The goblin simply gave the speaker a look in reply. “Fitz,” Bob continued, “what’s the meaning of all this talk about my going through the factories? What’s the matter, anyhow?” “Nothing—nothing!” Fitz murmured hoarsely, shiftily gazing here and there. “Yes, there is,” the boy insisted. “Why do you all emphasize the word ‘through’?” “Why—why,” Fitz stammered, rubbing his nose and blinking his pop eyes, “we thought maybe you didn’t mean that you desired to go _through_ the factories; thought maybe you meant you desired to go _partly_ through only—just wanted to see _some_ of the things.” “No,” Bob hastily made reply, “I want to go through; I want to see everything. Understand?” Fitz nodded. “Well, come on, then,” he said; “we’ve got to be moving.” As they went along the corridor, Bob became aware of doors ahead opening to right and left. He saw the flash of flames and heard the whirr of wheels and the hub-bub of hammers. “This room to the right,” said Fitz Mee, “is the machine-shop; that on the left is the forging-room.” They visited each in turn, and the lad was delighted with all he saw. “He! he!” he laughed when they were again out in the corridor and free from the thunder and crash and din that had almost deafened them. “The idea, Fitz, of me not wanting to go through your factories; of not wanting to see everything! You bet I want to go through! You thought I’d be afraid—that’s what _you_ thought; and the mayor, too. But I’ll show you; I’m no baby—not much!” His companion grinned impishly, but made no reply. The next place they entered was the great moulding-room. Open cupolas were pouring forth white-hot streams of molten metal, which half-nude and sweaty, grimy goblins were catching in ladles and bearing here and there. The temperature of the room was almost unbearable; the atmosphere was poisonous with sulphurous gases. Bob crossed the threshold and stopped. “Come on,” commanded his companion; “we must hurry along, or we won’t get through to-day.” “I—I don’t believe I care to go through here,” Bob said hesitatingly. “Why?” Fitz Mee jerked out. “It’s so awful hot and smelly,” the boy explained; “and I’m—I’m a little afraid of all that hot metal.” “No matter; you must go through here.” “I _must_?” Bob cried indignantly. “Certainly. You said you’d be pleased to go through our factories; so now you must go through—through every apartment. Boys in Goblinville, you know, must do what pleases ’em.” “But it doesn’t please me to go through this fiery furnace, Fitz.” “Well, boys’re not allowed to change their minds every few minutes in Goblinville. Come on.” “I won’t!” Bob said obstinately. “You’ll get into trouble, Bob.” “I don’t care.” “And you’ll get _me_ into trouble.” “You into trouble? How?” “You heard what the mayor said, didn’t you?” “Y-e-s.” “Well?”