“That cannot be done,” he said. “We belong to this country alone, and cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet, and I suppose there never will be, for they don’t belong there. We shall be glad to serve you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross the desert. Good-bye.” And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew away through the window, followed by all his band.
Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. “I have wasted the charm of the Golden Cap to no purpose,” she said, “for the Winged Monkeys cannot help me.” “It is certainly too bad!” said the tender-hearted Woodman. The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so horribly that Dorothy feared it would burst. “Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers,” he said, “and ask his advice.” So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly, for while Oz was alive he never was allowed to come farther than the door. “This little girl,” said the Scarecrow to the soldier, “wishes to cross the desert. How can she do so?” “I cannot tell,” answered the soldier, “for nobody has ever crossed the desert, unless it is Oz himself.” “Is there no one who can help me?” asked Dorothy earnestly. “Glinda might,” he suggested. “Who is Glinda?” inquired the Scarecrow.