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.”
[Illustration]
“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?”
[Illustration: 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.”
[Illustration]
“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.