“Oh, everything!”
“But especially?”
“Well, the—the pills, I guess.”
“Oh!” joyfully. “Is that all, Bob? We can fix that all right. I’ll get a special permit from the mayor—he’s a political friend of mine,—to let me prepare you food like you’ve been accustomed to. Then you’ll be as happy as a clam, won’t you?”
“I—I don’t hardly know, Fitz; no, I don’t think I will.”
“What!”
“Uk-uh.”
“Well, what else is wrong, then?”
The goblin’s pop eyes were dancing with mischief.
“I don’t like to be compelled to do what pleases me,” Bob confessed shamefacedly.