“Send us both?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” bristling, “I guess they won’t send me—the old meddlers! They won’t dare to; I’m not a citizen of this country.”
“That won’t make any difference, Bob!”
“It will too. If they send me to prison, the people of my country will come over here and—and lick ’em out of their boots. Now!”
Fitz Mee bent double and stamped about the floor, laughing till the tears ran down his fat cheeks. But suddenly he sobered and said:
“Come on, Bob; you’ve got to.”
“I won’t!” the boy declared perversely. “I don’t have to.”
The goblin made no further plea; but placing a silver whistle to his lips blew a sharp blast. In answer, a squad of officers stepped from the shadows.
“What’s wanted, Fitz Mee?” said the leader.