Fitz Mee bent double and stamped about the floor, laughing till the tears ran down his fat cheeks. But suddenly he sobered and said: “Come on, Bob; you’ve got to.” “I won’t!” the boy declared perversely. “I _don’t_ have to.” The goblin made no further plea; but placing a silver whistle to his lips blew a sharp blast. In answer, a squad of officers stepped from the shadows. “What’s wanted, Fitz Mee?” said the leader. “This boy flatly refuses to obey the law, to go on through the factories, as he stated would please him.” “Boy, is this true?” demanded the officer. “Yes, it is,” Bob confessed fearlessly, shamelessly. “Fitz Mee, he confesses,” muttered the officer. “What would you have me do?” “Take him and carry him through,” Fitz Mee said icily. “Very well,” answered the officer. “But if we do that we take the case out of your hands, Fitz Mee. And in order to make a satisfactory report to the mayor, we’ll have to carry him through all the factories—those he has already visited as well as those he has not.” [Illustration] “Yes, that’s true,” Fitz nodded. “What’s that?” Bob cried, keenly concerned. The officer gravely repeated his statement. “Oh, nonsense!” the boy exclaimed. “You fellows go away and quit bothering me. I never saw such a country! A fine place for a boy to do as he pleases, surely! Come on, Fitz.” All the goblins laughed heartily, and Bob disrespectfully made faces at them, to their increased amusement. When the two comrades had made their round of the factories, and were out in the fresh air again, the boy murmured meekly, a sob in his throat: “Fitz, I’m tired—I’m sick of it all! I wish I hadn’t come here, I—I wish I was back home again.” “What!” his companion cried in assumed surprise. “I do!” “Back home, and be compelled to obey your elders—your parents and your teachers?” Fitz Mee said, grinning and winking impishly. “Well,”—pettishly,—“it wouldn’t be any worse than being compelled to obey a lot of fool officers, anyhow.” “You’re just compelled to do what pleases you, just as I told you,” Fitz Mee explained smoothly. “Oh, do shut up!” the lad pouted. “You’re out of sorts,” the goblin giggled; “you’re hungry—you need some food tablets.” “Bah!” Bob gagged. “Pills! I can’t swallow any more of ’em—I just can’t! Oh, I wish I had a good supper like mother cooks!” Fitz Mee threw himself prone and kicked and pounded the earth, laughing and whooping boisterously; and Bob stood and stared at him, in silent disapproval and disgust. CHAPTER XII BEFORE THE MAYOR OF GOBLINLAND