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.

[174]

“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!”

[175]

“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.”

[176]

“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.)

[177]

“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?”

[178]

“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[179] 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—e............