"If you think that," the blower answered, "you should see his cousin Gobbo, who lives a mile farther down the river as the crow flies."
At this Vance was reminded that nightfall was not very far off, and once more he started on his way. The man with the bellows jumped down from his bucket and ran eagerly after him. He was a simple-looking man, with a large and frog-like mouth.
"It creeps in the family," he whispered hoarsely to the Prince.
"What does?"
"Laziness. If it were anything else, you know, you'd say it ran in the family. But wait till you see Gobbo!"
Just then he noticed that Loto was growing quite limp and purple in the face for want of breath; so he hastily scrambled back to his bucket, and once more began to blow for dear life and a groat a day.
"By the way," asked Vance, halting, "do you know where the Crushed Strawberry Wizard lives?"
"He knows," replied the blower, "but you can't get it out of him. He's too lazy to speak; so it's no manner of use fretting about it."
With a sigh of weariness and disgust the royal wayfarer turned away and went on his journey. Just at dusk he reached a small village, or rather a group of poor little houses; and as he was about to knock at the door of one to ask for shelter, he saw a procession coming over the fields. There were a number of men with flaring torches, one or two with picks and spades, while in the midst was carried a bier upon which lay a man with his eyes wide open, staring straight ahead.