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.
“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!”
“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.”
“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.
[Illustration: “If you’re rested now, we’ll resume our sight-seeing.”
(See page 168.)]
“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?”
“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 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—eh?” said the mayor, the august ruler of
Goblinville and all adjacent territory, as soon as the two were ushered
into his presence.
“Yes, sir,” Bob answered humbly. Then, with boyish inquisitiveness: “But
how did you know it?”
“Never mind,” was the gruff reply. “It will please you to return home
will it?”
“Yes, sir, indeed it will.”
“Then you must go. Be off at once.”
“But—but—” Bob began.
“I’ll fix all that,” his honor interrupted, quickly divining what the boy
meant to say. “I’m as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be gone.
You’ve stirred up a pretty rumpus here—_you_ have. You’re the first human
boy that ever came into my domain; and you’ll be the last. But I trust
your experience has done you good—eh?”
Bob nodded.
“Very well, then. Sign this pledge that you won’t reveal what you’ve seen
and learned, and that you’ll take the lesson to heart.”
Bob gladly signed the pledge.
“Now,” continued the mayor, his eyes snapping humorously, “these are
the conditions under which you must leave my domain: I’ll call in
the chemists and have them restore you to normal size; I’ve already
communicated with them, and they assure me they can do it. Then I’ll
let the honorable and worthy Fitz Mee take my state balloon and carry
you back to Yankeeland. You will set out this afternoon at one o’clock.
But one other thing I exact: you must bear nothing away with you that
you did not bring here with you.” And the mayor gave the boy a keen,
meaningful look that the urchin could not interpret.
[Illustration]
The chemists came in, three aged and bewhiskered goblins wearing long,
black robes and silk skull caps.
“My good chemists,” said the mayor, “are you ready for the experiment?”
“All ready, your honor,” the eldest of the three made answer, bowing
profoundly.
“To work, then,” the mayor commanded.
The younger two advanced and caught and held Bob’s hands, their fingers
upon his pulse. The eldest produced a tiny phial of thick, opalescent
liquid.
“Put out your tongue,” he said to the boy.
The lad unhesitatingly obeyed, and the aged and trembling chemist let a
drop of the viscid liquid fall upon the tip of the youngster’s quivering
organ of speech.
The effect was instantaneous and startling, if not marvelous. Bob let
out a mad bellow of pain, shaking his head and writhing and drooling.
The mayor changed countenance and deprecatingly shook his head. Fitz Mee
groaned aloud.
“Draw in your tongue and shut your mouth and swallow!” the three savants
simultaneously yelled at the boy.
Bob reluctantly did as he was told; and immediately, instantaneously he
was restored to normal size.
“Whoopee!” shouted the chemists, embracing one another and indulging in
mad capers and other manifestations of insane joy. “A success! A complete
success!”
“Thank goodness!” murmured Fitz Mee. “A success!”
“Yes,” the mayor muttered drily, grimly, “a remarkable success—a _too_
remarkable success! My good chemists, destroy what you have left of that
stuff, and make no more at your peril. I’m not going to have any more
_boys_ manufactured in this country—a noisy, disturbing lot! You hear
me!” Then to Fitz Mee: “You take your departure from the public square
at one o’clock, remember. The state balloon will be there in readiness.
You’re excused.”
When the two comrades were again at Fitz Mee’s residence, Bob remarked
ingenuously:
“Fitz, while you’re getting ready I’m going to gather up some of the gold
nuggets I saw on the shore of the brook.”
“Better not,” Fitz replied, without looking up from his work.
“Why?”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you—that’s all.”
“Well, why?”
“They’re not yours.”
“I know. But you goblins make no use of them; and it wouldn’t be
wrong—wouldn’t be stealing, would it?”
“No,” Fitz Mee mumbled, “it wouldn’t be robbery, exactly. But you heard
what the mayor said.”
“What about?”
“That you weren’t to take anything away with you that you didn’t bring
here with you.”
“Yes, I heard him. Is that what he meant?”
“To be sure.”
“Well, why does he object to my taking a few old nuggets of gold that
none of you will use?” said Bob peevishly.
“For this reason, Bob: you take that gold back to Yankeeland, and tell
where you got it—”
“But I won’t tell where I got it,” the lad interrupted.
Unheeding, the goblin continued: “And your money-mad people will search
out our country and conquer and ruin us.”
“Oh, pshaw, Fitz!”
“What I say is true, Bob.”
But Bob was neither convinced nor satisfied, and he resolved to have the
nuggets at all hazard. Where was the harm? The gold was of no value to
the goblins; it would be of great value to him. And he wouldn’t say a
word about where he got it—indeed he wouldn’t. He would take it; and no
one would be the wiser or the poorer. So, while his comrade was busy at
other things, he slipped out to the brookside and filled his pockets.
One o’clock came, the time of departure, and all Goblinville, including
the mayor and his officers, was out to see the aëronauts off upon their
long voyage. The mayor shook hands with the two and wished them God-speed
and the populace gave them three hearty cheers.
Then the anchor was weighed, and they were off. Slowly and majestically
the great state balloon began to ascend. But when it had risen a
hundred feet, Bob, looking over the side of the car, became aware of a
disturbance in the crowd beneath. He saw goblins excitedly running this
way and that and a number of officers trundling a big black object on
wheels across the public square.
“What’s the meaning of the rumpus, Fitz?” the lad cried to his companion.
“What’s that the officers have?”
“Why,” Fitz gasped, taking a hurried look beneath, “the officers are
running out the dynamite gun!”
“And they’re training it upon our balloon—upon _us_!” Bob whispered
hoarsely, his soul a prey to guilty fear. “What—what can it mean, Fitz?”
Then arose the voice of the mayor, bellowing:
“Fitz Mee, descend! Come back! That boy can’t leave Goblinland with his
pockets full of gold! He has deceived us; he can’t leave Goblinland at
all. Come down; or we’ll send a dynamite shell through the balloon-bag,
and bring you down in a hurry.”
Fitz gave a few strokes to the pump, and the big balloon came to a stop.
Bob sat silent, speechless at the dread result of his rash act.
“You’ve played the mischief—_you_ have, Bob Taylor!” his companion
snarled angrily, reproachfully. “And you’ll spend the balance of your
days in Goblinland—that’s what!”
“Oh, dear!” the boy found voice to moan. “Oh, dear!”
“Hello!” Fitz called over the side of the car. “Hello, your honor!”
“Hello!” answered the mayor.
“If I’ll make the boy throw the gold down to you, will that satisfy you?”
“No, it won’t!” came the hoarse and determined reply. “Bring the young
scamp back! He shall stay in Goblinville!”
“I guess I won’t!” Bob shouted, desperation spurring his courage. And he
sprang to the air-tank and opened the cock. The balloon began to rise
swiftly.
“Oh, Bob—Bob!” Fitz Mee groaned. “What have you done? We’ll both be
killed!”
“Boom!” went the dynamite gun; and a shell tore through the balloon-bag,
rending it asunder and sending goose feathers fluttering in all
directions.
The car began to drop like a plummet. Its occupants let it out shrill
screeches of terror. Then came the proverbial dull, sickening thud! Bob
felt the empty balloon—bag fall over him and envelop him; and then he
lost consciousness.
“Bob, crawl out of there.”
[Illustration]
“Fitz! Fitz!” the boy cried, disentangling himself and struggling to his
feet.
“Fits!” laughed a big manly voice. “Yes, I guess you’ve got ’em, Bob; and
you’ve rolled out of bed in one, and dragged the covers with you.”
Bob blinked and rubbed his sleepy eyes. There stood his father in the
doorway, grinning broadly;
“Hustle into your clothes, laddie,” he said; “breakfast’s ready.”
[Illustration: THE END.]