"Yes," said Frip, "I see. But suppose they won't buy the lots?"
"Then," said the Gingerbread Man, firmly, "they've got to get off the island. Business is business. I found the place first and it belongs to me."
"Belongs to you," cried the Prince. "Well, I guess not. Why, it was 'made' for me. Didn't I just tell you it was made for me?"
"Oh, yes," said the Gingerbread Man, "you told me, but that doesn't make it so, does it? And I did get here first, you can't deny that. And findings are keepings, you can't deny that, either. And whoever wants to stay here has got to buy a lot." And having made that announcement, he turned on his heel and walked away, frowning like anything.
"I suppose," said the Prince to himself, "he's mad at me now. But I don't care if he is, the island is mine and whoever gets shipwrecked here can stay if they want to, lots or no lots."
Then he turned on his heel and walked away in the opposite direction to that taken by the Gingerbread Man.
Now as you know an island is an island—it may be a round island, or an oblong island, or a square island—but if it is an island and you start at a certain place on the seacoast and walk long enough, you are bound to come back to the very place where you started. And that is exactly what happened to Frip. After he left the Gingerbread Man he went on walking, and walking, and walking, until after a bit he came to a place that looked very familiar and he saw by the real estate sign that it was the same spot he had started from, except that something had happened to it, which was that a bonfire was burning there and that running round and around the fire was the Gingerbread Man. And my, how fine he did smell for the fire had warmed him enough to freshen him up.
"Hello," said Frip, sniffing hungrily, "what's the matter with you? My, you do smell nice!"
"Oh, I do, do I?" said the Gingerbread Man, keeping on running, "then I suppose you'll join the cannibals and help eat me."
"Cannibals!" exclaimed the Prince, "what cannibals? I don't see any cannibals."