“Hurry, Bob, hurry!” squeaked Fitz Mee. “They’re after us!”
“Yes, but their legs are too short,” Bob chuckled; “they won’t catch us. Don’t you worry, my teenty-weenty green frog, the naughty men shan’t hurt you.” And he held the parrot cage up in front of him, and with his finger playfully poked Fitz Mee in the ribs.
“Quit that!” croaked the goblin. “And don’t you call me a green frog any more, either.”
“Pretty little green monkey, that’s what it is!” Bob laughed, teasingly.
“Shut up!” snapped Fitz.
“Nice little green devil!” the boy-giant continued, shaking with laughter.
“Shut up!” screeched the goblin. “Shut up, I say! I’ll scratch you; I’ll bite you!”
“Sweet-tempered little green moon-man!” Bob persisted.