25
The Lumprotter clapped its pink, pudgy hands together. With a satisfied grin and a sigh of contentment, it folded them across its bulging belly.
“Wh-What?” asked Max, with a shake of his head. “How?”
“It’s impossible,” said Milo, studying the Lumprotter.
“You see? This is why you do not respond to his kind. Never, ever speak to a Lumprotter,” growled the Spriggan.
“That’s not nice,” it said, with a frown. “I was just telling a very good friend the other day what a lovely time we had. Such a nice fellow. A wimplewooflewog, he is. Makes the strangest noises, though. Most peculiar.”
“You can’t stay here,” said Davi, eying Knoxby’s shack. The wood planks were already falling apart. The rot was slowly rising. Before long, it would be up to the roof.
“But, I like it here,” said the Lum
