"I don't believe it. I believe you are living in Sky Island, where
you have no right to be, with your horrid white skins. And you've
intruded into the private garden of the palace of the Greatly
Stately Irately Boolooroo, which is a criminal offense. And you've
bumped my head with your basket and smashed my toes with your boards
and bodies, which is a crime unparalleled in all the history of Sky
Island! Aren't you sorry for yourselves?"

"I'm sorry for you," replied Trot, "'cause you don't seem to know
the proper way to treat visitors. But we won't stay long. We'll go
home pretty soon."

"Not until you have been punished!" exclaimed the Boolooroo sternly.
"You are my prisoners."

"Beg parding, your Majesty," said Cap'n Bill, "but you're takin' a
good deal for granted. We've tried to be friendly and peaceable, an'
we've 'poligized for hurtin' you, but if that don't satisfy you,
you'll have to make the most of it. You may be the Boolooroo of the
Blues, but you ain't even a tin whistle to us, an' you can't skeer
us for half a minute. I'm an ol' man, myself, but if you don't
behave, I'll spank you like I would a baby, an' it won't be any
trouble at all to do it, thank'e. As a matter o' fact, we've
captured your whole bloomin' blue island, but we don't like the
place very much, and I guess we'll give it back. It gives us the
blues, don't it, Trot? So as soon as we eat a bite of lunch from our
basket, we'll sail away again."

"Sail away? How?" asked the Boolooroo.