“Vos dot Robinson Rooster a choke?” he demanded.  “Of it vos let me in by it kvick.”

“Oh, you couldn’t climb in on a gangway and a step-ladder combined,” answered Tom.

“Put vos you Robinson Roosters or vos you not Robinson Roosters?”

“Oh, we were Robinson Roosters right enough,” answered Tom, when he could control his laughter.

“Den vot you vos giggling apout, hey?”

“Nothing, only it was so funny to be a Robinson Rooster and live on a big island with nobody but lions, buffaloes, snakes, and `cannonballs,’” added the fun-loving youth.

“Cannonballs?” queried Larry

“That’s what Aleck Pop calls ’em, Larry.  He said it was a wonder the ‘cannonballs’ hadn’t eaten us up,” and then came another laugh, during which Hans was as mute as ever.

“Vos dere lions, snakes, and buffaloes py dot island on?” went on the German youth.

“To be sure there were, Hans.  And likewise elephants, panthers, cats, dogs, hippopotamuses, mice, elk, rats, and winged jibberjackers.”

“Mine gracious, Tom!  Und you vosn’t eaten up alretty kvick!”

“None of the animals troubled us, but the three-horned jibberjacker.  He came into our house one night, crawled upstairs, and began to swallow Sam alive.”

“You ton’t tole me!”

“Yes, I do tell you.  He had Sam in his mouth, and had swallowed him as far as his waist, when Sam began to kick on the floor with his feet.”

“I see, I see—­” Hans’ eyes were as big as saucers.

“That woke Dick and me up, and we ran and got Sam by the legs, and pulled for all we were worth.”

“You ton’t tole me, Tom!  Und vot did dot vot-you-call-him do den?”

“He planked his ten feet on the floor, and—­”

“His ten feet did you said, Tom?” interrupted Hans doubtfully.

“To be sure.  Didn’t you know that a real jibberjacker has ten feet?”

“Maype I did—­I ton’t oxactly remember about him.”

“I am surprised at your ignorance of natural history, Hans.  Yes, the real jibberjacker has ten feet, although a branch of the family, known as the jibbertwister, has only eight feet.”

“Well, go on.  He planked his ten feets by der floor town—­”

“He held on and so did we, and it was a regular tug of war between us.  Sam was swallowed as far as the waist, and couldn’t do anything to help himself.  You just ask Sam if that isn’t so.”

“When Tom tells the truth it’s a fact every time, Hans,” answered Sam, who felt as if he would choke from suppressed laughter.

“So the blamed old jibberjacker held on and held on,” continued Tom.  “Then we gave a tug and he gave a tug, and all of a sudden Sam came out.  The shock was so great it threw Dick and me clear across the room, and through a doorway into the next room.  But the poor jibberjacker fared still worse.”

“How vos dot?”

“He flew up against the outside wall, and his weight was so great he went right through the side of the building, and landed on some rocks below.  All of his ten legs were broken, and of course he couldn’t get away, so we went down, got a long cross-cut saw, and sawed off his head.  Now, if you don’t believe that story, you come to our house sometime and I’ll show you the cross-cut saw.”