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