The goblin silently handed the small black satchel to his comrade. The boy opened it and took out two of the tiny bottles, remarking as he did so:
“I—I rather hate to do it; but I’ve got to—we’ve got to save ourselves.”
“But what do you mean to do, Bob?” his companion insisted. “Tell me—before the Arabs get here.”
The boy silently shook a few tablets into his palm from each of the two bottles. Then he queried:
“Fitz, does the—the effect of these tablets—these gob-tabs—last forever? Tell me the truth.”
“The effect lasts as long as the person eats goblin diet, Bob. That’s the reason I’ve insisted on your eating nothing else. See?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, now what’re you going to do?”
“Going to give those Arabs some gob-tabs.”
“How are you going to get them to take the gobs?” asked the little green sprite, grinning broadly.