"Never mind," said the girl. "I'm as wet as a dishrag now, and I'll
never get any wetter."
"Wet, wet, wet!
It's awful wet, you bet!"
moaned the parrot on her shoulder.
"I'm a fish-pond, I'm a well;
I'm a clam without a shell!"
"Can't you dry up?" asked Cap'n Bill.
"Not this evening, thank you, sir;
To talk and grumble I prefer,"
replied the parrot dolefully.
They walked along more slowly now, still keeping hold of hands, for
although they were anxious to get through the Fog Bank, they were
tired with the long run across the country and with their day's
adventures. They had no sleep and it was a long time past midnight.
"Look out!" cried the parrot sharply; and they all halted to find a
monstrous frog obstructing their path. Cap'n Bill thought it was as
big as a whale, and as it squatted on the gray pebbles, its eyes
were on a level with those of the old sailor.
"Ker-chug, herk-choo!" grunted the frog. "What in the Sky is THIS
crowd?"
"W-we're strangers," stammered Trot, "an' we're tryin' to 'scape
from the Blueskins an' get into the Pink Country."
"I don't blame you," said the frog in a friendly tone. "I hate those
Blueskins. The Pinkies, however, are very decent neighbors."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear that!" cried Button-Bright. "Can you tell us,
Mister--Mistress--good Mr. Frog--eh, eh, your Royal Highness, if
we're on the right road to the Pink Country?"
The frog seemed to laugh, for he gurgled in his throat in a very
funny way.
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