The Little Green Goblin
Date: 2020-02-18T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy fiction; Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Goblins -- Juvenile fiction

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Green Goblin

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Title: The Little Green Goblin

Author: J. B. Naylor

Illustrator: Harry L. Miller

Release date: February 18, 2020 [eBook #61441]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Mary Glenn Krause and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the Library of Congress (https://www.loc.gov/) and Internet Archive (https://archive.org)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GREEN GOBLIN ***

The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Little Green Goblin, by James Ball Naylor, Illustrated by Harry L. Miller

Note:

Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive--See https://archive.org/details/littlegreengobli00nayl and through the Library of Congress--See https://www.loc.gov/item/07024772

It was a most beautiful sight, that city. (See page 103.)

The Little Green
Goblin

By
JAMES BALL NAYLOR.

ILLUSTRATED By
·HARRY·L·MILLER·

THE
SAALFIELD
PUBLISHING
COMPANY.

·NEW YORK· ·AKRON·OHIO· ·CHICAGO·

H. L. Miller · 1907.

COPYRIGHT, 1907
By
The Saalfield Publishing Company

ILLUSTRATIONS

It was a most beautiful sight, that city. | Frontispiece
A broad band of moonlight streamed in at the open window. | 36
He picked up a large knotted pole for a cane. | 82
Two giants stood triumphantly grinning down upon twenty pygmies. | 134
Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office. | 160
“If you’re rested now, we’ll resume our sight-seeing.” | 176

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER | | PAGE
I. | A Midnight Visit from the Little Green Goblin | 9
II. | Bob Becomes an Aëronaut | 25
III. | Through a Storm in a Balloon | 43
IV. | In Danger of the Sea | 57
V. | In which Bob Becomes a Giant | 71
VI. | Lost in the Desert | 87
VII. | Fitz Mee Magnetizes the Spring | 101
VIII. | The Balloonists Encounter Arabs | 117
IX. | A Wireless Message to Headquarters | 131
X. | Arrived in Goblinland | 143
XI. | In the Land where You Do as You Please | 159
XII. | Before the Mayor of Goblinland | 173

CHAPTER I
A MIDNIGHT VISIT FROM THE LITTLE GREEN GOBLIN

Little Bob Taylor was mad, discouraged, and thoroughly miserable. Things had gone wrong—as things have the perverse habit of doing with mischievous, fun-loving boys of ten—and he was disgruntled, disgusted. The school year drawing to a close had been one of dreary drudgery; at least that was the retrospective view he took of it. And warm, sunshiny weather had come—the season for outdoor sports and vagrant rambles—and the end was not yet. Still he was a galley slave in the gilded barge of modern education; and open and desperate rebellion was in his heart.

One lesson was not disposed of before another intrusively presented itself, and tasks at home multiplied with a fecundity rivaling that of the evils of Pandora’s box. Yes, Bob was all out of sorts. School was a bore; tasks at home were a botheration, and life was a frank failure. He knew it; and what he knew he knew.

He had come from school on this particular day in an irritable, surly mood, to find that the lawn needed mowing, that the flower-beds needed weeding,—and just when he desired to steal away upon the wooded hillside back of the house and make buckeye whistles! He had demurred, grumbled and growled, and his father had rebuked him. Then he had complained of a headache, and his mother had given him a pill—a pill! think of it—and sent him off to bed.

So here he was, tossing upon his own little bed in his own little room at the back of the house. It was twilight. The window was open, and the sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle flowers floated in to him. Birds were chirping and twittering as they settled themselves to rest among the sheltering boughs of the wild cherry tree just without, and the sounds of laughter and song came from the rooms beneath, where the other members of the family were making merry. Bob was hurt, grieved. Was there such a thing as justice in the whole world? He doubted it! And he wriggled and squirmed from one side of the bed to the other, kicked the footboard and dug his fists into the pillows—burning with anger and consuming with self-pity. At last the gathering storm of his contending emotions culminated in a downpour of tears, and weeping, he fell asleep.

“Hello! Hello, Bob! Hello, Bob Taylor!”

Bob popped up in bed, threw off the light coverings and stared about him. A broad band of moonlight streamed in at the open window, making the room almost as light as day. Not a sound was to be heard. The youngster peered into the shadowy corners and out into the black hallway, straining his ears. The clock down stairs struck ten deliberate, measured strokes.

“I thought I heard somebody calling me,” the lad muttered; “I must have been dreaming.”

He dropped back upon his pillows and closed his eyes.

“Hello, Bob!”

The boy again sprang to a sitting posture, as quick as a jack-in-a-box, his eyes and mouth wide open. He was startled, a little frightened.

“Hel—hello yourself!” he quavered.

“I’m helloing you,” the voice replied. “I’ve no need to hello myself; I’m awake.”

Bob looked all around, but could not locate the speaker.

“I’m awake, too,” he muttered; “at least I guess I am.”

“Yes, you’re awake all right enough now,” the voice said; “but I nearly yelled a lung loose getting you awake.”

“Well, where are you?” the boy cried.

A hoarse, rasping chuckle was the answer, apparently coming from the open window. Bob turned his eyes in that direction and blinked and stared, and blinked again; for there upon the sill, distinctly visible in the streaming white moonlight, stood the oddest, most grotesque figure the boy had ever beheld. Was it a dwarfed and deformed bit of humanity, or a gigantic frog masquerading in the garb of a man? Bob could not tell; so he ventured the very natural query:

“What are you?”

“I’m a goblin,” his nocturnal visitor made reply, in a harsh strident, parrot-like voice.

“A goblin?” Bob questioned.

“Yes.”

“Well, what’s a goblin?”

“Don’t you know?” in evident surprise.

“No.”

“Why, boy—boy! Your education has been sadly amiss.”

“I know it,” Bob replied with unction, his school grievances returning in full force to his mind. “But what is a goblin? Anything like a gobbler?”

“Stuff!” his visitor exclaimed in a tone of deep disgust. “Anything like a gobbler! Bob, you ought to be ashamed. Do I look anything like a turkey?”

“No, you look like a frog,” the boy laughed.

“Shut up!” the goblin croaked.

“I won’t!” snapped the boy.

“Look here!” cried the goblin. “Surely you know what goblins are. You’ve read of ’em—you’ve seen their pictures in books, haven’t you?”

“I think I have,” Bob said reflectively, “but I don’t know just what they are.”

“You know what a man is, don’t you?” the goblin queried.

“Of course.”

“Well, what is a man?”

“Huh?” the lad cried sharply.

“What is a man?”

“Why, a man’s a—a—a man,” Bob answered, lamely.

“Good—very good;” the goblin chuckled, interlocking his slim fingers over his protuberant abdomen and rocking himself to and fro upon his slender legs. “I see your schooling’s done you some good. Yes, a man’s a man, and a goblin’s a goblin. Understand? It’s all as clear as muddy water, when you think it over. Hey?”

“You explain things just like my teacher does,” the boy muttered peevishly.

“How’s that?” the goblin inquired, seating himself upon the sill and drawing his knees up to his chin.

“Why, when we ask him a question, he asks us one in return; and when we answer it, he tangles us all up and leaves us that way.”

“Does he?” the goblin grinned.

“Yes, he does,” sullenly.

“He must be a good teacher.”

“He is good—good for nothing,” snappishly.

The goblin hugged his slim shanks and laughed silently. He was a diminutive fellow, not more than a foot in height. His head was large; his body was pursy. A pair of big, waggling ears, a broad, flat nose, two small, pop eyes and a wide mouth made up his features. His dress consisted of a brimless, peaked cap, cutaway coat, long waistcoat, tight fitting trousers and a pair of tiny shoes—all of a vivid green color. His was indeed an uncouth and queer figure!

“Say!” Bob cried, suddenly.

“Huh?” the goblin ejaculated, throwing back his head and nimbly scratching his chin with the toe of his shoe.

“What are you called?”

“Sometimes I’m called the Little Green Goblin of Goblinville.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

“But what’s your name?”

“Fitz.”

“Fitz?”

“Yes.”

“Fitz what?”

“Fitz Mee.”

“Fits you?” laughed Bob. “I guess it does.”

“No!” rasped the goblin. “Not Fitz Hugh; Fitz Mee.”

“That’s what I said,” giggled the boy, “fits you.”

“I know you did; but I didn’t. I said Fitz Mee.”

“I can’t see the difference,” said Bob, with a puzzled shake of the head.

“Oh, you can’t!” sneered the goblin.

“No, I can’t!”—bristling pugnaciously.

“Huh!”—contemptuously—“I say my name is Fitz Mee; you say it is Fitz Hugh; and you can’t see the difference, hey?”

“Oh, that’s what you mean—that your name is Fitz Mee,” grinned Bob.

“Of course it’s what I mean,” the goblin muttered gratingly; “it’s what I said; and a goblin always says what he means and means what he says.”

“Where’s your home?” the boy ventured to inquire.

“In Goblinville,” was the crisp reply.

“Goblinville?”

“Yes; the capital of Goblinland.”

“And where’s that?”

“A long distance east or a long distance west.”

“Well, which?”

“Either or both.”

“Oh, that can’t be!” Bob cried.

“It can’t?”

“Why, no.”

“Why can’t it?”

“The place can’t be east and west both—from here.”

“But it can, and it is,” the goblin insisted.

“Is that so?”—in profound wonder.

“Yes; it’s on the opposite side of the globe.”

“Oh, I see.”

The goblin nodded, batting his pop eyes.

“Well, what are you doing here?” Bob pursued.

“Talking to you,” grinned the goblin.

“I know that,” the lad grumbled irritably. “But what brought you here?”

“A balloon.”

“Oh, pshaw! What did you come here for?”

“For you.”

“For me?”

“Yes; you don’t like to live in this country, and I’ve come to take you to a better one.”

“To Goblinland?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a better country than this—for boys?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“In what way is it better?” Bob demanded, shrewdly. “Tell me about it.”

“Well,” the goblin went on to explain, unclasping his hands and stretching his slender legs full length upon the window-sill, “in your country a boy isn’t permitted to do what pleases him, but is compelled to do what pleases others. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, it is,” the lad muttered.

“But in our land,” the goblin continued, “a boy isn’t permitted to do what pleases others, but is compelled to do what pleases himself.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Bob, surprised and pleased. “That’s great. I’d like to live in Goblinland.”

“Of course you would,” said the goblin, placing a finger alongside of his flat nose and winking a pop eye. “Your parents and your teacher don’t know how to treat you—don’t appreciate you; they don’t understand boys. You’d better come along with me.”

“I’ve a notion to,” Bob replied thoughtfully. Then, abruptly: “But how did you find out about me, that I was dissatisfied with things here?”

“Oh, we know everything that’s going on,” the goblin grinned; “we get wireless telephone messages from all over the world. Whenever anybody says anything—or thinks anything, even—we learn of it; and if they’re in trouble some one of us good little goblins sets off to help them.”

“Why, how good of you!” Bob murmured, in sincere admiration. “You chaps are a bully lot!”

“Yes, indeed,” the goblin giggled; “we’re a good-hearted lot—we are. Oh, you’ll just love and worship us when you learn all about us!”

And the little green sprite almost choked with some suppressed emotion.

“I’m going with you,” the boy said, with sudden decision. “Will your balloon carry two, though?”

“We can manage that,” said the goblin. “Come here to the window and take a squint at my aërial vehicle.”

Bob crawled to the foot of the bed and peeped out the window. There hung the goblin’s balloon, anchored to the window-sill by means of a rope and hook. The bag looked like a big fat feather bed and the car resembled a large Willow clothes-basket. The boy was surprised, and not a little disappointed.

“And you came here in that thing?” he asked, unable to conceal the contempt he felt for the primitive and clumsy-looking contraption.

“Of course I did,” Fitz Mee made answer.

“And how did you get from the basket to the window here?”

“Slid down the anchor-rope.”

“Oh!” Bob gave an understanding nod. “And you’re going to climb the rope, when you go?”

“Yes; can you climb it?”

“Why, I—I could climb it,” Bob replied, slowly shaking his head; “but I’m not going to.”

“You’re not?” cried the goblin.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not going to risk my life in any such a balloon as that. It looks like an old feather bed.”

“It is a feather bed,” Fitz answered, complacently.

“What!”

The goblin nodded sagely.

“Whee!” the lad whistled. “You don’t mean what you say, do you? You mean it’s a bed tick filled with gas, don’t you?”

“I mean just what I say,” Fitz Mee replied, positively. “That balloon bag is a feather bed.”

“But a feather bed won’t float in the air,” Bob objected.

“Won’t it?” leered the goblin.

“No.”

“How do you know? Did you ever try one to see?”

“N—o.”

“Well, one feather, a downy feather, will fly in the air, and carry its own weight and a little more, won’t it?”

“Yes,” the lad admitted, wondering what the goblin was driving at.

“Then won’t thousands of feathers confined in a bag fly higher and lift more than one feather alone will?”

“No,” positively.

“Tut—tut!” snapped the goblin. “You don’t know anything of the law of physics, it appears. Won’t a thousand volumes of gas confined in a bag fly higher and lift more than one volume unconfined will?”

“Why, of course,” irritably.

“Well!”—triumphantly,—“don’t the same law apply to feathers? Say!”

“I—I don’t know,” Bob stammered, puzzled but unconvinced.

“To be sure it does,” the goblin continued, smoothly. “I know; I’ve tried it. And you can see for yourself that my balloon’s a success.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t carry me,” Bob objected; “I’m too heavy.”

“I’ll have to shrink you,” Fitz Mee said quietly.

“Shrink me?” drawing back in alarm bordering on consternation.

“Yes; it won’t hurt you.”

“How—how’re you going to do it?”

“I’ll show you.”

The goblin got upon his feet, took a small bottle from his waistcoat pocket and deliberately unscrewed the top and shook out a tiny tablet.

“There,” he said, “take that.”

“Uk-uh!” grunted Bob, compressing his lips and shaking his head. “I don’t like to take pills.”

“This isn’t a pill,” Fitz explained, “it’s a tablet.”

“It’s all the same,” the boy declared obstinately.

“Won’t you take it?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t go with me.”

“I can’t?”

The goblin shook his head.

“Isn’t there some other way you can—can shrink me?”

Again Fitz Mee silently shook his head.

“W-e-ll,” Bob said slowly and reluctantly, “I’ll take it. But, say?”

“Well?”

“What’ll it do to me—just make me smaller?”

“That’s all.”

“How small will it make me?”

“About my size,” grinned the goblin.

“Oo—h!” ejaculated Bob. “And will it make me as—as ugly as you are?” in grave concern.

The goblin clapped his hands over his stomach, wriggled this way and that and laughed till the tears ran down his fat cheeks.

“Oh—ho!” he gasped at last. “So you think me ugly, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” the lad admitted candidly, a little nettled.

“Well, that’s funny,” gurgled the goblin; “for that’s what I think of you. So you see the matter of looks is a matter of taste.”

“Huh!” Bob snorted contemptuously. “But will that tablet change my looks? That’s what I want to know.”

“No, it won’t,” was the reassuring reply.

“And will I always be small—like you?”

“Look here!” Fitz Mee croaked hoarsely. “If you’re going with me, stop asking fool questions and take this tablet.”

“Give it to me,” Bob muttered, in sheer desperation.

And he snatched the tablet and swallowed it.

Immediately he shrunk to the size of the goblin.

“My!” he cried. “It feels funny to be so little and light.”

He sprang from the bed to the window-sill, and anticly danced a jig in his night garment.

“Get into your clothes,” the goblin commanded, “and let’s be off.”

Bob nimbly leaped to the floor, tore off his night-robe and caught up his trousers. Then he paused, a look of comical consternation upon his apple face.

“What’s the matter?” giggled the goblin.

“Why—why,” the boy gasped, his mouth wide open, “my clothes are all a mile too big for me!”

Fitz Mee threw himself prone upon his stomach, pummeled and kicked the window-sill, and laughed uproariously.

CHAPTER II
BOB BECOMES AN AËRONAUT

“You stop that, you mean old thing!” Bob blustered angrily.

The goblin laughed the harder.

“Stop it, I say!” the boy shouted, loud enough to waken all the sleepers about the house, he thought.

The goblin continued to laugh and rub his fists and kick his heels.

“Oh, you think you’re smart!” the lad pouted, tears in his eyes, his lips quivering. “Old Fits! Old Spasms! Old Convulsions! Yeah! Yeah!”

“Here—here!” cried the goblin, springing to his feet and frowning darkly. “You mustn’t call me such names, boy.”

“I will!” sturdily.

“If you do, I’ll go away and leave you, just as you are.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What’re you mad about?”

“You played a mean trick on me, and then laughed at me—that’s what.”

“I didn’t play any trick on you.”

“You did, too. You coaxed me to take that pill.”

“Tablet, you mean.”

“Well, tablet. What’s the difference?”

“I persuaded you to take it.”

“It’s all the same.”

“And I forgot you didn’t have your clothes on. Now you’ll have to put ’em on and take another tablet to shrink them.”

“I won’t take it.”

“Why won’t you?”

“’Cause I won’t—that’s why. Think I want to live on pills? I don’t like ’em.”

“Are you afraid to take it?”

“No, I—I’m not. But it wouldn’t shrink my clothes, if I did take it.”

“Yes, it will. Look at your night-gown.”

Bob picked up his discarded night-robe and closely examined it. It was not larger than a doll’s dress. The lad grinned sheepishly, and began to hustle into his garments. They were a world too large for him, and hung upon his shrunken limbs in a baggy and outlandish fashion. His shoes were ten sizes too big; his cap rested upon his shoulders.

“Huh!” he muttered in disgust; “I look like a scarecrow.”

“Here!” the goblin said, soberly. “Take another tablet.”

Bob shook his head.

“What’s the matter, now?” asked Fitz.

“I’m afraid to take it,” the boy replied.

“What’re you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid it will shrink me all away to nothing.”

“No, it won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. These are goblin tablets; gob-tabs we Call ’em for short. They just shrink a person to goblin size; you can’t shrink any more. Take it now; it’ll just shrink your clothes.”

“W-e-ll, I—I don’t know; I can’t remain in this fix, though.” Then in sudden desperation:—“Give it to me; I’ll take it!”

The lad swallowed the tablet. Barely had he done so, when his clothes shrank to fit him—skin tight.

“Say!” he giggled gleefully, closely examining himself. “Those tablets are great.”

“Sure!” winked the goblin. “Now are you ready to go?”

“Why—why,” Bob faltered, “I’d like to bid my folks good-bye—especially mamma.”

“You’re in nice shape to bid your folks good-bye, now, aren’t you?” sneered the goblin.

“That’s so,” the boy muttered, sadly shaking his head. “But I do hate to leave ’em without saying anything about it—especially mamma.”

“Huh!” the goblin grunted, contemptuously. “You tell your mother of your intention and she won’t let you go.”

“Yes, that’s so.”

“Well, let’s be off; we’re losing too much time.”

“I—I can come back sometime, can’t I?”

“Pshaw;” snapped the goblin. “I guess you’re satisfied with things here and don’t want to go at all.”

“Yes, I do want to go.”

“Well, come on then—and no more fooling. I’ll be a good comrade to you; we’ll have lots of fun. I’ll call you Bob and you’ll call me Fitz. Oh, we’ll have a bully time!”

“All right!” the lad cried courageously. “I’m ready.”

“That’s the stuff!” chuckled the goblin.

They leaped upon the window-sill. Fitz Mee caught the anchor rope and shinned up it, and Bob nimbly followed.

As the lad clambered into the basket he remarked:

“Your balloon’s bigger than I thought it was, Fitz.”

“You’re smaller than you were, that’s all,” the goblin grinned in reply.

The car was indeed quite roomy and comfortable for such small beings. A box-shaped bench encircled it on the inside, serving as seat and locker, and at one side was a small tank of polished metal, with a pump attachment.

“What’s that thing?” the boy inquired, indicating the shining tank.

“What thing?” asked Fitz Mee.

“That shiny thing.”

“Why, that’s my air-tank and pump.”

“It looks just like the air machine papa has in his office,” Bob remarked. His father was a physician. “He uses his in treating people’s throats. What do you use yours for?”

“Don’t you know?” queried the goblin in surprise.

“No,” answered the boy.

“Well—well! It’s plain you never had anything to do with feather-bed ballooning. I use it in raising and lowering the balloon.”

“In raising and lowering the balloon?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Certainly; that’s what I said.”

“But how do you use it?”

“I’ll show you in a minute,” Fitz Mee answered complacently. “You know how they raise and lower gas balloons, don’t you?”

“Yes, I—I guess so,” the boy replied, a little dubiously. “The gas raises ’em.”

“Of course,” snapped the goblin, “that’s the lifting power, and feathers raise feather-bed balloons. But what do they use for ballast in gas balloons, eh?”

“Sand bags,” Bob answered.

“Yes,” the goblin pursued; “and when they want to go higher they throw out sand, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And when they want to come down what do they do?”

“Let the gas out of the bag,” Bob said at a venture.

“That’s it,” Fitz Mee nodded. “And then they can’t go up again till they’ve refilled the bag—eh?”

“I guess that’s the way of it.”

“To be sure it is. Well, we work the thing better with our feather-bed balloons.”

“We?” Bob cried. “Do all goblins use feather-bed balloons?”

“Of course we do; that’s the way we travel. Didn’t you know that?”

“No; I never heard of it.”

“My—my!” Fitz Mee laughed. “You have a lot to learn, Bob. But I’ll show you how I can bring my balloon to earth or send it to the skies in a jiffy. When I wish to descend I just pump that tank full of compressed air. See?”

“No, I don’t see,” Bob declared.

“You don’t?” muttered the goblin, in surprise and irritation.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why, compressed air’s heavier than ordinary air, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, then, when I get that tank full the balloon’s heavier; and the increased weight overcomes the buoyancy of the feathers, and down I come.”

“Oh!”—in open-mouth admiration,—“that’s great! And when you want to go up again you just let the compressed air out, don’t you?”

“Sure!” blinked the goblin. “I’ll show you.”

He caught hold of the anchor rope, jerked the hook loose from the window-sill, and wound up the slender line. Then he flew to the air apparatus and turned a cock. Immediately there was the hiss of pent air escaping through a hole in the bottom of the tank, and the balloon began to ascend—slowly and gently at first, then more swiftly.

When it was a short distance above the housetop Fitz Mee closed the cock, remarking:

“There! I guess that’ll balance us about right. We’ll rise a few hundred feet and float there.”

His prediction proved true. When the balloon had cleared the hilltops, it stopped rising and floated motionless, like a great bubble with a dripping blob at its pendant point.

“Say!” Bob cried, suddenly.

“Well?” said the goblin.

“That tank looks just like the one papa has in his office.”

“It is just like it,” the goblin assured him.

“And the car looks just like mamma’s old clothes-basket.”

“Yes.”

“And the bag looks just like grandma’s old feather-bed.”

The goblin nodded and winked and smiled.

“Well,” Bob declared triumphantly, “I could take those things and make me a balloon.”

“Of course you could,” grinned Fitz Mee, “if you were going to stay at home.”

“And couldn’t I have fun showing off before the other boys!” Bob chuckled, gloatingly.

“You’ll have lots more fun with me, in Goblinland,” his companion said quickly.

“Maybe I will,” the boy murmured reflectively, a little sadly. Then observing that the balloon had stopped rising:

“Why, what made us stop going up?”

“Don’t you know?” the goblin returned with a half sneer.

“No, I don’t,” the lad admitted.

“Ho, ho!” Fitz Mee laughed, “You’re wonderfully dumb, you are, Roberty-Boberty.”

Bob bristled instantly.

“Don’t you call me names,” he cried angrily. “You old—old Epilepsy!”

“Epilepsy!” the goblin cackled hoarsely, holding his sides and weaving to and fro. “What does that word mean?”

“Fits,” the boy answered tersely.

“Ho—ho!” the goblin continued to tackle. “You call me names, but you don’t want me to call you names. Say, Bob?”

Bob made no reply.

“Bob?” Fitz repeated in as pleasant a voice as he could command.

Bob maintained a stubborn silence.

“Bob,” his companion went on, “the reason we stopped rising is because the weight of the balloon just balances an equal volume of air at this height. Understand?”

“Yes,” the lad muttered rather grumpily.

“All right, and if we wished to go higher—”

“We’d have to let out more of the compressed air,” Bob interrupted, brightly.

“And if we desired to descend—”

“We’d have to pump more into the tank.”

“Of course,” mumbled the goblin. “You’ll make a great aëronaut one of these days.”

Then he lifted a lid of the locker, took out a small instrument and busied himself with the manipulation of its mechanism. Bob leaned over the edge of the car and devoted his attention to the scene below.

Directly beneath lay the sleeping village, its roofs showing white in the bright moonlight. To east and west the hills rolled away, their summits hoary, their bases shadowy and obscure; and among them wound the placid river—a stream of molten silver threading the narrow vale. The roar of the distant mill-dam sounded sullen and indistinct, and the mists rising from it waved as fairy plumes and banners. The lad looked and listened, entranced, enraptured.

“How beautiful it all is!” he murmured feelingly to himself, a catch in his voice. “I—I like it; and I rather hate to leave it.”

“Homesick already, are you, before you’re out of sight of home?” Fitz Mee queried, his eyes upon the curious instrument he had placed in the bottom of the car.

“No, I’m not homesick!” Bob retorted sharply.

“You’re not?” Fitz grinned provokingly. “What did you mean by your words, then?”

“I was just admiring the beautiful scene, that’s all,” Bob explained.

“Oh!” ejaculated the goblin, wagging his head and saucily extruding his tongue.

“Uh-huh,” the lad nodded in return.

“Well, I’ll show you scenes far more beautiful—in Goblinland.”

It was Bob’s turn to sneer.

“Maybe you will,” he said.

“I will,” Fitz asserted positively.

“When?”

“When we get there, of course.”

“Yes; when we get there.”

“Well, we’ll get there.”

“We’re not going very fast; we’re still right over the town.”

And the boy laughed aloud, scornfully.

“We haven’t started yet,” the goblin countered.

“No; and we’re not likely to start, as far as I can see—unless a wind storm comes on; and it may blow us in any direction.”

“Bosh!” barked the goblin.

“Bosh, yourself!” snarled the boy.

“Say, Bob?”

“What?”

“Let’s quit quarreling.”

“All right.”

“Shake!”

They solemnly shook hands.

“Now,” the goblin cried briskly, “if you’re ready to say good-bye to home, we’ll be off.”

“I’m ready,” the lad answered; “but I don’t see how we’re going to be off.”

“I’ll show you. See that little instrument on the floor of the car?”

“That compass?”

“That’s not a compass.”

A broad band of moonlight streamed in at the open window. (See page 11.)

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“Well, it looks like one. What is it?”

“A wireless selector.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve heard of wireless telegraph instruments?”

“Yes.”

“And you know they send messages with them without using wires, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then, too, you’ve heard or read that there are currents of electricity running around the globe in all directions, haven’t you?”

“I—I think I have; yes.”

“Well, the selector picks up or selects any current the operator desires, and enables him to travel over it in his balloon, using it as a propelling power.”

“Well—well!” Bob exploded, in frank admiration. “Just like a trolley car!”

“Yes, except no wire is needed.”

“I don’t see how you tell which way it’ll go, though.”

“The balloon?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll go whichever way the needle points.”

“Why will it?”

“Well, the needle of a compass points north, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why does it?”

“Because—because—I don’t know, I guess,” Bob admitted.

“Because the attraction swings it, isn’t that it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, if the attraction swings the needle, won’t the needle swing the attraction?”

“I—I don’t know,” the boy stammered; “I never heard of such a thing!”

“Isn’t it a poor rule that won’t work both ways?”

“Yes; that’s what folks say, anyhow.”

“Well, it is—a mighty poor rule. Now I’ll show you. Watch me. I desire to travel due east; so I point this little needle in that direction. That done, I turn this thumb-screw, and off we start.”

Slowly the balloon began to move toward the east, over the village, across the river, gradually leaving the valley behind.

“I turn the screw a little more and a little more,” said the goblin, suiting the action to the words, “and we begin to travel faster and faster.”

Soon they were going at a rapid and exhilarating speed. The air appeared to whistle past as they cut through it; the moonlit landscape appeared to flow away behind and beneath them.

“My—my!” Bob cried, gleefully clapping his hands. “I never expected to travel as fast as this. Fitz, this is simply great.”

“You don’t call this gentle speed going fast, do you, Bob?” Fitz returned, grinning broadly.

“Indeed I do,” the boy replied earnestly.

“Oh, we’re just loafing along!” the goblin chuckled. “I’ll show you how I travel when I’m in a hurry to get along. Take off your cap, or you’ll lose it, and hold on to the car. Now!”

With the last word he gave another turn to the thumb-screw of the selector. The balloon leaped forward like a mad thing of life; the fragile car strained and quivered. Bob clutched the seat with both hands and held on for dear life. The air appeared to rush past in a cutting, shrieking tempest of wrath, that blinded and deafened the boy. He tried to scream out, but could not. He felt his grip upon the seat weakening, and, fearing he might be swept overboard, he loosened his hold and threw himself to the bottom of the car. There he lay, panting and gasping—sick with mortal terror. Then, of a sudden, the mad speed of the balloon began to slacken and the boy gradually gathered up courage to open his eyes and look around.

There sat the impish Fitz Mee by the selector, his hand upon the thumb-screw.

“Hello!” the goblin grinned apishly.

“Hello!” the boy muttered in reply.

“How did you like it?” queried the goblin.

“I didn’t like it,” answered the lad.

“Wasn’t it fast enough for you?”

“Too fast.”

“Oh!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wouldn’t you like to try it just a little bit faster, eh?”

“No sir!”

“It’s great fun—when you learn to like it.”

“Yes,” Bob grumbled; “and taking pills is great fun—when you learn to like ’em.”

“I can make the balloon go faster,” Fitz suggested.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bob grinned, shaking his head.

They got up and seated themselves upon the locker.

“Well,” the goblin remarked, yawning, “what do you think of us goblins as balloonists?”

“I think you’re the candy,” Bob replied, his voice and manner evincing profound admiration.

“The candy?” snickered his companion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I think you’re the best ever.”

“Oh! Better than you humans, eh?”

“Far better.”

“That so?”

“Yes, indeed. And When I come back from Goblinland, I’m going to get patents on your air-ballast machine and your wireless selector; and some day I’ll be a mighty rich man—a millionaire.”

The goblin grinned a very broad grin.

“You’re going to take out patents on our inventions, you say, Bob?” he remarked.

“Yes,” the boy made reply.

“When you return from Goblinland, eh?”

“Yes.”

Fitz Mee gulped and screwed his features. Then he began to chuckle silently, and at last he burst out laughing.

“What’s the matter?” Bob inquired, half in wonder, half in pique.

“Oh, it’s so funny,” croaked the goblin, and he went into another spasm of rasping, cackling laughter.

“It must be funny,” the boy grunted peevishly. “But what’s so funny?”

“The thought of your returning from Goblinland, Bob,” Fitz Mee replied, sobering and wiping his eyes.

“Why, can’t I return—if I ever want to?”

“You can, I suppose; but I doubt if you ever will.”

“Why?”

“Oh, ’cause.”

“Well, ’cause what?”

“You won’t want to, after you’ve been there a day or two.”

“That’s it, eh?”

The goblin nodded and winked seriocomically, mysteriously. Then he said:

“Now we’ve got to ascend a few thousand feet to clear the tops of the Alleghany mountains. Let a little more air out of the tank. There—that’s enough. It’ll be quite cool at the altitude to which we’ll rise, so we’d better put on the fur coats that are in the locker under you, Bob, and curl down in the car and snooze awhile.”

A few minutes later the two were asleep and the feather-bed balloon was topping the Alleghanies.

CHAPTER III
THROUGH A STORM IN A BALLOON

On awaking Bob was a little confused. But soon he remembered where he was, and he sat up and blinked and looked around for his companion. Fitz Mee stood upon the locker, a tiny binocular glued to his pop eyes, gazing intently at the western horizon. It was gray daylight, and they were making good speed.

“What’s the matter, Fitz?” Bob demanded, alert and interested at once. “What’re you looking at?”

“Looking at a storm gathering,” the goblin replied, without turning his head.

The boy rose to his feet, removed his fur coat, and wadded it into a ball and stuffed it into the locker.

“Storm?” he said. “I don’t see any signs of a storm.”

“Don’t you see that blue line along the horizon?” Fitz asked.

“Yes. Is that the storm?”

“No; that’s the mountains we crossed. But take this glass and you can see the storm gathering on their tops. See it?”

“My!” Bob exclaimed, the glass to his eyes. “I guess I do see it! It’s a black one, too; and it’s moving this way. How soon will it overtake us?”

This question he asked in some trepidation.

“It won’t overtake us at all, unless we care to have it do so,” the goblin made answer.

“Why, can we outrun it?”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Sure, if we want to.”

“Well, we’ll want to, won’t we?”

“It’ll be fun to wait till it’s nearly upon us and then run away from it, I think. Don’t you?”

“I—I don’t know,” Bob returned, dubiously shaking his head, his gaze still riveted upon the rising storm; “it might not be fun.”

“You’re afraid,” sneered the goblin.

“No, I’m—I’m not.”

“Yes, you are; you’re a coward.”

“Don’t you call me that!” the lad cried, snatching the binocular from his eyes and angrily turning upon his Companion.

“I won’t,” the goblin promised. “Now turn your glass toward the east. What do you see?”

“I see the sea!” Bob cried rapturously.

“It’s plain to me as plain can be—

In fact, I see you see the sea,”

hummed Fitz Mee in sing-song. Then he continued:

“If you’ll take a glance at the ground beneath us, you’ll notice we’re moving very slowly. I’m loitering—waiting for the storm to catch up with us; then we’ll have a race with it, out across the ocean. In the meantime we’ll have breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Bob questioned. “Where’s breakfast coming from?”

“From the locker,” smiled the goblin, rubbing his round little belly and smacking his lips in anticipatory gusto, “where everything else we need’ll come from. I always keep my air-ship stored for a long voyage, for when I leave Goblinland on business, I never know when I’ll get back home again. Are you hungry?”

“You bet!” was the lad’s expressive but inelegant rejoinder.

“Well, what do you think you need this morning? You can have whatever you require.”

“What do I think I need?” Bob tittered. “What a question! I need breakfast, of course, Fitz.”

“Of course,” snapped the goblin. “But do you need muscle food, or nerve food, or fat food, or what?”

“I—I don’t know,” stammered the boy, scratching his head in perplexity. “I never heard of such things, I guess. I know what I’d like, though; I’d like steak and gravy and hot biscuits, and some fruit and a glass of milk.”

“Huh!” the goblin snorted in supreme contempt. “You’ll find, Bob, we don’t indulge in such indigestible truck in Goblinland. Our foods are scientifically prepared, not slapped together haphazard. We use nothing but the concentrated extracts—the active principals of food stuffs. I’ll show you.”

He went to the locker and brought forth a small leather hand-case or satchel.

“Why—why,” Bob muttered, his eyes bulging, “that looks just like papa’s medicine-case!”

“Well, it isn’t,” Fitz Mee grunted irritably; “it’s my portable pantry.”

And he loosened the catch and flung the case open, displaying several rows of tiny bottles containing tablets and pellets of various shapes, sizes and colors.

“Ugh!” the boy gagged. “Pills!”

“They’re not pills,” rasped the goblin; “they’re food tablets and drink pellets.”

“They’re pills to me, all the same.”

“They’re not pills, I tell you,” Fitz Mee reiterated sharply, snapping his jaws shut and angrily grating his teeth. “Now I’ll select what you’re to eat; and you’ll eat it. The storm’s approaching rapidly; I hear the thunder muttering and see the black clouds rolling. So you’ll need something to make you strong and courageous. Here’s a tiger-muscle tablet and a lion-heart tablet. Down ’em.”

Bob shut his mouth and shook his head.

“Down ’em!” the goblin repeated.

“Uk-uh!” the lad grunted.

“You must!”

“I won’t!”

“You’ll starve if you don’t eat.”

“I’d rather starve than take pills.”

“Nonsense!”

“I would!”

“It won’t take you but a second to swallow ’em, Bob,” Fitz Mee said coaxingly. “That’s one of the advantages of our kind of food; it don’t take long to eat a meal.”

“I never begrudged the time I spent in eating,” Bob remarked, with rather a sickly grin.

“Well, down the tablets—that’s a good boy.”

“Are those—those things all you’ve got to eat?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t you have anything else in Goblinland?”

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, dear!” wailed the boy. “I wish I was back home! Nothing to eat but pills! Golly!”

“There, there, Bob!” the goblin said soothingly, kindly even. “You don’t wish you were back home; you’re just hungry and nervous. Take these tablets and you’ll be all right in a jiffy.”

Bob silently held out his hand, his face a picture of lugubrious woe, and silently took the tablets and swallowed them.

Fitz Mee idly fingered the tiny bottles in the case for a minute or two, mumbling over the names upon the labels. Then he looked up and asked:

“Feel better, Bob?”

“Yes,” the lad admitted rather reluctantly, “I feel stronger and better, but I’m still awful empty.”

“But you’re not hungry?”

“No; just hollow-like.”

“That’s because you’ve been used to filling your stomach with gross food,” the goblin stated sagely; “you’ll get over that condition after you’ve lived on tablets and pellets a month or two.”

“A month or two!” the lad groaned. “Oh, dear!”

“You haven’t had anything to drink,” Fitz remarked, smiling brightly. “Take this pellet.”

“What is it?”

“A water pellet. It contains a pint of water.”

“That teenty-weenty thing?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, nonsense!”

“It does.”

“I don’t believe it; it can’t.”

“You down it and you’ll soon see.”

Bob took the tiny clear pellet and instantly announced:

“My thirst’s all gone, Fitz, and I feel fuller.”

“But you’re still a little lank—a little empty-like, eh?”

“A little, yes.”

“Well, I’ll fix you. Take this.”

“Oh, stop,” the boy demurred. “I’m not going to take all the pills in that case.”

“This is the last dose I’ll ask you to take,” the goblin returned, batting his eyes at a bright flash of lightning from the rapidly approaching storm.

“Well, what is it?” Bob demanded, dodging the sharp clap of thunder almost immediately following the lightning.

“A sponge tablet.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s to absorb some of the water you’ve taken, and to swell and fill your stomach.”

“I don’t want it—I don’t need it,” Bob said, decidedly shaking his head.

“All right,” Fitz laughed, “you don’t have to take it. We just make ’em for folks who aren’t satisfied unless their stomachs are full all the time. Now I’ll eat my breakfast.”

He hastily selected and swallowed a number of tablets and pellets; then he closed the leather case with a bang and a snap and thrust it into the locker.

“Now,” he smiled, “I guess we’re all ready to play tag with that tempest. And we’ll show it a thing or two—oh, won’t we!”

“Maybe it’ll show us a thing or two,” Bob replied, grinning a sickly grin and shaking his head dubiously. “It’s getting pretty close and I don’t like the looks of it. My! Just see those clouds rolling and whirling! Fitz, I believe it’s a cyclone!”

“No, it isn’t,” his companion muttered contemptuously; “it’s nothing but a summer thunder gust.”

By this time the storm was close upon them, coming swiftly. The lightning was forking and flashing incessantly; the thunder was crackling and crashing continuously. Bob gazed at the rolling, tumbling masses of black clouds, at the play of electricity, and the forest and fruit trees bending before the blast, and shivered; he listened to the mingled, indescribable uproar of booming thunder and bellowing wind, and shuddered.

“Oh, let’s be off, Fitz!” he pleaded.

“We’re off!” his comrade cried, giving a half turn to the thumb-screw of the selector.

Before the raging storm they sped, the boy frightened and miserable, the goblin elated and jubilant. Rapidly they approached the ocean, and soon they were sailing over a city on the shore. Binocular in hand, Bob watched the storm behind and the earth beneath, and trembled. He saw people rushing to shelter; saw fences and groves leveled, and skyscrapers and steeples sent crashing to earth.

“Oh, Fitz—Fitz!” the lad groaned. “It is a cyclone!”

“I guess it is,” the goblin answered nonchalantly.

“And it’s coming closer!” the boy cried in terror. “Let’s go faster!”

“Oh, this is all right; this is fine sport,” the goblin laughed, capering about the car and gleefully rubbing his hands.

Out over the ocean they flew—out of sight of land—out over the boundless expanse of heaving, tossing waters. After them raced the storm, each minute drawing a little nearer and a little nearer. It was almost upon them!

“Please, please let’s go faster, Fitz!” Bob screeched, dancing up and down in an ecstacy of keen affright.

But his shrill cry was whirled away in the tumult of rushing air that enveloped them, and if the goblin heard, which is doubtful, he paid no attention to his companion’s frantic plea. Then of a sudden the balloon stopped with a smart jerk and began to whirl round and round dizzily. Fitz Mee’s fat face went white as paper, and he let out a cry of alarm and dismay.

“What’s the matter, Fitz?” Bob bawled, staggering to his comrade’s side and shouting in his ear. “What’s the matter?”

“The lightning has magnetized the selector!” the goblin bellowed. “Look at the needle—pointing right back toward the storm! We’re drifting right back into it! There is nothing now to prevent it!”

It was too true!

Immediately they were engulfed—overwhelmed in the maelstrom of cloud and wind and rain. They could neither see nor hear for the fury of the elements. The balloon spun round and round like a top; the light car jerked and swayed and shot this way and that with lightning-like and awful suddenness. One of the small ropes supporting it broke and hung dangling from the side. Another parted and the car sagged dangerously. A frightful lurch and Fitz Mee was flung upon the locker, the breath knocked out of him; another lurch, and, with a despairing scream that sounded above the deafening tumult of the tornado, he rolled overboard and disappeared.

Bob threw himself into the bottom of the car, his eyes tight shut, his palms over his ears, and lay there groaning and moaning. His comrade was gone and he gave himself up for lost. Oh, how he wished he was safe at home! But in the midst of the tumultuous storm and his tumultuous thoughts a bright idea suddenly came to him. He started, he sprang to his feet and was flung flat again. Then, shaking his head and gritting his chattering teeth, he wriggled over to the air-tank and turned the cock. The hiss of the escaping air was music to him. Little by little the buffeted balloon rose, and soon it floated serenely above the zone of the warring winds and clouds. Bob was saved!

A little while he lay upon the floor of the car, looking at the clear sky overhead and wondering what he was to do. Then he thought of his lost companion, and murmured feelingly:

“Poor old Fitz! Poor old Spasms!”

As if in answer to his pitying words, he heard a voice calling faintly but snappishly:

“Bob, you rascal! Don’t you dare to call me Spasms!”

Electrified, the boy sprang to his feet and looked all around.

“Fitz!” he ejaculated. “But where can he be?” Then in superstitious fear:

“He’s dead; it must be his ghost!”

“Ghost nothing!” came the voice again, a little louder, more vigorous. “Bob, you’re a fool!”

“Is—is that you, Fitz?” the boy faltered in reply.

“Of course, dunce!”

“Well, where are you?”

“Right down here, dummy!”

Bob flew to the side of the car, hunkered upon the locker and peered over. There, a few feet down, was Fitz Mee hanging to one of the broken ropes.

“Why—why, Fitz, what are you doing down there?” Bob asked foolishly.

“Oh, just enjoying myself; surely you can see that,” the goblin sneered wrathfully. “But I’ve had enough; I’m no pig. Pull me up.”

“I don’t know whether I can or not,” Bob answered. “But reach me up your hand; I’ll try.”

After a deal of struggling and kicking and grunting on the part of both, Fitz was safely aboard.

“I thought I was a goner when I fell over,” he panted; “I just happened to catch the rope.” Then, with unusual feeling: “And you saved us both, Bob, by thinking to let out the air. I couldn’t have hung on, in that storm, a minute longer; and, then the balloon was fast going to wreck. It was my foolhardiness that caused all the trouble, and your thoughtfulness that got us out of it. I’ll never go back on you, Bob, old boy, never! But now the storm’s past, we must get under way again.”

“Will the selector work?” the boy asked in some anxiety.

“It’ll be all right, now,” the goblin assured him. “See? Off we go again. And I’ll give her an extra turn for good speed; I’m keen to get along toward home. It must be the middle of the forenoon.”

For an hour or two they sailed along steadily, covering mile after mile of aërial space with the swiftness of an arrow. At last, however, Bob remarked:

“Fitz, it appears to me we’re closer to the ocean than we were a while back; we must be descending. I wonder if the rain wet the feathers in the bag.”

“No,” the goblin replied positively. “They can’t get wet. They, and the bag, too, for that matter, have been treated with goose oil; and they won’t wet.”

“Won’t wet?”

“No. You know a goose’s feathers never get wet, no matter how much it goes in the water. We raise thousands of geese in Goblinland just for the feathers and the oil to treat them and our balloon bags with. We can’t be descending, Bob.”

But he stepped to the side of the car and cast his eyes upward. Then suddenly he started and collapsed upon the seat, white and trembling.

“What is it, what’s the matter, Fitz?” the lad questioned falteringly, fearing what the answer would be.

“Bob,” his companion muttered hoarsely, “we are descending! We’re lost—we’ll be drowned in the ocean! There’s a rip in the bag and the feathers are escaping one by one!”

CHAPTER IV
IN DANGER OF THE SEA

Bob drew a deep breath and dropped down beside his companion. For several minutes they sat silent, each staring stonily into the other’s white face. At last the boy murmured huskily:

“Fitz, are the feathers es—escaping very fast? Can’t we do something to stop the leak?”

The goblin shook his head.

“Not very fast,” he said slowly, moistening his dry lips by rubbing them together, “just one at a time.”

“Is the rip in the bag a very big one?”

“No.”

Bob brightened.

“Couldn’t we climb up some way and fix it?” he inquired.

The goblin gave a negative shake of the head.

“No,” he replied, “it’s ’way up near the top of the bag.”

“Well, what’re we going to do, Fitz?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Bob. The feathers are escaping—one now and then; and, little by little, the balloon will lose its buoyancy and sink into the sea. We’re lost!”

“Look here, Fitz,” Bob cried sharply. “Surely you’re not going to give up that way. I didn’t think it of you. There must be something we can do to save ourselves.”

The goblin dropped his chin upon his breast and, rolling his head, muttered: “Nothing!”

“But,” the lad persisted, “we must do something. There’s a little air still left in the tank, and when we sink too low we can let that out, and rise again. If we sail as fast as we can, can’t we cross the ocean before we drop into it?”

Fitz Mee leaped to his feet like one electrified.

“Thank you, Bob—thank you!” he cried, grasping his companion’s hand. “You’ve given me hope. We’ll try your project; and if we lose, we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing we died trying!” And he set his jaws with a resolute snap.

“I can’t see where there’ll be much satisfaction in that for us—after we’re dead,” the lad muttered under his breath.

The goblin hurried to the selector, and gradually turned the thumb-screw until the machine was wide open—the current was all on.

The balloon instantly responded, and began to fly through the air at a speed little short of miraculous; its two occupants had to throw themselves prostrate and cling to the locker for safety. The still summer air appeared to be blowing a hurricane; the placid, heaving ocean appeared to be racing toward the west, a foaming, tossing torrent. One by one, a few each minute, the feathers escaped through the rent in the striped bag; and foot by foot, very slowly and very surely, the aërial vehicle yielded to the overmastering power of gravitation.

On, on and on they sped, reeling off miles as a watch ticks off seconds. Neither the boy nor the goblin found anything to say. Both fully realized that they were running a race with death, and the knowledge awed them to silence.

The noon hour came, and still they were flying like mad, due east.

Fitz cautiously lifted his head, put the binocular to his eyes, and looked away toward the south.

“There’s the Azores,” he said, shouting in order to make himself heard, his tone expressing relief and satisfaction.

“The Azores?” Bob bellowed in reply.

“Yes—the islands.”

“Oh!”

“Yes; we’re making good time.”

“Well, hadn’t we better stop there?”

“No.”

“We’re only a few hundred feet above the water.”

The goblin shook his big head in a decided negative.

“Why not?” the boy insisted.

“I’m afraid to stop there.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes; I’m afraid there’s no geese on those islands.”

“Geese?”

“Yes, we’ve got to have goose feathers to refill our balloon bag.”

“Oh, I see! Well, what’re you going to try to do, Fitz?”

“Going to try to make the coast of Portugal. We’ll find geese there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes; Portuguese.”

And Fitz Mee laughed at his own pun until his fat face became purple and his breath came and went in wheezing gasps.

“Oh, shut up!” Bob cried angrily. “This is no time to be laughing.”

“Laughing will do just as much good as crying, Bob,” Fitz made answer, but instantly sobering. “I believe we’ll come out all right. There are geese in Portugal; and I think we’ll be able to make the coast of that country. We’re making good time; and we’ve not had to exhaust the air-tank yet. We’ll drive ahead and hope for the best.”

One hour, two hours, three hours passed. The balloon descended so low that the car threatened to dip into the waves. The goblin released the remaining air in the tank, and again they soared aloft, but only a few hundred feet. Another hour and again they were dangerously near to the water.

Bob cried: “Why Fitz, the sun’s ’most down! This has been an awful short afternoon.”

“Yes,” the goblin nodded, “and the forenoon was short, too. You must remember we’re moving east very rapidly—running away from the sun, running to meet the night. It’ll be dark soon. I wish we’d sight the coast; it seems to me it’s about time we were doing so.”

“What’s that wavy blue line ahead of us?” Bob inquired.

“I don’t see anything,” Fitz answered.

“I do,” the boy insisted positively. “Give me the glass.”

“It must be land, then,” the goblin suggested.

“It is land!” Bob cried joyfully. “We’re going to be all right, Fitz.”

“I—I hope so,” Fitz made answer; “I hope we’ll make it.”

Warned by his companion’s tone and manner that danger was imminent, the lad jerked the binocular from his eyes and dropped his gaze to the ocean. One glance was sufficient; the car was threatening to dip into the water at any moment.

“Oh, Fitz!” the boy wailed. “What are we to do?”

“I don’t know!” Fitz whimpered, wringing his hands and wriggling about upon the locker. “We can’t do anything—oh, we can’t do anything! We’re lost—lost!”

“Look here, Fitz Mee, you old Convulsions!” Bob cried angrily. “You got me into this thing; now you’ve got to help get me out. Wake up! You’re playing the baby. And you called me a coward! You’re the coward! Wake up!” roughly shaking him, “We’ve got to throw something overboard; and I’ll throw you, in about a minute.”

Just then the car hit the water a glancing spat that threw a blinding cloud of brine over the two aëronauts. The balloon rebounded from the impact and continued its mad speed.

“Whee!” screamed Fitz Mee. “You’re right, Bob. We must lighten the balloon some way; one more lick like that will tear the car loose from the bag. Raise the lids of the locker, and throw out a lot of the old stuff we won’t need.”

Frantically they began to lighten ship, flinging into the sea odds and ends of various kinds—the accumulation of many voyages. It availed them little, however; the balloon ascended but a few feet, and skimmed dangerously near to the water, into which it threatened to take a final plunge at any moment.

Now the coast line was plainly visible to the naked eye; and now it was but a few miles away, the hills and rocks standing out distinctly. Yet how far off it seemed to the despairing aëronauts! Neither spoke; each held his breath and his tongue, expecting to have to make a final struggle and swim for life.

Lower and lower sank the balloon. Once more the car spatted the water, and this time it did not rebound, but went tearing along at railroad speed, deluging and almost drowning its occupants. For a few minutes the two lost all sense of their surroundings, nearly lost consciousness. Then the car struck the shelving, sandy shore with a smart bump, and the balloon came to a full stop. The wild and dangerous ride was over!

“Saved!” sputtered Fitz Mee, jumping from the car and dancing up and down.

“Saved!” coughed Bob, indulging in similar antics.

Then they tearfully embraced, whirling round and round, their saturated garments dripping a circle of wet upon the yellow sands.

The sun was gone from sight; the shades of night were stealing in upon them.

“We can’t do anything to-night toward resuming our voyage,” the goblin remarked; “it’s almost dark now. Then you’re wet and weak and I’m famished and faint. We’ll spend the hours of darkness here upon the warm sands, and in the morning we’ll look around us.”

“All right,” the boy agreed; “I guess that’s the best we can do.”

By dint of a deal of tugging and grunting, they drew the balloon up out of reach of wave and tide. Then they wrung their garments, swallowed a number of food-tablets and drink-pellets and lay down to sleep under the shelter of an overhanging cliff.

The sun was an hour high when they awoke. Simultaneously they opened their eyes and sprang to their feet. Sleep had much refreshed them; the warm air and sand had dried their garments. After partaking of a hearty but hasty breakfast, they began to look around them.

At their feet lay their balloon, a sorry wreck. But close examination made plain the fact that it could be easily repaired and put in shape. A short distance to the north a river put into the sea. They sauntered to the mouth of it, and took in the view of the broad fertile valley. A mile or two up the stream lay a small village.

“I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do, Bob,” Fitz remarked reflectively, scratching his head.

“Well, what?” inquired the boy.

“We’ve got to go into that town.”

“What for?”

“For cord and goose feathers. We need the cord to splice the broken ropes of our car, and we need the feathers to refill our bag.”

“Yes,” the lad mumbled, “we need those articles all right, Fitz; but maybe the people of the village don’t have such things.”

“Of course they do,” the goblin sneered superiorly.

“How do you know?” the boy said tauntingly.

“Well, I know.”

“No, you don’t; you just guess.”

“A goblin never guesses at anything.”

“I guess he does; you guessed we’d get drowned—but we didn’t.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“I won’t!”

“Neither will I!”

Then they stood and silently glared at each other for a full half minute. Finally both began to look foolish, and burst out laughing.

“Fitz, you’re too hot-headed, you old Epilepsy,” Bob giggled.

“I know it,” tittered the goblin; “but so are you, Roberty-Boberty.”

“I know it,” the boy admitted; “but I can’t stay mad at you, Fitz.”

“I can’t stay mad at you, either, Bob. Now let’s stop our foolishness and go to that village, and see about the cord and feathers we need.”

“All right. But how are we to get the things, Fitz? Have you any money?”

“I’ve got gold; that’s just as good.”

“Gold?”

“Yes. Look here.”

The goblin took a bag of yellow nuggets from his pocket and emptied them out and shook them before the boy’s eyes.

“Is that gold?” Bob inquired, interested and not a little excited.

“Yes, to be sure,” Fitz Mee answered.

“Where did you get it?”

“In Goblinland.”

“Is there much of it there?”

“Bushels of it. These nuggets are as common there as pebbles are in your country.”

“Indeed!” the lad exclaimed, in wide-eyed wonder and admiration. “You goblins must be mighty rich.”

“We don’t put any value upon gold,” was the complacent reply; “we never use it at home.”

Bob was thoughtfully silent for some seconds.

“What’re you thinking about?” his companion inquired with a shrewd and cunning smile.

“Thinking how rich I can be when I go back home,” was the a frank admission. Then abruptly: “What’s that coming down the road yonder, Fitz?”

“Hello!” the goblin ejaculated delightedly. “We won’t have to tramp to the village. That’s a gooseherd. See; he has the geese tethered together with twine and is guiding them with a crook. We’ll wait here and buy them of him.”

The gooseherd and his flock drew near. He was a tall, angular young man, ragged and barefoot. His merry whistle rose above the strident quacks of his charges, and his flat feet softly spatted the dust of the highway in time to his own music.

Fitz Mee stepped forward, politely lifted his cap and said in greeting:

“Good morning, Sir Gooseherd.”

The young man stopped in his tracks and dropped his crook and his jaw at the same time. Plainly he was startled at the sudden appearance of the little green sprite and his companion, and just as plainly he was greatly frightened.

“We desire to purchase your geese,” the goblin ventured, boldly advancing. “How much gold will buy them?”

The gooseherd let out a shrill yell of terror and turned and fled up the road as fast as his long legs could carry him. The geese attempted to flee also, but, being tethered together, became hopelessly and helplessly entangled and fell to the ground, a flapping, quacking mass.

Bob and Fitz laughed heartily.

“Hurrah!” the goblin whooped. “The geese and cord are ours, anyhow.”

“But we didn’t pay the fellow,” Bob objected.

“I’ll fix that,” his comrade assured him. “When we’ve plucked the feathers off the geese, I’ll tie the bag of nuggets around the neck of one, and then we’ll turn ’em loose. The young fellow’ll find ’em and get the gold. And now we must hurry up and get through with this job and be off from this coast; the gooseherd may come back and bring his friends with him.”

The two diminutive aëronauts laboriously disentangled the geese and drove them to the immediate vicinity of the wrecked balloon. There they plucked the feathers off the quacking, quaking fowls, and refilled the balloon-bag and closed the rent. Then they turned the stripped and complaining birds loose, one meekly bearing the bag of gold; and finally they spliced the broken ropes of the car and were ready to resume their voyage.

“Jump in and pump up the tank a little, Bob,” Fitz cried joyfully. “I’ll be ready to weigh anchor when you say the word.”

But at that moment came the patter of many feet upon the dry sand, followed by a shower of clubs and stones that rattled about the car and the heads of its occupants, and instantly the balloon was surrounded by a crowd of gaping, leering villagers!

“Captured!” groaned Fitz Mee.

“Captured!” echoed Bob.

The villagers began to close in upon them, brandishing rude weapons and uttering hoarse cries of rage.

In sheer desperation the goblin squirmed and grimaced, and ended his ridiculous performance by uttering a blood-curdling “boo!”

The startled villagers fell back in indecision and alarm, tumbling over one another in frantic efforts to get out of reach of the little green sprite. Taking instant advantage of the respite, Bob whipped out his knife and cut the anchor rope, and with a smart jerk the balloon sprang aloft.

“Saved!” murmured the boy. “Saved, Fitz Mee!”

He received no answer; and he hurriedly turned to look for his companion who, a moment before, had been at his side. Then he sank back upon the locker, overcome with wonder and dismay. Fitz Mee was not in the car; Bob was alone!

CHAPTER V
IN WHICH BOB BECOMES A GIANT

The balloon was rapidly rising. Bob flew to the air-tank and frantically worked the pump. Gradually the primitive air-craft came to a stop, and floated motionless several hundred feet above the ground.

Then the boy hunkered upon the locker and peered over the edge of the car. Distinctly he could hear the clamorous cries and yells of the Portuguese; and in the center of the jeering, hooting mob, he could barely distinguish his diminutive friend. The sudden jerk of the car had thrown the goblin out, right among the villagers; and they were dancing delightedly around the green little sprite, clapping their hands and whooping themselves hoarse.

Bob caught up the binocular and directed it toward the scene below him. After a momentary inspection, he settled back with a sigh of partial relief.

“I guess they’re not going to kill him,” the boy muttered. “But I wonder what they’ll do with him; and I wonder what’s to become of me.”

Again he surveyed the scene below. The Portuguese were setting off toward their village, bearing the kicking, screaming Fitz Mee with them. A gigantic peasant carried the goblin in his arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bob murmured, in deep perplexity; “I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know the way to Goblinland; and so I can’t go there after help to rescue Fitz. I won’t go back home and leave him to his fate, though; that would be mean and cowardly. I—I don’t know what to—to do.”

A while he sat upon the locker, silently and thoughtfully peering over the edge of the basket, occasionally putting the binocular to his eyes. There was not a breath of air; and the balloon hung motionless as a fleecy summer cloud. The boy saw the peasants making their way up the valley to the outskirts of the village, and noted the hub-bub that was raised among the other villagers, at the advent of the goblin. Then the whole crowd disappeared among the trees and buildings of the little hamlet. With a start, Bob roused himself.

“I’ve got to do something,” he grumbled testily to himself; “I can’t just float here always. Poor old Spasms! I’ve got to help him out of the fix he’s got into, someway. I don’t believe he’d go back on me—I don’t believe he would; and I won’t go back on him. But what in the world can I do?” scratching his head and frowning. “Oh, I’d like to be a giant just for a little while! If I wouldn’t show those Portuguese a thing or two! I’d drop right down among ’em, lick the last one of ’em—and carry Fitz away in the palm of my hand. Oh! but that would be fine!” And he chuckled and wagged his head.

Then an idea, suggested by his wish to be a giant, came to him; and he leaped from his seat and hurried to the locker on the opposite side of the car, and threw it open. After a momentary search, he drew forth the hand-satchel containing the food-tablets and drink-pellets.

“I’ll just see, anyhow,” he whispered excitedly. “If the goblins make tablets to shrink people, maybe they make some to swell ’em up—make giants of ’em. I’ll just see.”

He opened the satchel and, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his brows, commenced to mumble over the names upon the tiny bottles.

“Food-tablets—tiger-muscle, food-tablets—lion-heart, drink-pellets—pure water, food-tablets—fat, gob-tabs—for dwarfing purposes.”

He grinned and shook his head.

“I don’t want any more of those,” he grimaced; “I’m too small for any good use now. It’s funny there isn’t any—ah! What’s this? ‘Giant-tabs—to be used only in cases of extreme need.’ I’ll bet those are the very things I’m looking for. I’m going to try ’em, anyhow. If there ever was a case of extreme need, this is one.”

He shook out one of the little tablets and was about to pop it into his mouth, when he started suddenly and sharply and shook his head, muttering:

“It won’t do to take it now—till I get to the ground. It might swell me up so big my weight would overcome the buoyancy of the feathers or break the ropes of the car; and then I’d fall like a gob of mud. I’ll have to wait till I’m out of the balloon before I make the experiment. And it may get me into trouble when I do take the stuff—I don’t know; it may poison me—or swell me up so fast I’ll burst. Well, I don’t know what else to try; so I’ve got to do it. Now I’ll just sail out over the town, the first thing, and see if I can find out what those Portuguese have done with Fitz—poor old chap! My! I almost wish I was out of all this mess of trouble, and back home.”

He set the needle of the selector as he had seen the goblin do, and gave a slight turn to the thumb-screw; and the balloon instantly began to move toward the village a mile or so away. When his vessel had reached a position directly over the little town, Bob shut off the power and brought it to a standstill. Then he took his glass and peered down among the roofs and treetops. He saw the people congregated in the central square of the place. It was evident they were holding some sort of public meeting. A speaker upon an improvised platform was wildly talking and gesticulating; and the other villagers were listening intently, mouths agape. Bob could hear the words of the orator of the occasion, and was surprised and pleased to learn that he could understand their meaning. The man was saying:

“My people, I’ve called you together here to determine what we shall do with this strange being that has landed upon our shores. The first thing to do, however, is to ascertain what the thing is. It’s not a man—that’s plain; and I’d like an expression of opinion from you as to what you consider it to be. Speak out, now.”

“It’s a big green frog,” said one man.

Bob smiled as he listened.

“It’s a green parrot without feathers,” said another.

Bob grinned.

“It’s a green devil,” ventured a third.

Bob chuckled.

“It’s a green monkey,” opined a fourth.

Bob laughed outright.

And the peasants heard him, and cast their gaze aloft; and immediately began to gesticulate and vociferate excitedly.

“I’m a goblin, you fools!” croaked a familiar voice. “I’m a goblin, I tell you!”

Bob then saw his friend. The latter was confined in a parrot cage hanging upon a post in front of a building. The speaker—who, it was plain, was in authority—quieted the populace; and then he continued:

“As you will perceive, there’s another one of the strange beings up there in that balloon. Now, my opinion is that they’re moon-men from the moon. As you all know, the moon’s made of green cheese; and that would account for the color of them.”

“But the one up there isn’t green,” a woman objected; “he’s gray.”

“No doubt he’s old and faded,” the speaker explained.

Bob laughed heartily; then listened intently, for the official was saying:

“My opinion is that these moon-men have come to bring a pestilence upon us, my children; and if we do not rid ourselves of them, we will suffer greatly. So I condemn them to death. This one that, by your great prowess and bravery, you have already captured, we will execute at sunset; and bury him with a great stone upon him, that he may know no resurrection. The other one must be captured. We must think of some plan to entice him within our reach. Let us adjourn to my official residence, there to consider the grave matter.”

Soon the street was apparently deserted; but the boy could see guards peeping from places of concealment.

“Bob!” Fitz Mee called softly. “Hello, Bob!”

“Hello, Fitz!” the lad answered.

“Come down and get me—quick!”

“I don’t dare, Fitz; they’re watching.”

“But you must get me out of this fix, Bob, somehow.”

“Of course, Fitz. But how?”

“Can’t you think of a plan? I’m so scared I can’t think.”

“I’ve thought of one plan.”

“What is it?”

Bob gave a few strokes to the air-pump; and the balloon sank almost to the level of the treetops. Then the boy said, cautiously:

“Fitz, do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the plan I’ve thought of: I’ve found some giant-tabs in your portable pantry; and I think of taking one of them.”

“That’s the thing,” Fitz interrupted gleefully. “You’re a genius, Bob.”

“It won’t hurt me—the medicine, will it?”

“Not a bit.”

“Just make a giant of me?”

“That’s all.”

“And I can go back to boy size or goblin size, when I want to?”

“Yes; all you’ll have to do is to take a few gob-tabs.”

“Ugh! more pills. Well, all right; I’ll do it, then. I’ll make a giant of myself, and sail in and knock these Portuguese galley-west—and carry you off.”

“Well, do it right now,” Fitz cried impatiently.

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” peevishly.

“I don’t dare take the giant-tabs till I’m upon the ground, you understand; my size would wreck the balloon. And I don’t dare to come to the ground, right here and right now; the Portuguese would capture me before I could do anything. See?”

“Y-e-s,” Fitz Mee admitted, disappointment in his voice. “But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going over the hills out of sight, drop to the ground there, and hide the balloon, and then come back afoot.”

“Well, don’t be very long about it, Bob.”

“Oh! there’s no hurry. They don’t mean to kill you till sunset, Fitz.”

“Well, do you think I want to stay cooped up here all day?”

“You mustn’t get impatient, Fitzy,” the boy giggled.

“You stop your laughing,” the goblin grumbled. “It isn’t funny.”

“Isn’t it?” tauntingly.

“No, it isn’t, Roberty-Boberty!”

“Yeah—yeah! Old Epilepsy!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Say, Bob?”

“What?”

“You will hurry, won’t you?”

“Yes! But say, Fitz?”

“Well?”

“How is it that I can understand what these Portuguese say?”

“Well, you know we goblins can understand any language.”

“We goblins?” the boy cried sharply.

“Yes,” Fitz chuckled.

“I’m no goblin,” Bob asserted stoutly; “I’m a Yankee.”

“You’re a goblin—half goblin, anyhow.”

“I’m not!”

“You are! You’ve taken gob-tabs; and that makes you partly goblin.”

“Fitz Mee,” the boy yelled, “you mean old thing! You say that again, and I’ll sail off home—and leave you right where you are.”

“I won’t say it any more, Bob; but it’s so.”

“Good-bye, Fitz; I’m going.”

“Not home?”

“No; over the hills.”

“Well, hurry back.”

“All right.”

Bob released a little of the pent air in the tank, and soared high above the earth; then he manipulated the selector and sped away over the hills out of sight of the village. When he thought it safe, he worked the pump and descended to the earth. There he made the balloon fast in a secluded spot near the highway—by tying it securely to a tree, with the piece of anchor-rope remaining.

“There,” he breathed softly, “I’ll know where to find my air-ship; I’ll remember the place by this big funny-looking stone here at the roadside. Now I’ll take my medicine and be off to the rescue of my good comrade, Fitz Mee.”

He took one of the tiny giant-tabs and swallowed it; and immediately he began to grow and grow—clothes and all. He stretched up, up till his head was on a level with the tops of the smaller trees; and he spread out till he was as big in girth as the trunks of the largest.

“Wonderful!” he ejaculated, and his voice almost frightened him; it was as coarse and hoarse as the roar of a lion. He looked at his hands and feet—and laughed. They were as large as hams of meat; and his limbs were like the great limbs of an elephant. Proudly he strode about, crooking his arm and feeling his biceps muscle and muttering to himself:

“Won’t I make a scatterment among those Portuguese! I’ll scare ’em all into conniption fits. But I won’t hurt any of ’em, unless I have to; that would be wrong, cruel—just like a big man whipping a little boy. But I must be off; Fitz will be tired of waiting. I wonder how far I’ve got to walk. My! but I’m hungry; and I want meat.”

He picked up a large knotted pole for a cane and set off along the road, whistling; and his whistle was as loud as that of a calliope. The birds flew away in affright; and the hares and other small animals scampered into the depths of the forest. Bob smiled complacently, recklessly swinging his big knotted club.

Presently he approached a hut by the roadside; and he went up to it and knocked upon the swinging door. An old woman put in an appearance; but, at sight of her gigantic caller, she let out a yell and fled back into the dusky interior.

Bob turned the corner of the cabin,—his head overtopped the comb of the roof by several feet!—and dropped upon hands and knees and crawled into the kitchen. The poor old woman again caught sight of him; and fled from the premises, screaming shrilly. Bob pitied her and called to her to come back, that he meant her no harm; but his awful bellowing voice served only to frighten her the more. The boy-giant—or the giant-boy, or whatever he should be called—discovered upon the table in the center of the floor a leg of roast mutton, a loaf of black bread, a jug of milk and some fruit; and ravenously devoured the whole. Then he retreated from the kitchen; and, feeling much refreshed, resumed his way toward the village, taking strides fully fifteen feet long.

But when he had gone a short distance, he met the old woman whose food he had eaten returning toward her home, accompanied by her husband. The man had been at work in the fields; and now he was walking rapidly, his head down, cracking his fists and valiantly declaring what he would do to the bold intruder when he encountered him. Bob heard the fellow’s rash threats, and gave a loud laugh. The man flung up his head, took one look at the boy-giant—and incontinently took to his heels, literally dragging his wife after him. Across the fields they flew, and disappeared in a bit of woodland; and Bob pursued his course unmolested, still laughing boisterously. It was all so very funny!

He picked up a large knotted pole for a cane.

Shortly he reached the top of the hill, where he could look down upon the little village, whose inhabitants were all unconscious of the terrible being that was approaching it. There the boy-giant paused to consider. Shaking his head he muttered, a grin spreading over his coarse features:

“Well, those giant-tabs have increased my size wonderfully, but I don’t feel that they’ve increased my courage in the same way. I’m almost afraid to go down into that town. Those Portuguese might take it into their heads to shoot; and I’d be such a big mark they couldn’t miss me. But I guess there’s no other way; so here goes.”

He loped off down the hill; and a few minutes later he was entering the village. Some children at play saw him coming and ran ahead of him, screaming frantically. A woman came to her door, and immediately followed the children, also yelling at the top of her voice. Several men hastily put in an appearance; and as hastily joined the woman and children, in a mad race toward the public square of the town. The alarm spread. Others, and still others—of both sexes and all ages and sizes—emerged from concealment; and sought safety in mad flight, all speeding toward one destination, the mayor’s official residence.

The mayor and his officers and advisors heard the hub-bub and poured forth to ascertain the cause of it; and when the boy-giant arrived at the town’s place of public gathering, there they all were, yelling, screaming, shouting and gesticulating.

Bob swung his big club and bellowed “boo! boo! boo!” as loud as he could; and the frightened people tumbled over one another in an effort to hurry to places of security. The mayor led the way, closely followed by his officers. All deserted the place but one old soldier. He ran at Bob, a rusty sword in his hand, and tried to hack the boy-giant’s legs; and the latter had to snatch the sword away from the pugnacious old warrior and take him across his knee and spank him soundly, before he would consent to behave. However, when at last the boy-giant set the old fellow upon the ground, he scampered away as fast as he could limp.

“Oh, Bob—Bob!” Fitz Mee cried pipingly, piteously, a hint of tears in his voice. “I’m so glad you’ve come. They had just decided to execute me at noon; and it wants only an hour of the time.”

“A miss is as good as a mile, Fitz,” Bob laughed. “But we must get out of here before they recover their wits and their courage, and return; they might shoot us. My! but didn’t that old soldier want to fight? A few like him would have given me a lot of trouble. Well, here we go—for safety and a better country.”

And he took the parrot cage containing the goblin under arm, and made a hurried retreat from the village.

CHAPTER VI
LOST IN THE DESERT

As Bob moved rapidly along the country road, bearing his comrade in the parrot cage, he could hear the sounds of clamor and pursuit behind him—the barking of dogs, the confused shouting and yelling of men, and the booming and cracking of fire-arms.

“Hurry, Bob, hurry!” squeaked Fitz Mee. “They’re after us!”

“Yes, but their legs are too short,” Bob chuckled; “they won’t catch us. Don’t you worry, my teenty-weenty green frog, the naughty men shan’t hurt you.” And he held the parrot cage up in front of him, and with his finger playfully poked Fitz Mee in the ribs.

“Quit that!” croaked the goblin. “And don’t you call me a green frog any more, either.”

“Pretty little green monkey, that’s what it is!” Bob laughed, teasingly.

“Shut up!” snapped Fitz.

“Nice little green devil!” the boy-giant continued, shaking with laughter.

“Shut up!” screeched the goblin. “Shut up, I say! I’ll scratch you; I’ll bite you!”

“Sweet-tempered little green moon-man!” Bob persisted.

“Look here, Bob Taylor!” Fitz cried, vexed and desperate. “If you don’t quit calling me names, I’ll—I’ll run off and leave you.”

“All right,” the boy-giant returned placidly, “I’ll just set you down here in the road and let you run off.”

And he suited his action to his words.

“Oh, don’t, please don’t, Bob!” Fitz Mee pleaded, almost in tears. “Let me out of this cage, and take me up and go ahead. And don’t plague me any more, just because you’re so big and so strong. It isn’t like you, Bob—to be so cruel. I don’t like you as a giant; I’d rather have you as a goblin—as a boy, I mean—and I’ll be glad when you’re back in that state again.”

“Maybe I won’t be a boy or a goblin any more,” Bob remarked thoughtfully, as he released his companion and took him up in his arms; “maybe I’ll just remain a giant. I rather like being a giant; I don’t have to take pills when I’m a giant. I can eat meat and things.”

“But you can’t go in the balloon, as a giant,” Fitz Mee suggested.

“No, that’s so. Well, maybe I won’t go in it any more; maybe you don’t want me to.”

“You know I do, Bob.”

“Sure?”

“Of course! Aren’t we on our way to Goblinland, to have the time of our lives—hey?” shrewdly.

“Well, I’ll go back to the form of a goblin, then, Fitz; but—ugh!—I don’t like the pills!”

They topped the hill and reached the hut where Bob had taken the old woman’s dinner. He told the goblin what he had done, and the goblin chuckled and spluttered in great glee. The boy-giant shook him and said to him:

“Have you any more gold about you?”

“A little,” the green sprite made reply. “Why?”

“I want it.”

“What for?”

“To pay that old woman for the dinner I ate.”

“Well, you can’t have it.”

“I can’t?”

“No, you can’t!”

“Why can’t I?”

“It’s my gold, not yours.”

“I know, Fitz; but you’ll let me have it.”

“Will I? Not much, Roberty-Boberty!”

“Take care!” Bob cried, giving the tiny fellow a threatening shake. “Remember I’m a giant right now, and liable to lose my temper. And don’t you call me any more names, I warn you. Now, hand over that gold.”

“You’re a robber, that’s what you are, Rob Taylor,” the goblin complained sullenly, fumbling in his pocket for the gold demanded.

“And you’re a mischievous, ill-tempered little pest,” Bob laughed.

At last, with apparent reluctance, the goblin dropped two or three nuggets into the boy-giant’s broad palm.

“There!” he muttered. “But I don’t see what you want to pay the old woman for.”

“Because it’s right to pay her,” Bob explained; “I took her dinner.”

“Oh!” giggling.

“Yes, sir. And you know it’s right, Fitz; you’re just plaguing me.”

“Think so?”—laughing. “Well, pay her. But hurry up about it; I hear our pursuers coming. You’ll fool around and get us trapped, if you don’t look sharp.”

“Here!” Bob cried, dropping the goblin to the ground and returning the gold to him. “You go to the door and pay her. If she sees me, she’ll run away again. Go on; I’ll hide.”

With the words he stepped aside among the trees that bordered the road; and the goblin ran to the door of the hut and kicked upon it. There was silence in the cabin for several moments; then the door screaked on its hinges and slowly swung open. The old man and old woman were both there; but as soon as they caught sight of the green little being, they were more frightened than they had been at sight of the giant. With a great flirting of skirts and shaking of trousers, they leaped right over the goblin’s head and sped away to the fields again, yelling lustily. Fitz Mee rolled upon the ground, laughing immoderately; and Bob joined in his companion’s merriment. However, he called to him:

“Throw the gold upon the floor—and come on; they’ll find it, if they ever pluck up courage to come back to their house. Come on; we’ve got to hurry.”

The boy-giant caught up his wee comrade and ran as fast as he could toward the place where he had hid the balloon. The sounds of pursuit were close behind them. Into the woods Bob dashed and crashed; and soon he stood beside the air-vessel.

“Open the satchel and get me a gob-tab—quick!” he bellowed to Fitz, tossing him into the basket.

“A gob-tab?” squeaked Fitz.

“Yes—quick!”

“One won’t do you any good.”

“Huh!”

“No; you’ll have to take a half-dozen. Here they are.”

“Have I got to swallow all those pills?”

“Yes, down ’em—and be nimble about it.”

“Well, I won’t!”

“Now, Bob!” coaxingly.

“I won’t!” stubbornly. “You know I don’t like pills!”

“Bob, you’ll get us into trouble.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather get into trouble than have trouble get into me; and that’s what pills are—trouble.”

Just then came a loud rattling and crashing of the underbrush; and a large number of men and boys and dogs burst into the little open space and surrounded the two adventurers.

“Surrender!” cried the mayor.

“Get out!” roared the boy-giant in answer. And he set into kicking the too inquisitive dogs and cuffing the too venturesome men in a strenuous manner that made them fall back to a respectful distance—and in a great hurry.

“Untie the balloon!” Bob bawled to his companion. “And give me those gob-tabs!”

Fitz Mee did as directed.

“Boo! boo! boo!” roared the boy-giant, leaping and dancing awkwardly about.

“At ’em again!” commanded the mayor. “But don’t shoot; capture ’em alive!”

Again men and boys and dogs began to close in upon the aëronauts. Fitz Mee signalled that the balloon was in readiness. Bob clapped the six gob-tabs into his mouth and hastily swallowed them—making a ridiculously grotesque face that caused his enemies to hesitate in their advance upon him. Then he tried to let out another startling “boo.” It started off all right, big and coarse and awful; but it ended in a tiny dribbling squeak that was so funny that the goblin dropped to the bottom of the car, squirming and laughing. Bob had suddenly shrunk to goblin size.

“A miracle!” cried the mayor, crossing himself and retreating.

“A miracle!” seconded his people, following his example.

Taking advantage of the momentary respite in his favor, Bob jumped into the car. Fitz released the air; and away the balloon soared—up through the treetops—to the fleecy clouds far, far above the earth. Cries and wails of disappointment and chagrin followed the daring aëronauts.

“Saved again!” yelled Bob.

“Saved again!” croaked Fitz.

“They came near catching us!” the boy panted.

“Yes, and it was all your fault,” the goblin grumbled.

“How do you make that out?” Bob cried sharply.

“Why, you wouldn’t take the gob-tabs, and that delayed us—that’s how,” Fitz Mee retorted.

“Yes, and you lay down and laughed in the old woman’s door-yard; and that delayed us, too.”

“It didn’t!”

“It did!”

“It didn’t, I say!”

“It did, I say!”

“Bob, you’re a contrary boy, that’s what you are!”

“And, Fitz, you’re a stubborn goblin, that’s what you are!”

Then they sat upon the locker and glared at each other—and burst out laughing.

“Well, we got away, anyhow,” Fitz said.

“That’s what we did,” Bob replied.

“Let’s be off.”

“All right.”

“Here’s for Goblinland!” waving his arms.

“Hurrah!” waving his cap.

Fitz began to manipulate the selector.

“You haven’t set that needle right,” the boy objected.

“Huh?”—sharply.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Why haven’t I?”

“Goblinland’s east from here, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you’ve set that needle pointing west.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have, too.”

“Why, Bob, the sun rises in the east, doesn’t it?”

“To be sure.”

“Well?”

“Well, it’s afternoon now, and the sun’s in the west; and you’ve set the indicator pointing straight toward it.”

“I tell you it’s forenoon; and the sun’s in the east.”

“Fitz, you’re wrong.”

“Bob, I’m not.”

“You’ll see.”

“You’ll see.”

“Fitz Mee, you don’t know anything.”

“Bob Taylor, I know everything.”

“Yes, you do!”

“I do!”

“Bah!” the boy sneered. “You didn’t know enough to loose the latch of a parrot cage and let yourself out.”

“And you didn’t know enough to take gob-tabs when you needed ’em.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

Both remained sullenly silent for some seconds. Then Bob said grumblingly:

“All right, Fitz Mee, have your way. You’ll see, though.”

The goblin made no reply; he simply turned the thumb-screw of the selector, and the balloon sailed away upon its course rapidly and gracefully. Presently, however, Fitz gave a start and muttered:

“Why, we’re out over the water again; and we ought to be crossing the mountains. I wonder what’s the matter—eh, Bob?”

“Oh! there’s nothing the matter,” snickered Bob, “except we’re going west, as I told you—going back to America.”

“Bob, I—I guess you’re right,” Fitz admitted, reluctantly.

“Of course I’m right,” the boy said, swelling with supreme self-satisfaction.

“Well,” muttered the goblin, “we can turn around and go the other way; and we will.”

With that he again began to busy himself with the selector. But in a moment he mumbled peevishly:

“Why—why, what’s the matter with this thing?”

“What?” the boy inquired.

“The needle won’t turn at all, Bob.”

“It won’t?” stooping to examine.

“No, it won’t. See?”

“Yes. What do you suppose ails it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you understand your own machinery, Fitz Mee of Goblinland?” teasingly.

“Yes, I do—when a certain boy from Yankeeland hasn’t meddled with it,” crossly.

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

“You think I hurt your old machine?”

“I know you did—in some way.”

“Fitz Mee, I wish I’d left you in the hands of the Portuguese.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Now, Bob!”

“Well, what did you say I spoiled the selector for?”

“I didn’t mean you did it on purpose, Bob.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No; I just meant you did it by accident. It’s a very delicate instrument, you know.”

“Oh!”

“Yes. Well, it’s done and can’t be helped. It appears that I’ve set the indicator west instead of east, so west we must go. It’ll be a longer journey, but who cares! We’ll sail right back across America and over the Pacific. I’ll open her up and let her fly.”

He gave a turn or two to the thumb-screw; and the balloon shot forward—at the speed of a comet, almost. The two aëronauts dropped flat upon the floor of the car and remained silent, for the uproar occasioned by their rapid passage through the air prevented conversation. Soon, however, the mercurial boy grew restless; and he cautiously drew himself up across the locker and peeped over the edge of the basket. The goblin caught his venturesome companion by the heels and attempted to draw him back; but Bob wriggled and gesticulated, pointing downward over the rim of the basket, and finally grabbed Fitz by the arm and pulled him up on to the locker. The goblin took one peep; then rolled to the bottom of the car, and tightened the thumb-screw and gradually brought the balloon to a standstill.

“We’re over the land again,” Bob gasped.

“Yes,” panted Fitz Mee, climbing to his comrade’s side.

“Well, what does it mean? We haven’t reached America already, have we?”

The goblin shook his head, frowning in a puzzled way.

“Well, where are we, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fitz, we’re lost.”

“I guess we are, Bob.”

The boy took up the binocular and looked all around.

“Why!” he exclaimed. “There’s a city ’way back yonder on the coast, an odd-looking city like the pictures in my geography; and there’s nothing out there ahead of us but sand—sand—sand, as far as I can see.”

“Huh!” snorted Fitz Mee.

Then he rolled to the floor of the car, laughing immoderately and holding his sides and kicking up his heels.

“Look here!” the boy cried angrily. “What’s the matter with you, old Convulsions? What’s so funny, I’d like to know?”

“Why—why, Bob,” Fitz said, getting upon his feet and wiping his pop eyes upon the long tails of his coat, “we’re a pair of precious ninnies. We’ve been traveling south all the time—instead of east as I thought, or west as you thought. And here we are in Africa. We’ve crossed the narrow part of the Mediterranean; and we’re now in the southern edge of Morocco—right over the Sahara desert!”

CHAPTER VII
FITZ MEE MAGNETIZES THE SPRING

Bob looked very sober, and said nothing; and Fitz continued:

“So you see we were both wrong; we forgot that the sun is south at noon—that’s all. Isn’t it funny?” and again the goblin laughed.

“I don’t think it very funny,” the boy replied, pouting his lips, and looking very glum.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because here we are in the desert—away south of where we ought to be; and the selector won’t work, and we can’t go back—can’t go in any direction but south. If we keep on, we’ll just come to the south pole—that’s all.”

“Say!” the goblin cried. “I never thought of that, Bob. That’s so; and we’re in a fix, sure.” Then, after wrinkling his forehead and blinking thoughtfully for a few moments: “Well, there’s just one thing to do: we’ve got to fix the selector—got to find out what ails it and set it right. We’ll travel on till we come to an oasis; and there we’ll descend to the ground, and I’ll tinker the machine.”

“Why can’t you do it here and now?” Bob suggested.

“I’m afraid I might get us into worse trouble, Bob; might shake the thing up in some way that would cause it to run away with us. It’s tricky sometimes. No, I’ll wait till we come to an oasis; then I’ll work at it on the ground.”

“All right. And I’ll work my teeth upon some ripe dates and any other fruit I can find.”

“That reminds me, Bob,”—setting the balloon in motion,—“that we haven’t had any dinner; and it’s getting late in the afternoon. Why didn’t you mention that you were getting hungry?”

“Oh! I’m not very hungry; you know I had a big meal that I got from the old woman’s table. But you haven’t eaten anything since morning, have you, Fitz?”

“No, but I’ll eat now as we go along; and you can join me.”

“Oh, can I?” contemptuously.

“Certainly.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not hungry enough to take pills.”

“Bob, I tell you they’re not pills; they’re food tablets.”

“They’re pills all the same, Fitz; and I won’t take ’em when I can get anything else. And I think I’ll find some fruit when we reach an oasis.”

The goblin said no more; but silently opened the hand-satchel, and took out and swallowed a number of the tiny tablets and pellets, smacking his lips in a manner that made his companion turn up his nose in disgust.

The sun was slowly sinking in the west. Bob had the binocular to his eyes and was sweeping the southern horizon. Suddenly he cried:

“Look! Look, Fitz! We’re coming to a great city!”

The goblin smiled pityingly, wagging his head and rolling his eyes.

“Don’t you see it?” the boy asked eagerly.

The goblin nodded, still smiling. Bob leveled his glass upon the distant city and continued to observe it. It was a most beautiful sight, that city. It stood upon the bank of a blue lake; and its white walls, its domes and spires, glistened in the rays of the declining sun. But gradually it began to fade away; and little by little it disappeared from view.

“Why—why,” the boy cried, “what’s become of it, Fitz? I can’t see it any more. What’s become of it?”

“Don’t you know?” the goblin snickered.

“No.”

“You didn’t see any city, Bob.”

“I know I did! Think I can’t see?”

“Yes, you can see; but you didn’t see any city.”

“What did I see, then?”

“A mirage.”

“Oh!”

“You know what I mean?”

“Yes. Was that all it was?”

“That was all.”

“Well, it was beautiful, anyway. And there’s another one—a lot of grass and green trees this time.”

“That’s an oasis.”

“Maybe it’s just another mirage.”

“No, it’s an oasis. See! It’s getting closer and clearer all the time. There’s where we’ll stop.”

The swift speed of their air-vessel soon brought them to the green oasis. There they descended to the earth, pumped the tank full of air, and firmly secured the balloon to a tree. Then Fitz set about to repair the selector, and Bob began to search for fruit. The boy was successful in his quest and soon returned to his comrade, his cap full of luscious dates. The goblin was sitting upon the ground, his back against the side of the basket, apparently glum and half asleep.

“Have some, Fitz,” the boy mumbled, his mouth full of fruit, offering a share to his companion. Fitz drowsily shook his head.

“Did you get the selector fixed?” Bob inquired.

The goblin nodded, batting his eyes.

“I—I guess I’ve got it fixed,” he said.

“What was the matter with it?”

“I don’t know, Bob. I never had a selector act like this one does; I’m afraid it’s permanently magnetized.”

“Why, what would put it in that condition, Fitz?”

“Oh! I don’t know, I guess.”

“Yes, you do. Out with it.”

“I don’t want to scare you, Bob, but—”

“Scare me? Pooh! Out with it.”

“Well, down here in Africa somewhere—I don’t know just where—there’s a magnetic mountain; and we goblins have had trouble with it. Whenever we get within the zone of its power with our balloons, it magnetizes our selectors so they won’t work right; and if we get too close, it draws us to it—and we have great trouble in getting away. Some of my countrymen have had to abandon their balloons and walk miles and miles, and then send a wireless message home for help.”

“Is that so?”—mouth agape.

“Yes, indeed.”

“And you think that’s what ails our selector?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Well, what’re we going to do about it?”

“There’s very little we can do—if that’s what’s the matter with our machine. It seems to be all right now; but you must remember we’re on the ground, with other mountains between us and the magnetic peak—breaking its power, as it were. Probably when we’re high in the air again, we’ll encounter the old difficulty.”

“Then we’d better sail as close to the earth as we can, Fitz, till we’re beyond the influence of that strange mountain.”

“That’s a good idea, Bob; I’d already thought of it. And, as the sun’s almost down and we’ll need to see our way when travelling close to the ground, I think we’d better spend the night here, don’t you?”

“Yes. But—but say, Fitz!”

“What?”

“If you need to send a wireless phone message to Goblinland, how do you do it?”

Fitz Mee silently drew from his pocket a small shiny metallic box, and opened it. It contained a tiny telephone instrument, perfect in every detail—speaking-tube, receiver and all.

“My!” the boy exclaimed in admiration and wonder. “Isn’t it pretty and isn’t it little! But how do you use it, Fitz?”

“Just like you use any telephone,” the goblin replied complacently.

“Do you take down that teenty-weenty little receiver and call up central in Goblinland?”

“Yes.”

“And central gives you whatever number you want?”

The goblin nodded.

“Say!” the boy cried excitedly. “Call up some one right now, Fitz.”

The goblin shook his head.

“Yes,” Bob insisted; “I want to see how it works.”

“I don’t dare to.”

“Don’t dare to?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“There’s a law against using the instrument, except for messages of grave importance.”

“Oh!”

“Uh-huh.”

Fitz Mee closed the little box and returned it to his pocket; Bob resumed the munching of his ripe fruit.

“Won’t you have some, Fitz?” he suggested, temptingly displaying it to the goblin’s gaze.

“Uk-uh!” Fitz grunted.

“Better try some; it’s fine.”

“It would make me sick.”

“Pshaw!”—incredulously, contemptuously.

“I’m afraid it would; I’m afraid it will make you sick.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Huh! Fruit never makes me sick; I can eat bushels of it.”

“You mean you could.”

“What?”

“You could—when you were a boy.”

“Well?”

“Well, you’re part goblin now.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“You’ll see, Bob.”

“Well, I will see; I’ll eat this fruit and prove to you, Fitzy, that I’m just a healthy boy.”

“All right,” the goblin grinned.

Bob finished his fruit—to the last date. Then he went to the great spring near at hand, and lay down and drank his fill. He set out to return to his comrade; but suddenly he became so ill that he dropped upon the ground and rolled and writhed and groaned. Fitz came flying to him.

“Here, Bob,” he said quietly, “take this,” offering the wriggling boy a tablet.

“Oh! pills! pills! pills!” Bob moaned. But he took the tablet and downed it; and soon he was relieved of the fruit—and his pain. Sheepishly he got on his feet and sauntered back to the balloon, crestfallen and subdued. All Fitz Mee said to him was:

“I guess you’ll know enough to stick to goblin diet after this.”

And Bob made no reply.

The sun had gone down; dusky shadows were gathering from far and near and throwing themselves prone upon the desert sands. The air, that all the afternoon had been so hot, was growing chill.

“I’m sleepy,” Bob remarked, dropping upon the warm earth and stretching full length.

“Well, you mustn’t go to sleep there,” Fitz replied.

“Why?” the boy queried.

“You’ll see why when it grows a little darker. Wild beasts will be prowling around here, after food and water.”

“They will?” raising himself upon his elbow and glancing apprehensively around.

“Yes, indeed,” the goblin answered.

“Lions?”

“Yes.”

“Leopards?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And hyenas and jackals?”

The goblin nodded.

“Well, where are we going to sleep, then?”

“We’ll let the balloon rise to the level of the tops of these palm trees, tie it there, and sleep in the car.”

“That’ll do. But I’ll bet we don’t get much sleep; the wild animals will raise such a rumpus, roaring and howling and fighting. Won’t they?”

“It’s likely.”

“Dear—dear! I wish I was back home.”

“No, you don’t, Bob.”

“I do, too. You promised to take me to Goblinland where everything was to be lovely; and you’ve got me away down here in the Sahara desert where there’s nothing but sand and wild beasts. And you’ve got me in such a fix I can’t eat a little fruit, even, without getting sick; and now I’m to have no sleep. Bah!”

“That’s all that ails you, Bob.”

“What?”

“You’re sleepy—and cross.”

“I’m not cross.”

“Well—well, we won’t argue the matter.”

“I’ll argue if I want to, old Epilepsy.”

“Say, Bob,”—pleasantly.

No reply.

“Bob.”

“Huh!”—ungraciously.

“I think I know what we can do to send the wild animals about their business if they bother us.”

“What?”—with a show of interest.

“That is,” with a reflective shake of the head, “if we didn’t throw overboard, when we were about to sink in the Atlantic, the stuff we need.”

“What is it, Fitz?”

“Magnetic powder.”

“There’s a bottle of it in the locker; I saw it there this morning. But what on earth are you going to do with it?”

“I’ll tell you. I’m going to sprinkle some of it in the spring; and it’ll magnetize the water. Then any animal that comes for a drink will get a shock that will stir up its ideas—and send it flying. Won’t that be great?”

“Great?” Bob cried, capering about in glee. “Yes, indeed, Fitz! And won’t it be funny to hear ’em and see ’em? I’m not a bit sleepy now. Let’s fix the spring right now.”

Soon they had magnetized the spring, and had snuggled down in the car of their balloon, to spend the night. By that time it was quite dark; so they partook of a few food-tablets and drink-pellets, and then composed themselves to rest—out of reach of any beast that might come prowling around. Bob dropped into a doze. A roar like distant, muttering thunder roused him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes; then he nudged his sleeping companion.

“Huh!” ejaculated Fitz, waking with a start.

“I heard something roaring—sounded like thunder,” the boy explained.

“Where?”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t wide enough awake to tell. There—there it goes again.”

“That’s a lion out on the sands,” chuckled the goblin; “he’s coming for a drink. Now the fun’ll begin, Bob.”

“And listen! What are those other sounds, Fitz?”

“Jackals barking and hyenas howling. They’re all coming at once. There’ll be a circus when they gather at the spring.”

The two aëronauts giggled and shrugged their shoulders, in nervous but delicious expectancy. The moon made the night almost as light as day; but soon great dark shapes and shadows were to be seen approaching the oasis, from various directions. The lion roared defiantly, the jackals barked snappishly and the hyenas howled dolefully.

“I see the lion,” Bob whispered excitedly. “There! He’s just coming in among the trees. But what’s that other animal creeping along away out there in the bright moonlight?”

“A leopard,” Fitz replied.

“And that pack of little fellows are jackals?”

“Yes.”

“And those ugly scrawny ones are hyenas?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my!” the boy exclaimed gleefully. “Talk about a circus, Fitz; I call it a menagerie. This is a free show; and you and I have box seats.” Then thoughtfully, and with a little shiver, “And I’m mighty glad we have—and right above the ring. I—”

He was interrupted by a roar that seemed to shake the slender fronds of the palm trees and rock the balloon. The lion was directly beneath them, smelling over the ground where they had been. The two small comrades cuddled close together upon the locker, held each other’s hands, and strained their eyes and ears to see and hear all that was going on. Presently the leopard, too, was among the trees and, like the lion, was nosing from one spot to another; and the jackals and hyenas had ranged themselves along the border of the little oasis, and were indulging in a discordant serenade.

“Ugh!” the boy grunted in disgust. “Those cowardly things out there make me lonesome with their mournful sounds.”

“Me, too,” the goblin admitted, nodding. Then he whispered sharply: “There—there, Bob. The lion’s going to the spring. See him in that patch of moonlight?”

“Yes.”

“And now he’s right at the edge of the water. See him—see him?”

“Uh—huh. And there’s the leopard coming up on the other side.”

The lion advanced majestically to the edge of the pool. He looked askance at his slender cousin, the leopard; and then he touched his nose to the clear water. Instantly he sprang backward, bristling, sneezing and shaking his head, in surprise and anger. The leopard looked on in wonder at her cousin’s strange behavior; and the lion glared fiercely at her. The two aëronauts hugged each other and laughed softly.

Again the lion essayed to slake his burning thirst at the glassy pool; and again he retreated in rage and confusion. Attributing his trouble to the leopard, evidently, he made a vicious slap at her with his great paw. She sprang aside, spitting and snarling. The lion pursued her; and, to escape, she sprang upon the slender trunk of the palm tree to whose top the balloon was tied, and began a nimble and quick ascent.

“Oo—h!” Bob gasped.

“Murder!” croaked Fitz Mee.

Then, instantly, he jumped from the locker; and opened and shut the valve of the air-tank, three or four times in quick succession.

“Pst! pst! pst!” hissed the escaping air, and the leopard, more alarmed at the unknown danger above than at the known danger below, gave a yowl of fright and leaped to the ground and loped out of sight.

Bob heaved a sigh of relief. “Fitz,” he whispered, “playing with wild beasts is like playing with fire; a fellow’s likely to burn his fingers.”

The goblin nodded; then he jerked out:

“But look at the lion! Bob, look at the lion!”

The noble animal was not content to go without a drink; and once more he was drawing near the spring, cautiously, slowly. A third time his nose and tongue touched the water; and a third time he sprang back, startled and enraged. And this time he rashly spatted the surface of the pool with his paw, and let out a hoarse roar of futile rage, as the treacherous liquid sent a stream of electricity tingling through his anatomy.

The two aëronauts were hunkered upon the locker, leaning far over the rim of the basket and laughing heartily but softly. On a sudden the goblin’s hands slipped and he fell headlong from the car—turning completely over in mid air and lighting plump astride the lion’s back!

CHAPTER VIII
THE BALLOONISTS ENCOUNTER ARABS

Fitz Mee let out a frantic yell as he descended; Bob echoed it. “I’m a goner!” squeaked the goblin as he alighted on the lion’s back.

“Goner!” screamed the boy, in unison.

The lion, no doubt coupling the sudden arrival of the little green sprite with the unusual condition of the spring he had always known, went mad with fright. He stuck his tail between his hind legs, gave a snort, followed by a prolonged and doleful whine, and scampered away among the trees and across the sands of the desert, the goblin clinging to his mane.

“Oh, dear—dear!” moaned the boy. “What am I to do? What can I do? Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Convulsions! The lion’ll shake him off out there—and—and eat him up! And I can’t help him! I don’t dare to go to his aid; the other beasts would eat me! Was ever a boy in such a pickle! Oh, I wish I was back home! I do—I do! I was a fool to come on such a wild adventurous trip, anyhow! Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Epilepsy! Gone! Lost! And here I am down here in the desert—with miles of trackless sands all around me; and with no means of getting away—except an old balky balloon! Oh, dear—dear!”

He wrung his hands and wept. At last, however, he muttered sleepily: “Poor unlucky old Fitz! He’s always getting into trouble and danger; he’s always tumbling out of the balloon. I’ve rescued him two or three times; but I can’t go on rescuing him every few hours. He’ll have to look out for himself this time; I can’t do anything for him. And,”—yawning,—“I’m so—so sleepy. I’ve just got to—sleep; that’s all—all—there is—”

He sank upon the bottom of the car and lost all sense of his surroundings.

“Bob! Oh, Bob!” Someone was calling him—someone in the far distance, he thought.

“Huh!” ever so drowsily.

“Bob! Bob Taylor! Wake up!”

“Hel—hello!” the boy grunted.

“Here! Wake up, you lazy pest! Do you hear me? Ah-hah! Do you feel me?”

“Ouch!”—petulantly—“Quit! Quit, I say!”

Someone was twitching and pinching the lad’s ear. He stirred, opened his eyes, flounced over upon his stomach and raised his head. There stood the Little Green Goblin of Goblinville, grinning down at him.

“Fitz!” the boy cried, springing to his feet and holding out his hand.

“Fitz Mee!”

The goblin continued to grin and bat his pop eyes—saucily, perversely. Daylight was just breaking.

“When—when did you get back?” Bob inquired, embarrassed by his comrade’s manner.

“Just got back, my friend,” Fitz croaked hoarsely; “and a time I’ve had getting you awake. I called and called from the ground, but you slept on. So I had to climb the tree; and then yell at you—and yell again and again, and shake you, and pinch you. You must have been greatly worried over my disappearance and danger! Oh, yes! Sure! You couldn’t sleep at all, you were so worried!”

“Fitz, I was worried,” the boy replied sheepishly.

“Of course!” the goblin sneered. “That’s what I said—you were so worried you couldn’t sleep!”

“You may say what you please,” Bob insisted, “but I was worried—worried like everything. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“And no doubt you searched for me, seeking to rescue me from my perilous position!” Fitz continued sarcastically. “Why, to be sure you did! Oh, my!—yes, indeed!”

“No, I didn’t hunt for you,” Bob returned thickly, a hint of tears in his voice.

“You didn’t?” snappishly.

“No.”

“Well, why didn’t you—huh?”

“How could I, Fitz, with wild beasts all around me?”

“Well,”—crustily,—“maybe there wasn’t wild beasts all around me! Hey, Bob Taylor!”

“You’re unreasonable, Fitz!” angry now. “Of course, you were in danger. But what would have been the use of my rushing into danger when I couldn’t help you a bit by doing it? I couldn’t whip all those wild animals and snatch you away from them. Now, could I?”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t,”—sullenly and rather reluctantly admitting the truth. “But it did make me mad, Bob, to find you sleeping so comfortably and soundly after the terrible time I’ve had.”

“Did you have a bad time, Fitz?”

“Did I? Well, I rather guess I did!”

“How far did the lion carry you?”

“About a hundred miles.”

“Oh, not that far!”

“How do you know, smarty? You weren’t there!”

“Well—well! Maybe he did. But why didn’t you stop him before he went so far?”

“Stop him! Bob Taylor, I just wish you’d have to take a ride on a lion once! Stop him! I did try to. I yelled and yelled at him to stop; but he just went the faster.”

“Well, why didn’t you let loose and roll off, then?”

“Just because I couldn’t—that’s why.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No, I couldn’t!” irritably.

“Why?”

“Why? Bob, you’re foolish! Just because he went so fast I was afraid to let loose—afraid the fall might hurt me.”

Bob laughed.

“Laugh!” muttered Fitz, gritting his teeth. “You think you’re smart!”

“But how did you get off? How did you get away from the lion?” the boy suggested.

“He stumbled and fell—and threw me off.”

“Oh!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, didn’t he try to eat you up, then?”

“Eat me up? No, he was dead.”

“Dead?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why, what killed him?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t stop to find out.”

“What do you think killed him?”

“I think he just ran himself to death.”

“Oh, Fitz!”

“Or he was scared to death.”

“Take care!”

“Or died from heart disease.”

“Fitz Mee, you’re yarning to me; you’ve been yarning to me about your adventure all the way through.”

“Look here!” Fitz cried, grinning impishly. “Wasn’t I on the lion’s back the last you saw of me?”

“Yes.”

“And wasn’t he carrying me off across the sands?”

“Yes.”

“Well, haven’t I come back alive—without a hurt or scratch?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Well, then, you’ve no good reason to doubt my story. And, Bob, I can tell you something else—something that will surprise you and test your credulity.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“How did I get back here—from a hundred miles away, do you suppose?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“I fell in with a caravan of Arabs, and they brought me.”

“What!”

“Yes.”

“Where are the Arabs now?”

“Right out there. See ’em?”

Bob looked in the direction indicated. There, sure enough, was a number of Arabs with horses and camels rapidly approaching the oasis.

The boy turned to his companion and murmured reproachfully: “Fitz, you’re a big story-teller—that’s what you are. Just now you happened to see those Arabs, and you put them into your story. You’ve been spinning a big yarn to me. I’ll bet the lion didn’t carry you but a short distance out on the sands; then you came to your senses, got over your surprise, and rolled off and made your way back. I believe you’ve been here ever since shortly after I went to sleep. Now, haven’t you?”

Fitz Mee grinned broadly; but would make no reply to the charge. Instead, he said:

“Bob, we’d better be getting away from here. Those Arabs have been travelling all night, taking advantage of the cool air; and now they’ll spend the hot hours of the day under the trees of this oasis near this spring.”

“My!” Bob ejaculated sharply.

“What?” his companion asked, in keen concern.

“I was just thinking about the spring—about its being charged with electricity.”

“Whew!” whistled the goblin. “I hadn’t thought of that. We’d better get away from here before those Arabs discover what we’ve done to the spring, Bob. They’ll be mad when they find out; and they might shoot us with the long guns they carry. Sh! There comes one with a camel now.”

The two aëronauts kept perfectly quiet. The Arab swiftly approached the spring, leading his camel and hugging an empty waterskin to his breast. The beast of burden tried to get at the tempting water, and its owner tried to keep it back, scolding and jerking at the halter-rope. But the camel succeeded in touching the water with its nose; and immediately it surged backward, coughing and shivering. The Arab, in an effort to control the frightened animal, chanced to set his foot in the edge of the pool. Then he gave a startled yell and danced about on one leg, grimacing and grunting. The whole thing was so funny that Bob could not restrain a snort of laughter. The Arab cast his gaze aloft. Then he yelled louder than before, dropped the halter-rope, and sped away to tell his companions of his wonderful experience and discovery.

“You’ve played the mischief, Bob!” Fitz Mee grumbled, but grinning in spite of himself. “Untie that rope; let’s get out of here.”

The boy was prompt to obey. Fitz released the air; and the balloon began to rise slowly, steadily, floating out over the shining sands. At that moment, however, the whole band of Arabs put in an appearance at the edge of the oasis; and, with shouts and imprecations, raised their guns and fired at the rising air-ship. The bullets whistled around the two adventurers, causing them to drop precipitately to the bottom of the car.

“You hurt, Bob?” Fitz inquired.

“No. You?”

“No.”

“Bully!”

“That’s what I say!”

“But, Fitz, that was a close shave.”

“Too close for comfort.”

“Look here! One bullet went through the basket.”

“Yes and look there! Another one went through the balloon-bag.”

“They didn’t do any harm, though—eh?”

“No.”

“I’m glad they didn’t. And now I want to get out of this country; I’m tired of it.”

“So am I. And I’ll set the needle north-east, for Goblinville; and away we’ll go. Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!” the boy echoed.

“Well—well!” the goblin mumbled irritably, fumbling at the selector.

“What’s the matter now, Fitz?” Bob cried impatiently, stooping to ascertain the cause of his companion’s exclamatory remark.

“The selector’s out of fix again, Bob. The needle won’t point any way but south.”

“And—and, Fitz!”

“Huh!” springing erect.

“See how fast we’re going directly south.”

“Yes,” nodding gravely, “and there’s hardly any power at all turned on.”

“Shut it all off, Fitz.”

“I will,” croaked the goblin. And he did so. Still the balloon slowly drifted southward.

“What are we to do, Fitz?”

“Indeed I don’t know,” the little green fellow answered dejectedly.

“We’re going faster again.”

“I see.”

“Well, we’ve got to do some—” The boy broke off abruptly; then cried in great excitement: “Look! Look, Fitz!”

“What?” screeched Fitz Mee, nervously dancing up and down. “What? Where?”

“A mountain!” yelled Bob. “See it? Away to the south! A big shiny mountain!”

“Yes!” moaned the goblin. “And that’s what’s drawing us!” He cast a despairing look behind them.

“Why—why,” he jerked out, “Bob, the Arabs are following us!”

“Oh, dear—dear!” muttered the boy. “Now we are lost!”

“We don’t dare to stop,” Fitz whimpered; “the Arabs’ll get us!”

“And we don’t dare to go ahead,” Bob whined; “we’ll fly against the side of that mountain and burst ourselves all to pieces!”

“Oh, dear!” groaned the goblin.

“Oh, dear!” moaned the boy.

“Bob!”

“What, Fitz?”

“Which would you rather—be eaten up by the Arabs, or bursted up by the mountain?”

“Why, neither, you silly old thing!” pettishly.

“We’ve got to choose, Bob.”

“Well, we haven’t!”

“What else can we do, Bob?”

“I know!” brightly. “An idea has just come to me, Fitz.”

“Oh! what is it, Bob?” joyfully.

“You’ll see—in time. Stop the balloon.”

“Bob, I can’t stop it!”

“That’s so. Well, pump up the tank and send the balloon to the ground.”

“It’ll spill us out, Bob, at the rate we’re going.”

“Let it spill!”—recklessly.

“All right! Here goes!”

Fitz worked industriously at the pump; and the air-ship began to drop swiftly. Soon it was within a few feet of the ground, flying along rapidly.

“Hold on to the car when it strikes,” Bob cautioned his companion, “or the balloon, relieved of our weight, will fly up—and away from us.”

“I understand,” Fitz replied.

Bump! The car struck the earth, throwing its occupants sprawling; but they hung on. Bump! Bump! Then it dragged along the sand for some distance; and at last came to a stop.

“Pump the air-tank up good and tight, Fitz,” Bob commanded; “we don’t want to lose our air-ship and be left out here in the desert.”

“But the Arabs’ll get us, anyhow,” Fitz complained disconsolately. “There they come—only a few miles away!”

“Let ’em come!” the boy cried gleefully. “They’ll be sorry! Let me have that hand-satchel.”

“But what’re you going to do, Bob?”

“Just wait and see!” was the tantalizing answer.

CHAPTER IX
A WIRELESS MESSAGE TO HEADQUARTERS

The goblin silently handed the small black satchel to his comrade. The boy opened it and took out two of the tiny bottles, remarking as he did so:

“I—I rather hate to do it; but I’ve got to—we’ve got to save ourselves.”

“But what do you mean to do, Bob?” his companion insisted. “Tell me—before the Arabs get here.”

The boy silently shook a few tablets into his palm from each of the two bottles. Then he queried:

“Fitz, does the—the effect of these tablets—these gob-tabs—last forever? Tell me the truth.”

“The effect lasts as long as the person eats goblin diet, Bob. That’s the reason I’ve insisted on your eating nothing else. See?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, now what’re you going to do?”

“Going to give those Arabs some gob-tabs.”

“How are you going to get them to take the gobs?” asked the little green sprite, grinning broadly.

“You just watch me and see,” Bob replied complacently; “and do whatever I tell you to do.”

“All right. But you’ve got some giant-tabs there, too. What are you going to do with those?”

“You’ll see. Hist! Here come the Arabs. Now, don’t you hesitate to do what I tell you, Fitz.”

“I won’t, Bob.”

The Arabs, some on horses and others on camels, came galloping to the spot, raising a great cloud of sand. They formed in a circle round the two diminutive aëronauts and their balloon; and dismounted and stood silently, sullenly scowling.

At last the sheik of the tribe advanced and said:

“You two are devils. You’ve poisoned the spring where we drink and refresh ourselves and our beasts. You must die; we’re going to kill you.”

Bob replied composedly: “Great sheik, we are magicians, not devils. We worked enchantment upon the spring, but did not poison it. As soon as the sun shines a few hours, the waters of the spring will again be pure and sweet—purer and sweeter than ever before. To convince you that we’re magicians, we’re ready to perform before you. See! I will make a giant of my green comrade.”

The boy gave a giant-tab to the goblin and motioned him to swallow it. Unhesitatingly Fitz obeyed; and almost immediately he grew and swelled to gigantic size. With gestures and cries of amazement the Arabs drew back. Several of them touched their foreheads and muttered strange words; others prostrated themselves and hid their faces upon their extended arms. But the fierce old sheik gave no sign of wonder or fear. Instead, he said firmly, boldly:

“Devils can work magic upon devils; but devils cannot work magic upon Allah’s elect. I’ll put you to the test; and if you fail,—as you will!—you die. Give me and my children of your magic medicine.”

At a word from their sheik, the Arabs formed a line. Then the fierce old warrior of the desert said:

“My children, these devils cannot injure you with their magic medicine. If they succeed in making giants of us, we shall then be able to overcome all our enemies; if they fail, we shall be as we are—and the devils shall die.” Then to Bob: “Give us of your devil drugs.”

The boy stepped forward and dropped a gob-tab into the outstretched palm of each warrior. The sheik gave a signal; and twenty red mouths flew open and twenty gob-tabs disappeared. At the same moment Bob took a giant-tab. And a few minutes later two giants stood triumphantly grinning down upon twenty bearded and turbaned pygmies!

“Now, sheik,” Bob roared briskly and cheerily, “no doubt you’re convinced that we’re what we claim to be—great magicians. But we don’t mean to work you any injury, now that we’re big and you’re small; although you meant to put us to death, just because you were big and we were small. You’ll come back to your natural size all right, in a few days. And we’re not going to rob you; just going to borrow two of your camels.”

The sheik had stood silently staring at his diminutive warriors and inspecting his own shrunken limbs. But now he piped shrilly:

“Allah is great! Allah is great! But what use can you have for our camels? You are so huge that they cannot bear you!”

“Say!” Bob muttered in consternation. “Fitz, that’s a fact. What are we to do? I meant to take two of the camels to carry us and our balloon out of reach of the power of the magnetic mountain. What are we to do?”

Two giants stood triumphantly grinning down upon twenty pygmies.

“I don’t know,” the goblin-giant grumbled surlily.

“Well, can’t you think of some plan?”

“You’re the one, Roberty-Boberty, that’s making the plans this time.” And Fitz Mee grinned a grin that made his big fat face look simply awful.

“I know,” Bob admitted ruefully. “But won’t you help a fellow out, when he’s doing the best he can?”

“Say, Bob!”

“What?”—eagerly, expectantly.

“I’ll tell you what! We’ll have to take gob-tabs and go back to goblin size. Then the camels can carry us.”

“Yes, but we couldn’t manage the camels—couldn’t get on ’em, even,” the boy-giant objected. “Could we?”

“I’m afraid we couldn’t,” the goblin-giant admitted, shaking his head. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Oh, dear!” groaned Bob.

“Oh, dear!” seconded Fitz.

“Say!” squeaked the old sheik, looking up at the two giants. “What are we Arabs to do? We are so small we cannot mount and manage our beasts.”

“I don’t know,” rumbled Bob.

“And I don’t know,” mumbled Fitz.

“Well, you’re a nice pair of magicians—you are!” screeched the sheik, pulling at his long beard. “Don’t you know anything you can do to help us out of our quandary?”

Each giant sadly shook his big head.

“Well,” the old sheik screeched, “I know what you’ve got to do—you’ve got to give our beasts some of your magic medicine, and shrink ’em.”

“Oh!” Bob ejaculated.

“Oh!” Fitz exclaimed.

“That’s a good idea,” the boy-giant remarked.

“A splendid idea,” the goblin-giant agreed.

“And we can give giant-tabs to the two camels we’re going to use,” Bob suggested.

“Of course we can,” Fitz assented.

“Well, here goes!”

The two giants went to work. After repeated trials they succeeded in getting the camels and horses to swallow the magic medicine. All those animals to whom they gave gob-tabs shrunk to pygmy size; and the two camels to whom they administered giant-tabs grew to giant size. Then the old sheik and his bearded warriors, looking very dejected and forlorn, got upon their tiny beasts and rode away over the sands.

Bob and Fitz lashed their balloon upon the back of one of the giant camels, and mounted and set out toward the north. All that day they traveled and far into the night, the great desert animals covering the ground rapidly. At last they stopped at an oasis; and there rested until morning. Then they tested the selector of the balloon and, to their unbounded delight, found it in perfect working order. They had got beyond the influence of the magnetic mountain.

“Now,” said Bob, “we’ll take some gob-tabs and give some to the camels; then we’ll be all ready to take to the air again.”

They carried out the plan thus expressed. When they were once more ready to embark upon the tenuous tide of the air, Fitz Mee remarked:

“Now, I’ll telephone to Goblinland that we’re coming, that we’ll arrive there to-morrow.” He drew forth his wireless telephone, rang the tiny bell, and waited. Bob stood at his comrade’s side, alertly observant. Presently he saw the goblin give a start and heard him saying:

“Hello! Hello! Is this Goblinland? It is, you say? All right. This is Fitz Mee. Yes, Fitz Mee. Yes, the Little Green Goblin. Uh-huh. Well, give me the mayor’s office. Yes—yes! the mayor’s office.”

There was a momentary pause; and then:

“Hello! Is this the mayor’s office in Goblinland? What? Huh? Is this the mayor’s office in Goblinland, I say? You can’t hear me? Well, I can’t hear you. I want to know if this is the mayor’s office in Goblinland. You say it is? Huh? Oh! All right. Well, is the mayor there? How’s that? Well, I want to speak to him, please.”

Another momentary pause; and then:

“Hello! Hel-lo, Hel-lo! Is this his honor, the mayor of Goblinland? It is? How’s that? It isn’t? How’s that? What? Huh?” Bob began to snicker. “Oh! All right. Well, mayor, this is Fitz Mee. Fitz Mee, I say. No—no! Fitz Mee. No! Not Swiss cheese!”—Bob laughed outright; and the goblin scowled darkly. “F-i-t-z M-e-e, Fitz Mee. Oh! You understand now, do you? Well, I’ve got the boy. Yes. Why, I’ve been delayed by storms and misadventures. Yes. Yes, bad storms. We’ll get in to-morrow morning, I think. Hey? I—I know; but I hope your honor will pardon—what? Well, mayor, you don’t know what an awful time I’ve had with this boy.” Bob rolled upon the ground and roared. “Well, I’m very sorry. You’ll what—your honor? Please don’t say that! Oh! don’t say that!” The goblin’s face had gone white, Bob observed; and the boy wondered what was the matter. “Yes, to—morrow morning. Good-bye.”

Fitz Mee rang off, returned the instrument to his pocket, and dropped upon the ground, pale and panting.

“What is it, what’s the matter, Fitz?” Bob inquired kindly.

The goblin drew his knees up to his chin and rolled his pop eyes and waggled his big head; but made no answer.

“What is it?” the boy repeated.

Fitz moaned, but made no other reply.

“Tell me,” Bob insisted.

The goblin shook his head.

“I don’t dare to, Bob,” he said.

“Why don’t you?”

“I just don’t—that’s all.”

“Well, let’s be off. I’m anxious to get back home.”

“Back home?” springing nimbly to his feet.

“Yes.”

“Back home!”

“That’s what I said.”

“But, Bob, you’re not going back home.”

“But I am.”

“I say you’re not!”

“And I say I am!”

“Bob, you can’t!”

“Fitz, I can!”

“You shan’t!”

“I will!”

“You’re a spoiled, stubborn boy, Roberty-Boberty Taylor.”

“And you’re a contrary old goblin, Mr. Epilepsy Spasms Convulsions Fitz Mee. Now!”

“Bob, you ought to be ashamed to call a comrade naughty names.”

“I am; but you called me names first.”

“I know I did; and I’m sorry. But, Bob, why do you desire to go back home?”

“Because I’m tired of being away from home; because I’m tired of adventure.”

“But you haven’t seen Goblinland yet.”

“I don’t care; I don’t want to see it, I—I guess.”

“Yes, you do. And you must go with me, Bob.”

“Why must I?”

“Because.”

“Well, because what?”

“I hate to tell you.”

“Yes, tell me.”

“Because my head will come off, if you don’t.”

Bob started.

“Is that what the mayor told you?” he inquired. “Is that what made you turn so pale?”

The goblin nodded gravely; and said: “Yes, he said if I didn’t have you in Goblinland by to-morrow forenoon, he’d have my head cut off.”

“Why, he’s a cruel old tyrant!” the boy cried hotly.

“No, he isn’t,” the goblin protested; “he has to do what he said he’d do. It’s the law, you know; the law that when one agrees to do a certain thing by a certain time, he must do it or suffer death.”

“Well, such a fool law!” Bob muttered testily. “I don’t want to go to a country that has such laws; and I won’t.”

“Bob, remember—if you don’t go with me, I’ll be killed.”

The boy was silent for some moments. Then he said:

“Well, Fitz, I’ll go with you—to save your life; but I wish I hadn’t come with you at all.”

A few minutes later they were again off for Goblinland.

CHAPTER X
ARRIVED IN GOBLINLAND

All that day and all that night the two daring adventurers traveled steadily and directly north-eastward, and at the dawn of the next day they were floating high over western China. The air was thin and penetrating and both were shivering with cold.

Fitz Mee, standing upon the locker and watching the sunrise through the binocular, observed:

“We’re almost to our journey’s end, Bob.”

“Almost to Goblinland?” the boy queried.

“Yes; I can see it.”

“Where—where?” Bob cried eagerly, mounting to his comrade’s side.

“See that mountain top a little to the left yonder?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s Goblinland.”

“Oo—h!” Bob muttered. “It must be a pretty cold place to live.” And his teeth chattered sympathetically at the thought.

“No, it isn’t,” the goblin assured him. “You see Goblinland is really the crater of a volcano.”

“The crater of a volcano?” said Bob, in mild consternation.

“Yes,” Fitz laughed. “But you needn’t be alarmed, Bob; it’s an extinct volcano. Still the crust over it is so thin that the ground is always warm and the climate mild. Now we’re getting right over the place. Release the selector and pump up the air-tank; and we’ll soon cast anchor in port.”

As they slowly descended Bob swept his eyes here and there, greedily taking in the scene. Goblinland was indeed the crater of an immense ancient volcano. The great pit was several miles in diameter and several hundred feet in depth, walled in by perpendicular cliffs of shiny, black, volcanic rock. Through the middle of this natural amphitheater ran a clear mountain brook; and on either side of the stream, near the center of the plain, were the rows of tiny stone houses constituting Goblinville. Shining white roadways wound here and there, graceful little bridges spanned the brook, and groves of green trees and beds of blooming flowers were everywhere.

“How beautiful!” Bob exclaimed involuntarily.

“Yes,” the goblin nodded, his eyes upon the village below, “to me, at least; it’s my home.”

“I know now why you goblins always travel in balloons,” the lad remarked; “you can’t get out of your country in any other way.”

Again Fitz Mee nodded absent-mindedly. Then he said: “My people are out to welcome us, Bob. Look down there in the public square.”

The boy did as directed. “What a lot of ’em, Fitz!” he tittered gleefully. “And what bright-colored clothes they wear—red and green and blue and all colors!”

“Yes,” Fitz Mee answered. Then, after a momentary pause: “The mayor will be present to greet us, Bob. He’ll make a speech; and you must be very polite and respectful. See them waving at us—and hear them cheering!”

A few minutes later the balloon had touched the earth and eager hands had grasped the anchor-rope.

“Hello! Hello, Fitz Mee! Welcome home, Fitz Mee!” were the hearty greetings that arose on all sides.

Fitz Mee stepped to the ground, bowing and smiling, and Bob silently followed his example. The balloon was dragged away and the populace closed in upon the new arrivals, elbowing and jostling one another and chuckling and cackling immoderately.

“Shake!” they cried. “Give us a wag of your paw, Fitz Mee! Shake, Bob Taylor!”

There were goblins great and goblins small, goblins short and goblins tall; goblins fat and goblins lean, goblins red and goblins green; goblins young and goblins old, goblins timid, goblins bold; goblins dark and goblins fair—goblins, goblins everywhere!

Bob was much amused at their cries and antics and just a little frightened at their exuberant friendliness. Fitz Mee shook hands with all comers, and chuckled and giggled good-naturedly.

“Out of the way!” blustered a hoarse voice. “Out of the way for his honor, the mayor!”

A squad of rotund and husky goblins, in blue police uniforms and armed with maces, came forcing in their way through the packed crowd. Immediately behind them was the mayor, a pursy, wrinkled old fellow wearing a long robe of purple velvet. The officers cleared a space for him, and he advanced and said pompously:

“Welcome, Fitz Mee, known the world over as the Little Green Goblin of Goblinville. I proclaim you the bravest, if not the speediest, messenger and minister Goblinland has ever known. Again, welcome home; and welcome to your friend and comrade, Master Robert Taylor of Yankeeland. I trust that he will find his stay among us pleasant, and that he will in no way cause us to regret that we have made the experiment of admitting a human being—and a boy at that!—to the sacred precincts of Goblinville. The freedom of the country and the keys of the city shall be his. Once more, a sincere and cordial welcome.”

Then to the officers: “Disperse the populace, and two of you escort the Honorable Fitz Mee and his companion to their dwelling-place, that they may seek the rest they greatly need after so arduous a journey.”

The officers promptly and energetically carried out the orders of their chief.

When Fitz and Bob were alone in the former’s house, the latter remarked:

“Fitz, I believe I’ll like to live in Goblinville.”

“I—I hope you will, Bob,” was the rather disappointing reply.

“Hope I will? Don’t you think I will, Fitz?”

“I don’t know; boys are curious animals.”

“Well, I think I will. You know you said I could do as I pleased here.”

“Yes.”

“Say, Fitz?”

“Well.”

“How does it come that you goblins speak my language?”

“We speak any language—all languages.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why, how do you learn so many?”

“We don’t have to learn ’em; we just know ’em naturally—as we know everything else we know at all.”

“My, that’s great! You don’t have to go to school, not study, nor anything, do you?”

“No.”

“I wish I was a goblin.”

“But you’re not,” laughed Fitz Mee; “and you never will be.”

“But I’ll be a man some day, and that will be better.”

“Maybe you will.”

“Maybe?”

“You’ll never be a man if you stay in Goblinland.”

“I won’t?”

“No.”

“Won’t I ever grow any?”

“Not as long as you stay in Goblinland—and eat our kind of food.”

“Well, I’ll get older, and then I’ll be a man, or a goblin, or something—won’t I?”

“You’ll still be a boy.”

“Pshaw!” Bob pouted. “I don’t like that. You told me I could be what I pleased in Goblinland.”

“No, I didn’t,” Fitz Mee returned quietly but firmly. “I told you that in our country boys—meaning goblin boys, of course—were compelled to do what pleased them and were not permitted to do what pleased others. That law or custom is still in effect; and you, as a human boy, will be subject to it.”

“And I can do anything that pleases me?”

“You can’t do anything else.”

“Good!” Bob shouted gleefully. “I guess I’ll like Goblinland all right; and I don’t care if I do stay a boy. Am I the first human boy that ever got into your country, Fitz?”

“You’re the first human being of any kind that ever set foot in Goblinland.”

“Is that so? Well, I’ll try not to make your people sorry you brought me here, Fitz.”

“That’s all right, Bob,” his companion made reply, a little dejectedly, the boy thought. “And what would you like to do first—now that you are in a land that is absolutely new to you?”

“Fitz, I’d like to take a good long sleep.”

“That would please you?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“More than anything else, for the present?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Off to bed you go. You’ll find a couch in the next room. Go in there and tumble down.”

“I will pretty soon.”

“But you must go now.”

“Must go now? Why?”

“Because it’s the law in Goblinland that a boy shall do what he pleases—and at once.”

“Well, I won’t go to bed till I get ready, Fitz.”

“You don’t mean to defy the law, do you, Bob?”

“Doggone such an old law!” the lad muttered peevishly.

Fitz Mee giggled and held his sides and rocked to and fro.

“What’s the matter of you, anyhow?” Bob cried crossly.

His comrade continued to laugh, his knees drawn up to his chin, his fat face convulsed.

“Old Giggle-box!” the boy stormed. “You think you’re smart—making fun of me.”

Fitz Mee grew grave at once.

“Bob,” he said soberly, “you’ll get into trouble, and you’ll get me into trouble.”

“I don’t care.”

“Go to bed at once, that’s a good boy.”

“I won’t do it.”

Just then the outer door opened and a uniformed officer stepped into the room.

“His honor, the mayor, begs me to say,” he gravely announced, “that as Master Robert Taylor has said that he would be pleased to sleep, he must go to sleep—and at once. His honor trusts that Master Taylor will respect and obey the law of the land, without further warning.”

The officer bowed and turned and left the house.

“Well, I declare!” Bob gasped, completely taken aback. “What kind of a country is this, anyhow?”

Fitz Mee tumbled to the floor, and rolled and roared.

The ludicrousness of the situation appealed to the fun-loving Bob, and he joined in his companion’s merriment. Together they wallowed and kicked upon the floor, prodding each other in the ribs and indulging in other rude antics indicative of their exuberant glee.

When they had their laugh out Bob remarked:

“Well, I’ll go to bed, Fitz, just to obey the law; but I don’t suppose I can snooze a bit.”

Contrary to his expectations, however, the lad, really wearier than he realized, soon fell asleep. He slept through the day and far into the hours of darkness; and it was almost dawn of the next day when he awoke. He quietly arose and began to inspect his surroundings. A soft white radiance flooded the room. He drew aside the window-blind and peeped out. Darkness reigned, but bright lights twinkled here and there. He dropped the blind and again turned his attention to the things within.

“I wonder if Fitz is awake,” he mumbled; “I’m hungry. I suppose he slept on the couch in the next room. I wonder where all this brightness comes from; I don’t see a lamp of any kind. Huh! It comes from that funny little black thing on the stand there. What kind of lamp can it be—hey?”

He walked over and looked at the strange object—a small perforated cone, from the many holes of which the white light streamed. Noticing a projecting button near the top of the black cone, he made hold to touch it and give it a slight turn. Instantly the holes had closed and the room was in darkness. He turned the button back again; and the holes were open and the room was light as day.

“Well, that beats me!” muttered Bob. “It looks like an electric light; but I don’t see any wires. There aren’t any wires. I must find Fitz and learn about this thing.”

He peeped into the adjoining room, which was in darkness, and called:

“Fitz! Oh, Fitz! Are you asleep, Fitz?”

“Huh?” was the startled reply. “Yes—no, I guess so—I guess not, I mean.”

Bob laughed.

“Well, get up and come in here,” he said.

“Why, it isn’t morning yet,” the goblin objected.

“I’ve had my sleep out, anyhow.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, get up and come in here, won’t you?”

“I suppose I might as well,” grumbled Fitz; “you won’t let me sleep any more.”

Then, appearing in the doorway and rubbing his pop eyes and blinking: “Now, what do you want?”

“First, I want to know what kind of a light this is,” indicating the little black cone.

“Why, it’s an electric light, of course,” Fitz Mee made answer, in a tone that showed his wonder and surprise that Bob should ask such a question.

“I don’t see how it can be, I don’t see any wires.”

“Wires?” chuckled Fitz. “We don’t need any wires.”

“Well, where does the electricity come from, then?”

“From the bug under the cone.”

“The bug?”

“Yes, the electric firefly. Didn’t you ever see one?”

Bob shook his head—half in negation, half in incredulity.

“Well, I guess they’re peculiar to Goblinland, then,” Fitz went on, grinning impishly. “We raise them here by thousands and use them for lighting purposes. The electric firefly is a great bug. Like the electric eel, it gives one a shock if he touches it; and like the ordinary firefly, it sheds light—but electric light, and very bright. I’ll show you.” He gingerly lifted the perforated cone.

There lay a bug, sure enough, a bug about the size of a hickory-nut, and so scintillant, so bright, that the eye could hardly gaze upon it.

“And this is the only kind of light you have in Goblinland, Fitz?” the boy asked.

“Yes. We light our houses, our streets, our factories, our mines, everything with them.”

“Wonderful!” Bob exclaimed. “And what do you do for fire, for heat?”

“We don’t need heat for our dwellings. Owing to the fact that our country is protected from all cold winds by the high cliffs around it, and that the earth crust is thin over the fires of the volcano below, the temperature remains about eighty the year round. Then, we don’t cook any crude, nasty food, as you humans do; so—”

“No, you live on pills,” Bob interjected, in a tone of scorn and disgust. “Bah!”

“So,” Fitz Mee went on smoothly, unheeding his comrade’s splenetic interruption, “all we need heat for is in running our factories. For that we bore down to the internal fire of the earth.”

“Well—well!” Bob ejaculated. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, where are your factories, Fitz? I didn’t see anything that looked like factories when we got out of the balloon.”

“They’re all in caverns hewed in the cliffs.”

“And the fire you use comes from ’way down in the ground?”

“Yes.”

“And you light your factories with electric fireflies?”

The goblin gravely nodded. Bob was thoughtfully silent for a moment; then he remarked:

“It must be awfully hot work in your factories—the men shut up in caves, and no fresh air.”

“We have plenty of fresh air in our works,” Fitz hastened to make plain; “we have large funnel-shaped tubes running up to the mountain-tops. The cold wind pours down through them, and we can turn it on or off at our pleasure.”

“Say!” Bob cried.

“What?” queried his companion.

“I’d like to go through your factories.”

“You mean what you say, Bob?”

“Mean what I say?” said Bob, in surprise bordering on indignation. “Of course I do.”

“That you’d like to go through our factories?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

“When do you want to make the—the experiment—the effort?”

“To-day—right away, soon as we’ve had something to eat.”

“All right, Bob,”—with a smile and a shake of the head,—“but—”

“But what?”

“Nothing. We’ll have breakfast and be off. It’s coming daylight, and the factories will be running full blast in an hour from now.”

“More pills for breakfast, I reckon,” Bob grumbled surlily.

“More tablets and pellets,” Fitz Mee grinned, rubbing his hands together and rolling his pop eyes.

“Huh!” the boy grunted ungraciously. “I wish you folks cooked and ate food like civilized people. I’m getting tired of nothing but pills. I can’t stand it very long—that’s all.”

“You’ll get used to it,” the goblin said, consolingly.

“Used to it!” the boy snorted angrily. “Yes, I’ll get used to it like the old man’s cow got used to living on sawdust; about the time she was getting used to it she died.” But he accepted the pellets and tablets his companion offered him, and meekly swallowed them. Then they caught up their caps and left the house.

CHAPTER XI
IN THE LAND WHERE YOU DO AS YOU PLEASE

Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office; and to that august official Fitz Mee said:

“Your honor, Master Taylor wishes to go through our factories.”

“So I’ve heard,” the mayor answered grimly, “but could hardly credit my ears.” Then to Bob: “Master Taylor, is this true that I hear: that you desire to go through our factories?”

“Yes, sir,” Bob replied respectfully but sturdily, rather wondering, however, why such an ado should be made over so small a matter.

“Very well, Fitz Mee,” said the mayor to that worthy, “I’ll depend upon you to see that Master Taylor goes through our factories; and I’ll hold you responsible for any trouble that may arise. Here’s your permit.”

When the two were out of the mayor’s presence and on their way to the factories, Bob remarked:

“Fitz, how did the mayor learn that I want to go through your machine-shops and places?”

“He heard us talking.”

“Heard us talking?”

“Yes. There’s a wireless telephone instrument in the room where we were, an automatic one that catches every sound.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

“And what did the mayor mean by saying he’d hold you responsible for any trouble that might arise?”

“Oh, nothing—nothing!” Fitz Mee answered hastily and grumpily.

The boy questioned his companion no further, and soon they crossed one of the picturesque bridges spanning the brook, ascended a long, gentle slope to the base of the black cliffs, and stood before a wide, nail-studded door. To the officers on guard Fitz Mee presented the mayor’s permit. The guard deliberately and carefully read the slip of paper, then he lifted his brows, drew down the corners of his mouth and grunted pompously:

“Fitz Mee, you’re aware of the import of this official document, are you?”

Fitz Mee nodded gravely, grimly, and Bob looked from one to the other in silent wonder.

Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office.

The guard went on: “This permit of his honor, the mayor, says that not only is Master Robert Taylor, the friend and comrade of the honorable Fitz Mee, hereby permitted to go through our factories, but by the same token is compelled to go through them, this being his expressed desire and pleasure; and that the honorable Fitz Mee shall be held responsible for any trouble that may thereby arise. That’s all right, is it, Fitz Mee?”

“It’s all right,” Fitz Mee muttered sullenly, but determinedly.

“Pass in,” said the officer, unbolting the door and dragging it open.

As soon as the two had stepped over the sill, the door was slammed shut behind them, and Bob heard the great bolts shot into place—and shuddered in spite of himself. On each side of him were smooth, solid walls of rock: ahead of him stretched a dusky corridor dimly lighted with electric fireflies suspended here and there. The dull rumble of distant machinery came to his ears; the faint smell of smoke and sulphurous fumes greeted him.

“Fitz?” the lad said to his comrade, who stood silent at his side.

The goblin simply gave the speaker a look in reply.

“Fitz,” Bob continued, “what’s the meaning of all this talk about my going through the factories? What’s the matter, anyhow?”

“Nothing—nothing!” Fitz murmured hoarsely, shiftily gazing here and there.

“Yes, there is,” the boy insisted. “Why do you all emphasize the word ‘through’?”

“Why—why,” Fitz stammered, rubbing his nose and blinking his pop eyes, “we thought maybe you didn’t mean that you desired to go through the factories; thought maybe you meant you desired to go partly through only—just wanted to see some of the things.”

“No,” Bob hastily made reply, “I want to go through; I want to see everything. Understand?”

Fitz nodded.

“Well, come on, then,” he said; “we’ve got to be moving.”

As they went along the corridor, Bob became aware of doors ahead opening to right and left. He saw the flash of flames and heard the whirr of wheels and the hub-bub of hammers.

“This room to the right,” said Fitz Mee, “is the machine-shop; that on the left is the forging-room.”

They visited each in turn, and the lad was delighted with all he saw.

“He! he!” he laughed when they were again out in the corridor and free from the thunder and crash and din that had almost deafened them. “The idea, Fitz, of me not wanting to go through your factories; of not wanting to see everything! You bet I want to go through! You thought I’d be afraid—that’s what you thought; and the mayor, too. But I’ll show you; I’m no baby—not much!”

His companion grinned impishly, but made no reply.

The next place they entered was the great moulding-room. Open cupolas were pouring forth white-hot streams of molten metal, which half-nude and sweaty, grimy goblins were catching in ladles and bearing here and there. The temperature of the room was almost unbearable; the atmosphere was poisonous with sulphurous gases. Bob crossed the threshold and stopped.

“Come on,” commanded his companion; “we must hurry along, or we won’t get through to-day.”

“I—I don’t believe I care to go through here,” Bob said hesitatingly.

“Why?” Fitz Mee jerked out.

“It’s so awful hot and smelly,” the boy explained; “and I’m—I’m a little afraid of all that hot metal.”

“No matter; you must go through here.”

“I must?” Bob cried indignantly.

“Certainly. You said you’d be pleased to go through our factories; so now you must go through—through every apartment. Boys in Goblinville, you know, must do what pleases ’em.”

“But it doesn’t please me to go through this fiery furnace, Fitz.”

“Well, boys’re not allowed to change their minds every few minutes in Goblinville. Come on.”

“I won’t!” Bob said obstinately.

“You’ll get into trouble, Bob.”

“I don’t care.”

“And you’ll get me into trouble.”

“You into trouble? How?”

“You heard what the mayor said, didn’t you?”

“Y-e-s.”

“Well?”

“Well, I’ll go through for your sake, Fitz; but I don’t want to. It is a fool law or custom—or whatever it is—that won’t let a fellow change his mind once in a while, when he feels like it! A great way that is to let a boy do what he pleases! But lead on.”

They sauntered through the moulding—room, Bob trembling and dodging and blinking, and out into the corridor again.

“Mercy!” the urchin exclaimed, inhaling a deep breath of relief. “I don’t want any more of that! I’m all in a sweat and a tremble; I was afraid all the time some of that hot metal would splash on me.”

“It does splash on the workers at times,” Fitz Mee observed quietly.

Not heeding his companion’s remark, Bob continued: “And my lungs feel all stuffy. I couldn’t stand such a hot and smelly place more than a few minutes.”

“How do you suppose the moulders stand it for ten hours a day?” Fitz asked.

“I don’t see how they do—and I don’t see why they do,” the boy replied.

“You don’t see why they do?”

“No, I don’t.”

“For the same reason workmen stand disagreeable and dangerous kinds of work in your country, Bob; to earn a living.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” the boy declared loftily.

“You might have to, were you a grown man or goblin.”

“Well, I wouldn’t. My papa doesn’t have to do anything of the kind.”

“Your father’s a physician, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, doesn’t he miss meals, and lose sleep, and worry over his patients, and work sometimes for weeks at a time without rest or peace of mind?”

“Yes, he does.”

“But you’d rather do that than be a common laborer for eight or ten hours a day, would you?”

“I—I don’t know; I’d rather just be a boy and have fun all the time. And I guess I’ve seen enough of your factories, Fitz; I want to get out into the fresh air and sunshine again.”

“You must go on through,” the goblin answered, quietly but positively.

“Well, have we seen nearly all there is to see?”

“No, we’ve just begun; we haven’t seen one-tenth part yet.”

“Oh, dear!” Bob groaned. “I never can stand it, Fitz; it’ll take us all day.”

“Yes,” the goblin nodded.

“Well, I tell you I can’t stand it.”

“But you must; it was your choice.”

“Choice!” angrily. “I didn’t know What it would be like.”

“You shouldn’t have chosen so rashly. Come on.”

Bob demurred and pleaded, and whimpered a little, it must be confessed; but his guide was inexorable.

It is not necessary to enter into details in regard to all the boy saw, experienced and learned. Let it suffice to say that at three o’clock that afternoon he was completely worn out with strenuous sight-seeing. The grating, rumbling, thundering sounds had made his head ache; the sights and smells had made his heart sick. He had seen goblins, goblins, goblins—goblins sooty and grimed, goblins wizened and old before their time; goblins grinding out their lives in the cutlery factory; goblins inhaling poisonous fumes in the chemical works; goblins, like beasts of burden, staggering under heavy loads; goblins doing this thing, that thing and the other thing, that played havoc with their health and shortened their lives. And he was disgusted—nauseated with it all!

“Oh, Fitz!” he groaned. “I can’t go another step; I can’t stand it to see any more! I thought it would be pleasant; but—oh, dear!”

“Sit down here and rest a minute,” Fitz Mee said, not unkindly, indicating a rough bench against the wall of the corridor. “Now, why can’t you bear to see any more?”

“Oh, it’s so awful!” the boy moaned. “I can’t bear to see ’em toiling and suffering, to see ’em so dirty and wretched.”

The goblin laughed outright.

“Bob, you’re a precious donkey!” he cried. “True, the workers in the factories toil hard at dirty work—work that shortens their lives in some cases; but they’re inured to it, and they don’t mind it as much as you think. And what would you? All labor is hard, if one but thinks so; there are no soft snaps, if one does his duty. It’s the way of the goblin world, and it’s the way of the human world. All must labor, all must suffer more or less; there’s no escape for the highest or the lowest. And work has its compensation, has its reward; it—”

“Oh, shut up!” the lad muttered petulantly. “I don’t want to hear any more. You talk just like my papa does. I wish I’d never been born, if I’ve got to grow up and work. So there!”

“You’ll never grow up, if you stay in Goblinville, Bob,” Fitz Mee said softly; but his pop eyes were twinkling humorously. “And you won’t have to work—not much, anyhow.”

Bob sat soberly silent; evidently he was doing some deep thinking.

The goblin went on: “If you’re rested now, we’ll resume our sight-seeing.”

“I don’t want to see any more,” the lad grunted pugnaciously; “and I’m not going to, either.”

“Yes, come on.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Please do, Bob.”

“I won’t, I say.”

“You’ll get us both into trouble.”

“I don’t care if I do.”

“They’ll send us to prison.”

“What!”

“They will.”

“Who will?”

“The mayor and his officers.”

“Send us both?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” bristling, “I guess they won’t send me—the old meddlers! They won’t dare to; I’m not a citizen of this country.”

“That won’t make any difference, Bob!”

“It will too. If they send me to prison, the people of my country will come over here and—and lick ’em out of their boots. Now!”

Fitz Mee bent double and stamped about the floor, laughing till the tears ran down his fat cheeks. But suddenly he sobered and said:

“Come on, Bob; you’ve got to.”

“I won’t!” the boy declared perversely. “I don’t have to.”

The goblin made no further plea; but placing a silver whistle to his lips blew a sharp blast. In answer, a squad of officers stepped from the shadows.

“What’s wanted, Fitz Mee?” said the leader.

“This boy flatly refuses to obey the law, to go on through the factories, as he stated would please him.”

“Boy, is this true?” demanded the officer.

“Yes, it is,” Bob confessed fearlessly, shamelessly.

“Fitz Mee, he confesses,” muttered the officer. “What would you have me do?”

“Take him and carry him through,” Fitz Mee said icily.

“Very well,” answered the officer. “But if we do that we take the case out of your hands, Fitz Mee. And in order to make a satisfactory report to the mayor, we’ll have to carry him through all the factories—those he has already visited as well as those he has not.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Fitz nodded.

“What’s that?” Bob cried, keenly concerned.

The officer gravely repeated his statement.

“Oh, nonsense!” the boy exclaimed. “You fellows go away and quit bothering me. I never saw such a country! A fine place for a boy to do as he pleases, surely! Come on, Fitz.”

All the goblins laughed heartily, and Bob disrespectfully made faces at them, to their increased amusement.

When the two comrades had made their round of the factories, and were out in the fresh air again, the boy murmured meekly, a sob in his throat:

“Fitz, I’m tired—I’m sick of it all! I wish I hadn’t come here, I—I wish I was back home again.”

“What!” his companion cried in assumed surprise.

“I do!”

“Back home, and be compelled to obey your elders—your parents and your teachers?” Fitz Mee said, grinning and winking impishly.

“Well,”—pettishly,—“it wouldn’t be any worse than being compelled to obey a lot of fool officers, anyhow.”

“You’re just compelled to do what pleases you, just as I told you,” Fitz Mee explained smoothly.

“Oh, do shut up!” the lad pouted.

“You’re out of sorts,” the goblin giggled; “you’re hungry—you need some food tablets.”

“Bah!” Bob gagged. “Pills! I can’t swallow any more of ’em—I just can’t! Oh, I wish I had a good supper like mother cooks!”

Fitz Mee threw himself prone and kicked and pounded the earth, laughing and whooping boisterously; and Bob stood and stared at him, in silent disapproval and disgust.

CHAPTER XII
BEFORE THE MAYOR OF GOBLINLAND

As the days passed Bob became more and more disgruntled, more and more dissatisfied with things in Goblinville. The bare thought of food-tablets and drink-pellets disgusted and nauseated him; and he could hardly swallow them at all. The young goblins would not, could not, play the games he liked to play. They were too small for one reason; and, then, as it did not please them to do so, they were not permitted to do so. And the boy was without youthful companionship. The only associates he had were his faithful companion Fitz Mee and the officers of the town, who were always at his elbow to see that he did what pleased him. This constant espionage became simply unbearable; and the lad grew peevish, gloomy; desperate. At last he broke down and tearfully confessed to his comrade:

“Fitz, I want to go back home; I do—I do! I can’t stand it here any longer. It isn’t at all what I thought it would be like; and I’m homesick!”

Fitz Mee did not laugh; he did not smile, even. On the contrary he looked very grave—and a little sad.

“So you’re homesick, Bob—eh?” he said.

“Yes, I am, Fitz.”

“And you desire to go home?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t like things here in Goblinville?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What is it you object to?”

“Oh, everything!”

“But especially?”

“Well, the—the pills, I guess.”

“Oh!” joyfully. “Is that all, Bob? We can fix that all right. I’ll get a special permit from the mayor—he’s a political friend of mine,—to let me prepare you food like you’ve been accustomed to. Then you’ll be as happy as a clam, won’t you?”

“I—I don’t hardly know, Fitz; no, I don’t think I will.”

“What!”

“Uk-uh.”

“Well, what else is wrong, then?”

The goblin’s pop eyes were dancing with mischief.

“I don’t like to be compelled to do what pleases me,” Bob confessed shamefacedly.

“Ho, ho!” laughed Fitz Mee.

“Oh, you can laugh!” the boy cried, in weak irritation. “But I don’t!”

“You said it would just suit you, Bob—before you came here,” Fitz chuckled hoarsely, holding his sides and rocking to and fro.

“I know I did; but I’d never tried it.”

“And you don’t like it?”

“No, indeed,” Bob answered very earnestly.

“And you’re homesick, and want to go home?”

The boy nodded, his eyes downcast.

“All the goblins’ll laugh at you, if you go to leave Goblinville.”

“Well, let ’em; I don’t care.”

“And your people and your schoolmates will laugh at you, when you return home.”

Bob was silent, deeply pondering.

“Don’t you care?” Fitz Mee asked, cackling explosively.

“Yes, I do! But I’ve got to go, anyhow; I’ll die here.”

“Oh, no, you won’t, Bob,” said the goblin, teasingly.

“I will, too,” said Bob, desperately in earnest; “I know.”

“You’ll have to go to school, if you return home.”

“I don’t mind that; I’ll have other boys to play with, anyhow.”

“Yes, but you’ll have to obey the teacher.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll have to do what pleases your parents.”

“I know that, too.”

“And you won’t be permitted to do what pleases yourself.”

“I know; I’ve thought it all over, Fitz.”

“And yet you wish to return home?”

“Yes, I do.”

Fitz Mee laughed gleefully, uproariously, irrationally, laughed till the tears coursed down his cheeks and his fat features were all a-quiver.

“Ho, ho!” he gasped at last. “Roberty-Boberty, you’re not the same boy you were, not at all; you’re not half as high and mighty. What’s come over you, hey?”

“I’ve—I’ve learned something, I—I guess, Fitz.”

“Oh, you have!”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to say,” replied Bob, grinning sheepishly; “but I think I know what you brought me to Goblinland for.”

“What for?”

“W-e-ll, to—to teach me what I’ve learned. Didn’t you?”

“I’m not going to say,” mimicked the goblin.

Then both tittered.

“And you’re bound to go back home, Bob?” Fitz pursued.

The boy nodded.

“If you’re rested now, we’ll resume our sight-seeing.” (See page 168.)

“You’re a pretty looking thing to go back to Yankeeland—a little mite of a human like you!” sneeringly.

“Oh, Fitz!” the lad wailed. “Can’t I be made a real boy again?”

The goblin impressively shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “You see you’ve taken so many gob-tabs it’s very doubtful whether you can be changed back into a boy at all.”

“Oh, Fitz, don’t say that!”—greatly distressed.

“Of course, if you were put on human diet for a long time, you might come out all right,”—reflectively.

“But can’t I take something that will change me quick—right away?”

Again the goblin shook his head.

“I doubt it,” he murmured. “Giant-tabs would make a giant of you; and you don’t want to be a giant.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I guess, then, if you want to go back home right away, you’ll have to go just as you are.”

“Oh, Fitz!” almost blubbering. “I don’t want to go back home this way; I just can’t! Can’t you give me something that will—will stretch me and swell me to boy size—just to boy size? Can’t you—can’t you?”

“I don’t know,”—with a gloomy shake of the head; “I never heard of such a drug or chemical, but it’s barely possible our chemists may know of something of the kind. I’ll see about it. But here’s a difficulty.”

“What? What, Fitz?”

“Why, as you know, there’s no means of getting out of Goblinland except by balloon; and I doubt if my balloon will carry you at full and normal weight.”

“But can’t you get a bigger one?”

“I might have one made; I don’t—”

“Oh, no—no, Fitz!” the boy interrupted frantically. “Don’t think of doing that; I can’t wait. Can’t you borrow a bigger one?”

“There are no bigger ones, except the mayor’s state balloon. It has two feather beds lashed together for a bag, and a very large car.”

“Can’t you get it—can’t you get it, Fitz?”

“I don’t know, indeed. Then, here’s another difficulty, Bob, and a greater one to my mind.”

“Oh, Fitz!” the boy moaned, wringing his hands. “You don’t mean it!”

“Yes, I do,” said the goblin, nodding gravely; but his twinkling pop eyes belied his words. “You see, Bob, you’re the first human being that has ever come to Goblinland. Now, the secrets of the country—including the secret of its whereabouts, have always been carefully guarded. I don’t know what his honor, the mayor, will say about letting you go.”

“I won’t tell anything, Fitz, I won’t—I won’t!”

“Not a thing?” questioned Fitz Mee.

“No, sir—not a thing.”

“W-e-ll, I—I don’t know. What will you do, Bob, if the mayor won’t let you go back home?”

“I’ll just die—that’s what!”

The goblin slapped his thin thighs and laughed and whooped, and laughed some more.

Out of patience, the lad screamed: “Laugh! Laugh till you burst, you old Convulsions! You old Spasms! You old Hysterics! Yeah! Yeah!”

And Fitz Mee did laugh—till he was entirely out of breath and panting and wheezing like a bellows. When at last he had regained control of himself, he whispered brokenly:

“Bob, we’ll—we’ll go and see—the mayor.”

And they caught up their caps and were off.

“So you wish to go home, boy—eh?” said the mayor, the august ruler of Goblinville and all adjacent territory, as soon as the two were ushered into his presence.

“Yes, sir,” Bob answered humbly. Then, with boyish inquisitiveness: “But how did you know it?”

“Never mind,” was the gruff reply. “It will please you to return home will it?”

“Yes, sir, indeed it will.”

“Then you must go. Be off at once.”

“But—but—” Bob began.

“I’ll fix all that,” his honor interrupted, quickly divining what the boy meant to say. “I’m as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be gone. You’ve stirred up a pretty rumpus here—you have. You’re the first human boy that ever came into my domain; and you’ll be the last. But I trust your experience has done you good—eh?”

Bob nodded.

“Very well, then. Sign this pledge that you won’t reveal what you’ve seen and learned, and that you’ll take the lesson to heart.”

Bob gladly signed the pledge.

“Now,” continued the mayor, his eyes snapping humorously, “these are the conditions under which you must leave my domain: I’ll call in the chemists and have them restore you to normal size; I’ve already communicated with them, and they assure me they can do it. Then I’ll let the honorable and worthy Fitz Mee take my state balloon and carry you back to Yankeeland. You will set out this afternoon at one o’clock. But one other thing I exact: you must bear nothing away with you that you did not bring here with you.” And the mayor gave the boy a keen, meaningful look that the urchin could not interpret.

The chemists came in, three aged and bewhiskered goblins wearing long, black robes and silk skull caps.

“My good chemists,” said the mayor, “are you ready for the experiment?”

“All ready, your honor,” the eldest of the three made answer, bowing profoundly.

“To work, then,” the mayor commanded.

The younger two advanced and caught and held Bob’s hands, their fingers upon his pulse. The eldest produced a tiny phial of thick, opalescent liquid.

“Put out your tongue,” he said to the boy.

The lad unhesitatingly obeyed, and the aged and trembling chemist let a drop of the viscid liquid fall upon the tip of the youngster’s quivering organ of speech.

The effect was instantaneous and startling, if not marvelous. Bob let out a mad bellow of pain, shaking his head and writhing and drooling. The mayor changed countenance and deprecatingly shook his head. Fitz Mee groaned aloud.

“Draw in your tongue and shut your mouth and swallow!” the three savants simultaneously yelled at the boy.

Bob reluctantly did as he was told; and immediately, instantaneously he was restored to normal size.

“Whoopee!” shouted the chemists, embracing one another and indulging in mad capers and other manifestations of insane joy. “A success! A complete success!”

“Thank goodness!” murmured Fitz Mee. “A success!”

“Yes,” the mayor muttered drily, grimly, “a remarkable success—a too remarkable success! My good chemists, destroy what you have left of that stuff, and make no more at your peril. I’m not going to have any more boys manufactured in this country—a noisy, disturbing lot! You hear me!” Then to Fitz Mee: “You take your departure from the public square at one o’clock, remember. The state balloon will be there in readiness. You’re excused.”

When the two comrades were again at Fitz Mee’s residence, Bob remarked ingenuously:

“Fitz, while you’re getting ready I’m going to gather up some of the gold nuggets I saw on the shore of the brook.”

“Better not,” Fitz replied, without looking up from his work.

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you—that’s all.”

“Well, why?”

“They’re not yours.”

“I know. But you goblins make no use of them; and it wouldn’t be wrong—wouldn’t be stealing, would it?”

“No,” Fitz Mee mumbled, “it wouldn’t be robbery, exactly. But you heard what the mayor said.”

“What about?”

“That you weren’t to take anything away with you that you didn’t bring here with you.”

“Yes, I heard him. Is that what he meant?”

“To be sure.”

“Well, why does he object to my taking a few old nuggets of gold that none of you will use?” said Bob peevishly.

“For this reason, Bob: you take that gold back to Yankeeland, and tell where you got it—”

“But I won’t tell where I got it,” the lad interrupted.

Unheeding, the goblin continued: “And your money-mad people will search out our country and conquer and ruin us.”

“Oh, pshaw, Fitz!”

“What I say is true, Bob.”

But Bob was neither convinced nor satisfied, and he resolved to have the nuggets at all hazard. Where was the harm? The gold was of no value to the goblins; it would be of great value to him. And he wouldn’t say a word about where he got it—indeed he wouldn’t. He would take it; and no one would be the wiser or the poorer. So, while his comrade was busy at other things, he slipped out to the brookside and filled his pockets.

One o’clock came, the time of departure, and all Goblinville, including the mayor and his officers, was out to see the aëronauts off upon their long voyage. The mayor shook hands with the two and wished them God-speed and the populace gave them three hearty cheers.

Then the anchor was weighed, and they were off. Slowly and majestically the great state balloon began to ascend. But when it had risen a hundred feet, Bob, looking over the side of the car, became aware of a disturbance in the crowd beneath. He saw goblins excitedly running this way and that and a number of officers trundling a big black object on wheels across the public square.

“What’s the meaning of the rumpus, Fitz?” the lad cried to his companion. “What’s that the officers have?”

“Why,” Fitz gasped, taking a hurried look beneath, “the officers are running out the dynamite gun!”

“And they’re training it upon our balloon—upon us!” Bob whispered hoarsely, his soul a prey to guilty fear. “What—what can it mean, Fitz?”

Then arose the voice of the mayor, bellowing:

“Fitz Mee, descend! Come back! That boy can’t leave Goblinland with his pockets full of gold! He has deceived us; he can’t leave Goblinland at all. Come down; or we’ll send a dynamite shell through the balloon-bag, and bring you down in a hurry.”

Fitz gave a few strokes to the pump, and the big balloon came to a stop. Bob sat silent, speechless at the dread result of his rash act.

“You’ve played the mischief—you have, Bob Taylor!” his companion snarled angrily, reproachfully. “And you’ll spend the balance of your days in Goblinland—that’s what!”

“Oh, dear!” the boy found voice to moan. “Oh, dear!”

“Hello!” Fitz called over the side of the car. “Hello, your honor!”

“Hello!” answered the mayor.

“If I’ll make the boy throw the gold down to you, will that satisfy you?”

“No, it won’t!” came the hoarse and determined reply. “Bring the young scamp back! He shall stay in Goblinville!”

“I guess I won’t!” Bob shouted, desperation spurring his courage. And he sprang to the air-tank and opened the cock. The balloon began to rise swiftly.

“Oh, Bob—Bob!” Fitz Mee groaned. “What have you done? We’ll both be killed!”

“Boom!” went the dynamite gun; and a shell tore through the balloon-bag, rending it asunder and sending goose feathers fluttering in all directions.

The car began to drop like a plummet. Its occupants let it out shrill screeches of terror. Then came the proverbial dull, sickening thud! Bob felt the empty balloon—bag fall over him and envelop him; and then he lost consciousness.

“Bob, crawl out of there.”

“Fitz! Fitz!” the boy cried, disentangling himself and struggling to his feet.

“Fits!” laughed a big manly voice. “Yes, I guess you’ve got ’em, Bob; and you’ve rolled out of bed in one, and dragged the covers with you.”

Bob blinked and rubbed his sleepy eyes. There stood his father in the doorway, grinning broadly;

“Hustle into your clothes, laddie,” he said; “breakfast’s ready.”

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Table of Contents

- The Little Green Goblin
- ILLUSTRATIONS
- CONTENTS.

- CHAPTER I A MIDNIGHT VISIT FROM THE LITTLE GREEN GOBLIN

- CHAPTER II BOB BECOMES AN AËRONAUT
- CHAPTER III THROUGH A STORM IN A BALLOON
- CHAPTER IV IN DANGER OF THE SEA
- CHAPTER V IN WHICH BOB BECOMES A GIANT
- CHAPTER VI LOST IN THE DESERT
- CHAPTER VII FITZ MEE MAGNETIZES THE SPRING

- CHAPTER VIII THE BALLOONISTS ENCOUNTER ARABS

- CHAPTER IX A WIRELESS MESSAGE TO HEADQUARTERS

- CHAPTER X ARRIVED IN GOBLINLAND

- CHAPTER XI IN THE LAND WHERE YOU DO AS YOU PLEASE

- CHAPTER XII BEFORE THE MAYOR OF GOBLINLAND

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE