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.