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[118] 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.

[119]

“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.

[120]

“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!”

[121]

“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.”

[122]

“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.”

[123]

“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 ............