“No, it won’t!” came the hoarse and determined reply. “Bring the young scamp back! He shall stay in Goblinville!”
“I guess I won’t!” Bob shouted, desperation spurring his courage. And he sprang to the air-tank and opened the cock. The balloon began to rise swiftly.
“Oh, Bob—Bob!” Fitz Mee groaned. “What have you done? We’ll both be killed!”
“Boom!” went the dynamite gun; and a shell tore through the balloon-bag, rending it asunder and sending goose feathers fluttering in all directions.
The car began to drop like a plummet. Its occupants let it out shrill screeches of terror. Then came the proverbial dull, sickening thud! Bob felt the empty balloon—bag fall over him and envelop him; and then he lost consciousness.
“Bob, crawl out of there.”
“Fitz! Fitz!” the boy cried, disentangling himself and struggling to his feet.
“Fits!” laughed a big manly voice. “Yes, I guess you’ve got ’em, Bob; and you’ve rolled out of bed in one, and dragged the covers with you.”