“No, you can’t!”
“Why can’t I?”
“It’s my gold, not yours.”
“I know, Fitz; but you’ll let me have it.”
“Will I? Not much, Roberty-Boberty!”
“Take care!” Bob cried, giving the tiny fellow a threatening shake. “Remember I’m a giant right now, and liable to lose my temper. And don’t you call me any more names, I warn you. Now, hand over that gold.”
“You’re a robber, that’s what you are, Rob Taylor,” the goblin complained sullenly, fumbling in his pocket for the gold demanded.
“And you’re a mischievous, ill-tempered little pest,” Bob laughed.
At last, with apparent reluctance, the goblin dropped two or three nuggets into the boy-giant’s broad palm.