It was a sad journey for Ojo, for
without the wing of the yellow butterfly he saw
no way to save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited
six years for the Crooked Magician to make a
new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was
utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he
groaned aloud.
"Is anything hurting you?" inquired the Tin
Woodman in a kindly tone, for the Emperor
was with the party.
"I'm Ojo the Unlucky," replied the boy. "I
might have known I would fail in anything
I tried to do."
"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?" asked the tin
man.
"Because I was born on a Friday."
"Friday is not unlucky," declared the Emperor.
"It's just one of seven days. Do you suppose all
the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the
time?"
"It was the thirteenth day of the month," said
Ojo.
"Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number,"
replied the Tin Woodman. "All my good luck seems
to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most
people never notice the good luck that comes to
them with the number 13, and yet if the least bit
of bad luck falls on that day, they blame it to
the number, and not to the proper cause."
"Thirteen's my lucky number, too," remarked the
Scarecrow.
"And mine," said Scraps.
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