The goblin gravely nodded. Bob was thoughtfully silent for a moment; then he remarked:
“It must be awfully hot work in your factories—the men shut up in caves, and no fresh air.”
“We have plenty of fresh air in our works,” Fitz hastened to make plain; “we have large funnel-shaped tubes running up to the mountain-tops. The cold wind pours down through them, and we can turn it on or off at our pleasure.”
“Say!” Bob cried.
“What?” queried his companion.
“I’d like to go through your factories.”
“You mean what you say, Bob?”
“Mean what I say?” said Bob, in surprise bordering on indignation. “Of course I do.”
“That you’d like to go through our factories?”
“Certainly. Why not?”