«Amos Obadaiah is a sort of friend of mine…» — Summary

Amos Obadaiah is a sort of friend of mine, But of course I'd never say that to his face. He'd rather not be friendly. He'd rather not be kind. In fact, I'm sure he'd think it a disgrace. Amos Obadaiah is a grimmy sort of grouch. He's a griper and a grumbler and a grump. He's a gristle-ated grizzum with a surly sort of slouch; He's a fire-breathing pain in the rump. "I'm a dragon!" rumbled Amos Obadaiah when I asked. "I'll be fearsome as I want in my own den! People think that they can tame us, slay us—Ha! Now there's a task!" Then he laughed so long I never asked again. Amos Obadaiah met a hero by and by: Handsome face and glimsome sword and gleamsome smile. And I guess that he was brave to look a dragon in the eye, And to call him "lizard", "beast" and "crocodile". Amos Obadaiah glared and glowered, growled and gruffed, And observed, "His clothes won't be much fun to eat." Then he breathed a little flame and very gently huffed and puffed, And he burned the pants right off that hero's seat. "Aie!" exclaimed the hero while his cheeks were growing red. "You've burnt my favourite pants, you dragon, you! They even matched my sweater!" "That's too bad," the dragon said, And he very calmly burned the sweater, too. The hero shrieked and shuddered and he muttered it was chilly As he skitter-scatter-scrambled to the door, And he ran off with no clothes on, looking absolutely silly And his grin was not so gleamsome anymore. "Nice!" I yelled, but Amos Obadaiah turned and glared So fierce-ishly I swallowed up my shout. "Um, good job," I told him, speaking just as loudly as I dared. Then he ordered me to sweep the ashes out.