“Do you think there’s any danger?” asked Peter, who was beginning to wish he had never had anything to do with the gang.
“You can never tell what kids are going to do. Wait, I’ll try to tell him a story. I used to be quite a hand at it when—when my youngster was alive,” and Noddy gulped down a hard lump in his throat. Bad as he was, he still had a tender spot in his heart for his dead child.
“Come on, Jimmy,” the blue-handed man said to the captive. “I’m going to tell you about a bear.”
“Can’t you tell me about a giant?” demanded the lad.
“Well, I guess so,” and then Noddy related a tale about a big giant who used to keep his captives in a terrible castle.
“You’re a sort of giant, ain’t you?” asked Jimmy of Noddy.
“No. What makes you ask that?”
“Because you’ve got hands like Blue Beard, and you keep me here, and won’t let me go home.”
“No, I’m not quite as bad as that,” said Noddy, “but I’m bad enough, the land knows. I’d let you go home if I could. Maybe we can, to-morrow or next day. I wish Larry would give in to the gang, or else come here and take the kid,” the blue-handed man muttered, in a low tone.
It required several stories before Jimmy could be comforted, and made to forget his troubles. He fell asleep under the influence of a fine big Chinese drum that the blue-handed man promised would be given him the next day.