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Updated: June 29, 2025
Even the Cookie Cook, because she was quite a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it."
Then came the Lion, the Woozy and the Sawhorse; then Cayke the Cookie Cook and Button-Bright; then the Lavender Bear carrying the Pink Bear, and finally the Frogman and the Patchwork Girl, with Hank the Mule tagging behind. So it was the Wizard who caught the first glimpse of the big domed hall, but the others quickly followed and gathered in a wondering group just within the entrance.
"Not I!" laughed the Patchwork Girl, now standing on top the chandelier, at the place that was meant to be the bottom of it. "Don't talk of such dreadful things," said Trot, shuddering. "We came here to capture the Shoemaker, didn't we?" "And here we are, captured ourselves, and my darling dishpan up there in plain sight!" wailed the Cookie Cook, wiping her eyes on the tail of the Frogman's coat.
Black Jackum roared at this, and Bostock made a feint of splashing him, to the other blacks' great delight. Jackum dodged and ducked his head, Bostock keeping up the threatening till Jackum protested. "No no no," he cried. "Let feel um," and he stretched out his hands. "All right," cried Bostock, ceasing his watery threats; "feel then." "Feel cookie," said Jackum, solemnly. "Cookie brokum?"
Brandon in the stable yard, and another gentleman, and they want very particular to know where Master Johnnie is." "I can't say I know, cookie," answered Swan. "And," continued the same shrill voice, "if you can't tell 'em that, they'd like to know where Matthew is?" Matthew was the coachman, and Swan's rival.
“Oh, thank you so much, Dottie, for saving me,” said Bully. “I’ll give you this other piece of cookie I was saving for Bawly. He won’t mind.”
And though this day he had been on the trot all the sunshine through, nevertheless, when the sun was going down there was wee Gibbie upon the trot in the chilling and darkening streets. He had not had much to eat. He had been very near having a penny loaf. Half a cookie, which a stormy child had thrown away to ease his temper, had done further and perhaps better service in easing Gibbie's hunger.
The agent was forced to mop his forehead with his sleeve. "Say, hain't got a cookie or anything, and a cup o' milk, handy?" he said at the end of the first enormous word, which ran the whole length of the barn. Uncle Ethan got him the milk and oookie, which he ate with an exaggeratedly dainty action of his fingers, seated meanwhile on the staging which Uncle Ripley had helped him to build.
No doubt the foreman of Ranch Number Ten had "slipped up" somewhere, and his chief, in a very few words and those of a brand not to be misunderstood, had taken him to task. At any rate Cookie was swelling with eager conjecture and Blenham was in an evil mood. All evening his spleen had been rising in his throat, near choking him; now suddenly he spewed it upon Bill Royce.
"If it wasn't for fear of Dick finding 'im," said Sam viciously, "or the boy, I'd just give it up, cookie." "If anybody finds 'im it'll be the skipper hisself," said the cook, lowering his voice as the person alluded to passed them on his way ashore. "He goes to the police station with the portrait and arsts them there. What chance 'ave we got after that?"
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