“Ugh!” the boy gagged. “Pills!” “They’re not pills,” rasped the goblin; “they’re food tablets and drink pellets.” “They’re pills to me, all the same.” “They’re not pills, I tell you,” Fitz Mee reiterated sharply, snapping his jaws shut and angrily grating his teeth. “Now I’ll select what you’re to eat; and you’ll eat it. The storm’s approaching rapidly; I hear the thunder muttering and see the black clouds rolling. So you’ll need something to make you strong and courageous. Here’s a tiger-muscle tablet and a lion-heart tablet. Down ’em.” Bob shut his mouth and shook his head. “Down ’em!” the goblin repeated. “Uk-uh!” the lad grunted. “You must!” “I won’t!” “You’ll starve if you don’t eat.” “I’d rather starve than take pills.” “Nonsense!” “I would!” “It won’t take you but a second to swallow ’em, Bob,” Fitz Mee said coaxingly. “That’s one of the advantages of our kind of food; it don’t take long to eat a meal.” “I never begrudged the time I spent in eating,” Bob remarked, with rather a sickly grin. “Well, down the tablets—that’s a good boy.” “Are those—those things all you’ve got to eat?” “Yes.” “And don’t you have anything else in Goblinland?” “No, of course not.” “Oh, dear!” wailed the boy. “I wish I was back home! Nothing to eat but pills! Golly!” “There, there, Bob!” the goblin said soothingly, kindly even. “You don’t wish you were back home; you’re just hungry and nervous. Take these tablets and you’ll be all right in a jiffy.” Bob silently held out his hand, his face a picture of lugubrious woe, and silently took the tablets and swallowed them. Fitz Mee idly fingered the tiny bottles in the case for a minute or two, mumbling over the names upon the labels. Then he looked up and asked: “Feel better, Bob?” “Yes,” the lad admitted rather reluctantly, “I feel stronger and better, but I’m still awful empty.” “But you’re not hungry?” “No; just hollow-like.” “That’s because you’ve been used to filling your stomach with gross food,” the goblin stated sagely; “you’ll get over that condition after you’ve lived on tablets and pellets a month or two.” “A month or two!” the lad groaned. “Oh, dear!” “You haven’t had anything to drink,” Fitz remarked, smiling brightly. “Take this pellet.” “What is it?” “A water pellet. It contains a pint of water.” “That teenty-weenty thing?” “Yes.” “Oh, nonsense!” “It does.” “I don’t believe it; it can’t.” “You down it and you’ll soon see.” Bob took the tiny clear pellet and instantly announced: “My thirst’s all gone, Fitz, and I feel fuller.” “But you’re still a little lank—a little empty-like, eh?” “A little, yes.” “Well, I’ll fix you. Take this.” “Oh, stop,” the boy demurred. “I’m not going to take all the pills in that case.” “This is the last dose I’ll ask you to take,” the goblin returned, batting his eyes at a bright flash of lightning from the rapidly approaching storm.