“And this is the only kind of light you have in Goblinland, Fitz?” the boy asked. “Yes. We light our houses, our streets, our factories, our mines, everything with them.” “Wonderful!” Bob exclaimed. “And what do you do for fire, for heat?” “We don’t need heat for our dwellings. Owing to the fact that our country is protected from all cold winds by the high cliffs around it, and that the earth crust is thin over the fires of the volcano below, the temperature remains about eighty the year round. Then, we don’t cook any crude, nasty food, as you humans do; so—” “No, you live on pills,” Bob interjected, in a tone of scorn and disgust. “Bah!” “So,” Fitz Mee went on smoothly, unheeding his comrade’s splenetic interruption, “all we need heat for is in running our factories. For that we bore down to the internal fire of the earth.” “Well—well!” Bob ejaculated. “You do?” “Yes.” “Well, where are your factories, Fitz? I didn’t see anything that looked like factories when we got out of the balloon.” “They’re all in caverns hewed in the cliffs.” “And the fire you use comes from ’way down in the ground?” “Yes.” “And you light your factories with electric fireflies?” The goblin gravely nodded. Bob was thoughtfully silent for a moment; then he remarked: “It must be awfully hot work in your factories—the men shut up in caves, and no fresh air.” “We have plenty of fresh air in our works,” Fitz hastened to make plain; “we have large funnel-shaped tubes running up to the mountain-tops. The cold wind pours down through them, and we can turn it on or off at our pleasure.” “Say!” Bob cried. “What?” queried his companion. “I’d like to go through your factories.” “You mean what you say, Bob?” “Mean what I say?” said Bob, in surprise bordering on indignation. “Of course I do.” “That you’d like to go through our factories?” “Certainly. Why not?” “When do you want to make the—the experiment—the effort?” “To-day—right away, soon as we’ve had something to eat.” “All right, Bob,”—with a smile and a shake of the head,—“but—” “But what?” “Nothing. We’ll have breakfast and be off. It’s coming daylight, and the factories will be running full blast in an hour from now.” “More pills for breakfast, I reckon,” Bob grumbled surlily. “More tablets and pellets,” Fitz Mee grinned, rubbing his hands together and rolling his pop eyes. “Huh!” the boy grunted ungraciously. “I wish you folks cooked and ate food like civilized people. I’m getting tired of nothing but pills. I can’t stand it very long—that’s all.” “You’ll get used to it,” the goblin said, consolingly. “Used to it!” the boy snorted angrily. “Yes, I’ll get used to it like the old man’s cow got used to living on sawdust; about the time she was getting used to it she died.” But he accepted the pellets and tablets his companion offered him, and meekly swallowed them. Then they caught up their caps and left the house. CHAPTER XI IN THE LAND WHERE YOU DO AS YOU PLEASE