's a fine mouser. Here, let me take that basket for you."
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
The road continued on past the cornfield, and entered a dark wood bordering a swift stream.
When Torpedo paused at the edge of the trees, the Scarecrow became concerned. "Is there something wrong?" he asked her.
"No," answered the girl, "but the road goes straight into this forest."
"If the road goes in, it must come out again," responded the Scarecrow, "and if the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we need to follow it."
"Anybody would know that," said Torpedo. "Even someone without a brain. Well, then, let's go in."
After only a few paces into the forest, Torpedo could not help noticing a small cottage at the edge of the road, built simply, out of logs and branches.
"It's a bit close to the road, don't you think?" remarked the Scarecrow. "The fellow that lives in there must get awfully tired of hearing people tromp by all afternoon."
"Uh-huh." Torpedo kicked a path for herself in the leaves that covered the obviously long-ago disused contact-paper-covered road. "Well, he must be fuming by now."
"Unnnnh."
Torpedo looked up at the Scarecrow. "You know," she began, "brainless or not, somehow I had you figured as being above gutteral monosyllabic communication."
"Huh?" asked the Scarecrow.
"Unnhh...Oooh...Err."
Torpedo gasped. "What was that?"
The Scarecrow pointed to a clump of cherry trees next to the cottage. "It came from over there," he noted helpfully.
Torpedo skirted around the trees to look, with the Scarecrow following close behind her. She stopped short upon reaching the other side, however, genuinely surprised at what she saw.
There was a big chunk missing out of one of the largest of the cherry trees, as if someone had been chopping at it. Standing next to the tree, poised to strike again with his axe, was a man who appeared to have been made entirely of tin. Torpedo and the Scarecrow watched him carefully for a full minute, but during that time the man did not move at all, so finally Torpedo made up her mind to talk to him.
"Are you...all right?"
"Do I look all right to you?" snapped the tin man rudely. "What do you care, anyway?"
"He's a bit crabby, isn't he?"
The tin man rolled his eyes to glare at the Scarecrow through his goggles. "Oh yeah?" he demanded "Well, you'd be tee'ed off too, if you'd been stuck for ages in one position just because the weatherman decided to overlook a ninety-five percent chance of showers!"
Torpedo frowned. "Then I take it you're rusted?"
The tin man looked at her in surprise, then turned his attention back to the Scarecrow. "Observant little hick, isn't she?" he remarked.
The tern yanked on her braids. "Can we assist you in any way?" she inquired through clenched teeth.
"Get an oilcan and oil me!" returned the Tin Woodman, irritated.
"Anyone would know that," the Scarecrow pointed out.
"There's an oilcan in my cottage," concluded the Tin Woodman.
Torpedo turned wordlessly and entered the cottage, where she found the afore-mentioned oilcan on a shelf next to a set of jumper cables. She went back outside and, without waiting for further instructions, oiled the tin man's neck, arms, and legs.
The Tin Woodman set down his axe with an agonized groan, then proceeded to test the workings of his joints in silence.
Torpedo waited patiently for a few moments, then became angry.
"Well, aren't you going to thank me?" she blurted.
The Tin Woodman gave the tern a distasteful look. "What for?" he snapped.
Torpedo clicked her tongue sharply. "For saving your life!" she yelled at him.
Shrugging, The Tin Woodman picked up his axe again, and hoisted it to his shoulder. "Oh, I couldn't do that," he said.
"And why not?"
"Because I wasn't alive to begin with, so it would be lying. And - " he added, " - I couldn't tell a lie." He finished chopping down the cherry tree.
Torpedo whacked the downed tree with the toy dog, which squeaked. "Oh, you're a vicious, heartless creature!" she snarled. "May you oxidate into nothing!"
The Scarecrow went to the Tin Woodman and patted him on the back reassuringly. "It's too bad you haven't got a heart," he consoled him. "I myself lack a brain. But I'm going with Torpedo to the Emerald City to ask the Great Oz to give me one. Why don't you come with us and ask him for a heart?"
Torpedo gaped at the Scarecrow in horror.
"Well..." The Tin Woodman mulled the proposition over. "I suppose I could go...there's not much to do around here." He reshouldered his axe.
"Great!" exclaimed the Scarecrow. "We'll probably need this," he added, picking up the oilcan from where Torpedo had dropped it and putting it in the wicker basket.