e. I may not be hungry, having eaten all those
things you gave me, but I consider this eating business a matter of
taste, and I like to realize what's going into me."

Ojo gave the beast what he wanted, but the Shaggy Man shook his shaggy
head reproachfully and said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to
convince as a Woozy.

At this moment a patter of footsteps was heard, and looking up they saw
the live phonograph standing before them. It seemed to have passed
through many adventures since Ojo and his comrades last saw the machine,
for the varnish of its wooden case was all marred and dented and
scratched in a way that gave it an aged and disreputable appearance.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard. "What has happened to you?"

"Nothing much," replied the phonograph in a sad and depressed voice.
"I've had enough things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock a
department store and furnish half a dozen bargain-counters."

"Are you so broken up that you can't play?" asked Scraps.

"No; I still am able to grind out delicious music. Just now I've a
record on tap that is really superb," said the phonograph, growing more
cheerful.

"That is too bad," remarked Ojo. "We've no objection to you as a
machine, you know; but as a music-maker we hate you."

"Then why was I ever invented?" demanded the machine, in a tone of
indignant protest.

They looked at one another inquiringly, but no one could answer such a
puzzling question. Finally the Shaggy Man said:

"I'd like to hear the phonograph play."

Ojo sighed. "We've been very happy since we met you, sir," he said.

"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes one appreciate happiness
more. Tell me, Phony, what is this record like, which you say you have
on tap?"

"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands the common people have
gone wild over it."

"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then it's dangerous."

"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the phonograph. "Listen. This song
will prove a rare treat to you, I know. It made the author rich--for an
author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"

Then the phonograph began to play. A strain of odd, jerky sounds was
followed by these words, sung by a man through his nose with great
vigor of expression:

"Ah want mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu;
Ah want mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!
Ah love mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu,
There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"

"Here--shut that off!