I
was born at Portsea, Portsmouth, a few minutes before midnight on the
seventh of February, 1812, forty-four years before Mr. Baum was born. I
came to Oz in 1870, when Mr. Baum was only fourteen years old. He was
not destined to write about Oz until some thirty years later. Now, when
you come back, I'll tell you some more about my early days, and I'll
make sure that our friend Twain doesn't bask in his self-perceived
limelight while we're having our important discussions."
[Illustration]
"Now, you listen up, Mr. Dickens, sir," said Mark Twain with
mock anger, for they were actually the best of friends. "I resent that,
and I won't have you filling the boy's head with a lot of imaginary
adventures and strange connections between words. Next you'll be telling
him there's a link between the Land of Ev and Robert Evans--or even more
ludicrous--that Frank Oz and Michael Ovitz of Hollywood have a mystical
link to Oz because they have Oz in their names, or even more ludicrous,
that you and Chris Dulabone have a connection because you both have the
initials C.D. I mean, how far can you go with this stuff? I'm telling
the boy about real things and about real life..."
Dickens just shook his head slowly and turned to Graham. "I really don't
pay much attention to his rambling.
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