“Where?” asked the Twins, looking curiously about them for the other two.
“On my knees, of course,” said he. “You are mine. Your papa gave you to me—and you are as like yourselves as two peas in a pod.”
“I—I hope you aren’t going to take us away from here,” said the Twins, a little ruefully. They were very fond of the Baron, but they didn’t exactly like the idea of being given away.
“Oh no—not at all,” said the Baron. “Your father has consented to keep you here for me and your mother has kindly volunteered to look after you. There is to be no change, except that you belong to me, and, vice versa, I belong to you.”
“And I suppose, then,” said Diavolo, “if you belong to us you’ve got to do pretty much what we tell you to?”
“Exactly,” responded Mr. Munchausen. “If you should ask me to tell you a story I’d have to do it, even if you were to demand the full particulars of how I spent Christmas with Mtulu, King of the Taafe Eatars, on the upper Congo away down in Africa—which is a tale I have never told any one in all my life.”
“It sounds as if it might be interesting,” said the Twins. “Those are real candy names, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” said the Baron. “Taafe sounds like taffy and Mtulu is very suggestive of chewing gum. That’s the curious thing about the savage tribes of Africa. Their names often sound as if they might be things to eat instead of people. Perhaps that is why they sometimes eat each other—though, of course, I won’t say for sure that that is the real explanation of cannibalism.”
“What’s cannon-ballism?” asked Angelica.
“He didn’t say cannon-ballism,” said Diavolo, scornfully. “It was candy-ballism.”