"Because I haven't lived my six hundred years yet. Perhaps you don't
know that every Blueskin in Sky Island lives exactly six hundred
years from the time he is born."

"No, I didn't know that," admitted the sailor.

"It's a fact, said the King. "Nothing can kill us until we've lived
to the last day of our appointed lives. When the final minute is up,
we die; but we're obliged to live all of the six hundred years
whether we want to or not. So you needn't think of trying to kill
anybody on Sky Island. It can't be done."

"Never mind," said Cap'n Bill. "I'm no murderer, thank goodness, and
I wouldn't kill you if I could, much as you deserve it."

"But isn't six hundred years an awful long time to live?" questioned
Trot.

"It seems like it at first," replied the King, "but I notice that
whenever any of my subjects get near the end of their six hundred,
they grow nervous and say the life is altogether too short."

"How long have you lived?" asked Button-Bright.

The King coughed again and turned a bit bluer. "That is considered
an impertinent question in Sky Island," he answered, "but I will say
that every Boolooroo is elected to reign three hundred years, and
I've reigned not quite--ahem!--two hundred."

"Are your kings elected, then?" asked Cap'n Bill.