Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy fiction; Goblins -- Juvenile fiction
“I’m no goblin,” Bob asserted stoutly; “I’m a Yankee.”
“You’re a goblin—half goblin, anyhow.”
“I’m _not_!”
“You _are_! You’ve taken gob-tabs; and that makes you partly goblin.”
“Fitz Mee,” the boy yelled, “you mean old thing! You say that again, and
I’ll sail off home—and leave you right where you are.”
“I won’t _say_ it any more, Bob; but it’s _so_.”
“Good-bye, Fitz; I’m going.”
“Not home?”
“No; over the hills.”
“Well, hurry back.”
“All right.”
Bob released a little of the pent air in the tank, and soared high above
the earth; then he manipulated the selector and sped away over the hills
out of sight of the village. When he thought it safe, he worked the pump
and descended to the earth. There he made the balloon fast in a secluded
spot near the highway—by tying it securely to a tree, with the piece of
anchor-rope remaining.
“There,” he breathed softly, “I’ll know where to find my air-ship; I’ll
remember the place by this big funny-looking stone here at the roadside.
Now I’ll take my medicine and be off to the rescue of my good comrade,
Fitz Mee.”
He took one of the tiny giant-tabs and swallowed it; and immediately he
began to grow and grow—clothes and all. He stretched up, up till his head
was on a level with the tops of the smaller trees; and he spread out till
he was as big in girth as the trunks of the largest.
“Wonderful!” he ejaculated, and his voice almost frightened him; it was
as coarse and hoarse as the roar of a lion. He looked at his hands and
feet—and laughed. They were as large as hams of meat; and his limbs were
like the great limbs of an elephant. Proudly he strode about, crooking
his arm and feeling his biceps muscle and muttering to himself:
“Won’t I make a scatterment among those Portuguese! I’ll scare ’em all
into conniption fits. But I won’t hurt any of ’em, unless I have to; that
would be wrong, cruel—just like a big man whipping a little boy. But I
must be off; Fitz will be tired of waiting. I wonder how far I’ve got to
walk. My! but I’m _hungry_; and I want _meat_.”
He picked up a large knotted pole for a cane and set off along the road,
whistling; and his whistle was as loud as that of a calliope. The birds
flew away in affright; and the hares and other small animals scampered
into the depths of the forest. Bob smiled complacently, recklessly
swinging his big knotted club.
Presently he approached a hut by the roadside; and he went up to it and
knocked upon the swinging door. An old woman put in an appearance; but,
at sight of her gigantic caller, she let out a yell and fled back into
the dusky interior.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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