“Boo! boo! boo!” roared the boy-giant, leaping and dancing awkwardly about.
“At ’em again!” commanded the mayor. “But don’t shoot; capture ’em alive!”
Again men and boys and dogs began to close in upon the aëronauts. Fitz Mee signalled that the balloon was in readiness. Bob clapped the six gob-tabs into his mouth and hastily swallowed them—making a ridiculously grotesque face that caused his enemies to hesitate in their advance upon him. Then he tried to let out another startling “boo.” It started off all right, big and coarse and awful; but it ended in a tiny dribbling squeak that was so funny that the goblin dropped to the bottom of the car, squirming and laughing. Bob had suddenly shrunk to goblin size.
“A miracle!” cried the mayor, crossing himself and retreating.
“A miracle!” seconded his people, following his example.
Taking advantage of the momentary respite in his favor, Bob jumped into the car. Fitz released the air; and away the balloon soared—up through the treetops—to the fleecy clouds far, far above the earth. Cries and wails of disappointment and chagrin followed the daring aëronauts.
“Saved again!” yelled Bob.
“Saved again!” croaked Fitz.
“They came near catching us!” the boy panted.
“Yes, and it was all your fault,” the goblin grumbled.