"Now, don't be difficult, human! You've got to take it off, you know."
"Why?" demanded Peter stubbornly.
"Because it says here in this book," pointed out Ole Luk Oie, "that three more mortals are to be put to sleep here in this room. You're one of them, of course. So—"
He reached for his fallen bag. But a sudden thought flashed through Peter's brain with the brilliance of a comet. He sprang forward challengingly, swept the gunnysack from the little demigod's hands.
"Oh, no you don't!" he cried. "That's mine!"
Ole Luk Oie glared at him irately.
"Yours in a centaur's eye!" he snorted. "It's mine! A brand-new, imported job. I got it just last millennium from the Arachne Weaving Corporation in Olympus. Hand it over!"
"It was yours," yammered Peter. "But it's mine now! I'm turning the contents over to the government. Do you know what this is? The greatest offensive military weapon any man ever discovered! Anaesthetic sands! Our lab men will analyze this powder, learn how to make it. With this, our forces can bring the war to a swift and humane end!"
"You," declared Ole Luk Oie flatly, "are crazy! The Sands aren't the only offensive thing around here. In just a few minutes, I'm going to lose my patience, human. Hand back that bag, or by Baldar—"