“No, no,” returned the Kobold. “Such is not my method of doing business. The princes that have entered this contest in times past have at least agreed to be transformed for a limited time.”
“Not for a moment, for me,” said Wendell. “Times have changed.”
“A week, say,” urged the Kobold. “I tell you frankly I shall not release the Maiden for less, and if she is not released before one more year is run, she will be turned into a loathly dragon for life.”
“Well, make it a week, then,” said Wendell sulkily.
“Agreed!” said the Kobold. “Here, then, is the riddle you must answer:—What is Boston?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, just as promptly as if he had been asked his own name, Wendell replied in Dr. Holmes’ words, as any Boston boy would,
“Boston is the Hub of the Universe.”
“Wrong! Wrong!” chuckled the Kobold maliciously. “I knew you’d say that. But there is another answer.”
“Well,” said the crestfallen Wendell, “I’ll go home and think it over. And say, do I have to come at midnight every time? It’s mighty hard to sneak out just then.”
“No, I will make an appointment with you for any time you say,” returned the Kobold obligingly. “Morning, evening, whatever you wish.”