“We’ll let the balloon rise to the level of the tops of these palm trees, tie it there, and sleep in the car.”
“That’ll do. But I’ll bet we don’t get much sleep; the wild animals will raise such a rumpus, roaring and howling and fighting. Won’t they?”
“It’s likely.”
“Dear—dear! I wish I was back home.”
“No, you don’t, Bob.”
“I do, too. You promised to take me to Goblinland where everything was to be lovely; and you’ve got me away down here in the Sahara desert where there’s nothing but sand and wild beasts. And you’ve got me in such a fix I can’t eat a little fruit, even, without getting sick; and now I’m to have no sleep. Bah!”
“That’s all that ails you, Bob.”
“What?”
“You’re sleepy—and cross.”