Pretty soon he entered from another room--a rather lean and rather old Flathead, dressed much like the others of this strange race, and only distinguished from them by the sly and cunning expression of his face.

He kept his eyes half closed and looked through the slits of them at Ozma and Dorothy, who rose to receive him.
"Are you the Supreme Dictator of the Flatheads ?" inquired Ozma.
"Yes, that's me," he said, rubbing his hands slowly together.

"My word is law.

I'm the head of the Flatheads on this flat headland." "I am Princess Ozma of Oz, and I have come from the Emerald City to--" "Stop a minute," interrupted the Dictator, and turned to the man who had brought the girls there.

"Go away, Dictator Felo Flathead!" he commanded.