"
"I'll speak to him about it," said the Tin Woodman.
"Do you remember loving a pretty Munchkin girl named
Nimmie Amee?"
"No," answered the Head. "That is a foolish question.
The heart in my body -- when I had a body -- might have
loved someone, for all I know, but a head isn't made to
love; it's made to think."
"Oh; do you think, then?"
"I used to think."
"You must have been shut up in this cupboard for
years and years. What have you thought about, in all
that time?"
"Nothing. That's another foolish question. A little
reflection will convince you that I have had nothing to
think about, except the boards on the inside of the
cupboard door, and it didn't take me long to think of
everything about those boards that could be thought of.
Then, of course, I quit thinking."
"And are you happy?"
"Happy? What's that?"
"Don't you know what happiness is?" inquired the Tin
Woodman.
"I haven't the faintest idea whether it's round or
square, or black or white, or what it is. And, if you
will pardon my lack of interest in it, I will say that
I don't care."
The Tin Woodman was much puzzled by these answers.
His traveling companions had grouped themselves at his
back, and had fixed their eyes on the Head and listened
to the conversation with much interest, but until now,
they had not interrupted because they thought the Tin
Woodman had the best right to talk to his own head and
renew acquaintance with it.
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