"He'll take two ordinary balls, He'll toss 'em to the sky, And each when to the earth it falls Will be a satin tie. He'll take a tricycle in hand, He'll give the thing a heave, He'll mutter some queer sentence, and 'Twill go right up his sleeve. He'll ask you what your name may be, And if you answer 'Jim!' He'll turn a handspring--one, two, three! Your name will then be Tim. He'll take a fifty-dollar bill, He'll tie it to a chain, He'll cry out 'Presto!' and you will Not see your bill again." "I'd like to see him," said Jimmieboy. "But I can't say I want to be eaten up, you know, and I'd like to have you tell me before we go how you are going to prevent his eating me." "Very proper," said Major Blueface. "You suffer under the great disadvantage of being a very toothsome, tender morsel, and in all probability Fortyforefoot would order you stewed in cream or made over into a tart. My!" added the major, smacking his lips so suggestively that Jimmieboy drew away from him, slightly alarmed. "Why, it makes my mouth water to think of a pudding made of you, with a touch of cinnamon and a dash of maple syrup, and a shake of sawdust and a hard sauce. Tlah!" This last word of the major's was a sort of ecstatic cluck such as boys often make after having tasted something they are particularly fond of. "What's the use of scaring the boy, Blueface?" said the sprite, angrily, as he noted Jimmieboy's alarm. "I won't have anymore of that. You can be as brave and terrible as you please in the presence of your enemies, but in the presence of my friends you've got to behave yourself." The major laughed heartily. "Jimmieboy afraid of me?" he said. "Nonsense! Why, he could rout me with a frown. His little finger could, unaided, put me to flight if it felt so disposed. I was complimenting him--not trying to frighten him. "When I went into ecstasies O'er pudding made of him, 'Twas just because I wished to please The honorable Jim; And now, in spite of your rebuff, The statement I repeat: I think he's really good enough For any one to eat." "Well, that's different," said the sprite, accepting the major's statement. "I quite agree with you there; but when you go clucking around here like a hen who has just tasted the sweetest grain of corn she ever had, or like a boy after eating a plate of ice-cream, you're just a bit terrifying--particularly to the appetizing morsel that has given rise to those clucks. It's enough to make the stoutest heart quail." "Nonsense!" retorted the major, with a wink at Jimmieboy. "Neither my manner nor the manner of any other being could make a stout hart quail, because stout harts are deer and quails are birds!"