“Draw in your tongue and shut your mouth and swallow!” the three savants simultaneously yelled at the boy.
Bob reluctantly did as he was told; and immediately, instantaneously he was restored to normal size.
“Whoopee!” shouted the chemists, embracing one another and indulging in mad capers and other manifestations of insane joy. “A success! A complete success!”
“Thank goodness!” murmured Fitz Mee. “A success!”
“Yes,” the mayor muttered drily, grimly, “a remarkable success—a too remarkable success! My good chemists, destroy what you have left of that stuff, and make no more at your peril. I’m not going to have any more boys manufactured in this country—a noisy, disturbing lot! You hear me!” Then to Fitz Mee: “You take your departure from the public square at one o’clock, remember. The state balloon will be there in readiness. You’re excused.”
When the two comrades were again at Fitz Mee’s residence, Bob remarked ingenuously:
“Fitz, while you’re getting ready I’m going to gather up some of the gold nuggets I saw on the shore of the brook.”
“Better not,” Fitz replied, without looking up from his work.
“Why?”