  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 “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 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!” |
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