“Well, I’ll go through for your sake, Fitz; but I don’t want to. It is a fool law or custom—or whatever it is—that won’t let a fellow change his mind once in a while, when he feels like it! A great way that is to let a boy do what he pleases! But lead on.” They sauntered through the moulding—room, Bob trembling and dodging and blinking, and out into the corridor again. “Mercy!” the urchin exclaimed, inhaling a deep breath of relief. “I don’t want any more of that! I’m all in a sweat and a tremble; I was afraid all the time some of that hot metal would splash on me.” “It does splash on the workers at times,” Fitz Mee observed quietly. Not heeding his companion’s remark, Bob continued: “And my lungs feel all stuffy. I couldn’t stand such a hot and smelly place more than a few minutes.” “How do you suppose the moulders stand it for ten hours a day?” Fitz asked. “I don’t see how they do—and I don’t see _why_ they do,” the boy replied. “You don’t see why they do?” “No, I don’t.” “For the same reason workmen stand disagreeable and dangerous kinds of work in your country, Bob; to earn a living.” “I wouldn’t do it,” the boy declared loftily. “You might have to, were you a grown man or goblin.” “Well, I wouldn’t. My papa doesn’t have to do anything of the kind.” “Your father’s a physician, isn’t he?” “Yes.” “Well, doesn’t he miss meals, and lose sleep, and worry over his patients, and work sometimes for weeks at a time without rest or peace of mind?” “Yes, he does.” “But you’d rather do that than be a common laborer for eight or ten hours a day, would you?” “I—I don’t know; I’d rather just be a boy and have fun all the time. And I guess I’ve seen enough of your factories, Fitz; I want to get out into the fresh air and sunshine again.” “You must go on through,” the goblin answered, quietly but positively. “Well, have we seen nearly all there is to see?” “No, we’ve just begun; we haven’t seen one-tenth part yet.” “Oh, dear!” Bob groaned. “I never can stand it, Fitz; it’ll take us all day.” “Yes,” the goblin nodded. “Well, I tell you I can’t stand it.” “But you must; it was your choice.” “Choice!” angrily. “I didn’t know What it would be like.” “You shouldn’t have chosen so rashly. Come on.” Bob demurred and pleaded, and whimpered a little, it must be confessed; but his guide was inexorable.