“Yes,” Fitz chuckled.
“I’m no goblin,” Bob asserted stoutly; “I’m a Yankee.”
“You’re a goblin—half goblin, anyhow.”
“I’m not!”
“You are! You’ve taken gob-tabs; and that makes you partly goblin.”
“Fitz Mee,” the boy yelled, “you mean old thing! You say that again, and I’ll sail off home—and leave you right where you are.”
“I won’t say it any more, Bob; but it’s so.”
“Good-bye, Fitz; I’m going.”
“Not home?”