“Oh, do shut up!” the lad pouted.
“You’re out of sorts,” the goblin giggled; “you’re hungry—you need some food tablets.”
“Bah!” Bob gagged. “Pills! I can’t swallow any more of ’em—I just can’t! Oh, I wish I had a good supper like mother cooks!”
Fitz Mee threw himself prone and kicked and pounded the earth, laughing and whooping boisterously; and Bob stood and stared at him, in silent disapproval and disgust.
CHAPTER XII
BEFORE THE MAYOR OF GOBLINLAND
As the days passed Bob became more and more disgruntled, more and more dissatisfied with things in Goblinville. The bare thought of food-tablets and drink-pellets disgusted and nauseated him; and he could hardly swallow them at all. The young goblins would not, could not, play the games he liked to play. They were too small for one reason; and, then, as it did not please them to do so, they were not permitted to do so. And the boy was without youthful companionship. The only associates he had were his faithful companion Fitz Mee and the officers of the town, who were always at his elbow to see that he did what pleased him. This constant espionage became simply unbearable; and the lad grew peevish, gloomy; desperate. At last he broke down and tearfully confessed to his comrade: