The Sniffer-snuffers will have to let us have the land we need to
survive, and that is all there is to it. Now, go home little girl. We
have a lot to attend to, and there really isn't any time for your
games."
"But I amb really the Queen!" objected she.
"Yes," said the butler, "and I am Charles Dickens. My wife is the Queen
of England. Now do run along." He shut the door before Ozma had a chance
to say anything more.
"This is not going at all as I planned," sighed Ozma. But the pungent
odor was already more than she could take, and she knew that she must
get to some fresh air immediately if she was to be of any practical use
to either the Sniffers or the denizens of the Lunechien Forest.
Dejectedly, she returned to the Sniffer Nation. She was gasping for air
by the time she arrived there, and so she breathed in several lungfuls
of the cleaner, purer stuff. It was a treat that she was grateful for.
"So what did Stinky McStink have to say?" President Schnozzle asked Ozma
upon her return.
"I did not get in to see Mr. McFoot," said Ozma sourly. "But I sure did
get a noseful of your immediate problem."
"Our immediate problem is the fact that a bunch of people with
stinky-feet are planning to attack and burn our village to the ground.
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