IN THE LAND WHERE YOU DO AS YOU PLEASE

Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office; and to that august official Fitz Mee said:

“Your honor, Master Taylor wishes to go through our factories.”

“So I’ve heard,” the mayor answered grimly, “but could hardly credit my ears.” Then to Bob: “Master Taylor, is this true that I hear: that you desire to go through our factories?”

“Yes, sir,” Bob replied respectfully but sturdily, rather wondering, however, why such an ado should be made over so small a matter.

“Very well, Fitz Mee,” said the mayor to that worthy, “I’ll depend upon you to see that Master Taylor goes through our factories; and I’ll hold you responsible for any trouble that may arise. Here’s your permit.”

When the two were out of the mayor’s presence and on their way to the factories, Bob remarked:

[160]

“Fitz, how did the mayor learn that I want to go through your machine-shops and places?”

“He heard us talking.”

“Heard us talking?”

“Yes. There’s a wireless telephone instrument in the room where we were, an automatic one that catches every sound.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

“And what did the mayor mean by saying he’d hold you responsible for any trouble that might arise?”

“Oh, nothing—nothing!” Fitz Mee answered hastily and grumpily.

The boy questioned his companion no further, and soon they crossed one of the picturesque bridges spanning the brook, ascended a long, gentle slope to the base of the black cliffs, and stood before a wide, nail-studded door. To the officers on guard Fitz Mee presented the mayor’s permit. The guard deliberately and carefully read the slip of paper, then he lifted his brows, drew down the corners of his mouth and grunted pompously:

“Fitz Mee, you’re aware of the import of this official document, are you?”

Fitz Mee nodded gravely, grimly, and Bob looked from one to the other in silent wonder.

Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office.

[161]

The guard went on: “This permit of his honor, the mayor, says that not only is Master Robert Taylor, the friend and comrade of the honorable Fitz Mee, hereby permitted to go through our factories, but by the same token is compelled to go through them, this being his expressed desire and pleasure; and that the honorable Fitz Mee shall be held responsible for any trouble that may thereby arise. That’s all right, is it, Fitz Mee?”

“It’s all right,” Fitz Mee muttered sullenly, but determinedly.

“Pass in,” said the officer, unbolting the door and dragging it open.

As soon as the two had stepped over the sill, the door was slammed shut behind them, and Bob heard the great bolts shot into place—and shuddered in spite of himself. On each side of him were smooth, solid walls of rock: ahead of him stretched a dusky corridor dimly lighted with electric fireflies suspended here and there. The dull rumble of distant machinery came to his ears; the faint smell of smoke and sulphurous fumes greeted him.

[162]

“Fitz?” the lad said to his comrade, who stood silent at his side.

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.

[163]

“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;[164] 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?”

“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.”

[165]

“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 loftil............