“Oh! there’s nothing the matter,” snickered Bob, “except we’re going west, as I told you—going back to America.”
“Bob, I—I guess you’re right,” Fitz admitted, reluctantly.
“Of course I’m right,” the boy said, swelling with supreme self-satisfaction.
“Well,” muttered the goblin, “we can turn around and go the other way; and we will.”
With that he again began to busy himself with the selector. But in a moment he mumbled peevishly:
“Why—why, what’s the matter with this thing?”
“What?” the boy inquired.
“The needle won’t turn at all, Bob.”