Andiron Tales Part 9

"Magnificent," said Tom. "And do they call it tobogganing here?"

"No," said Righty, "it's called oscillating, and the machine is known as the oscycle"--

"Don't confound it with the icicle," put in the Bellows.

"Oh, I know what an icicle is," said Tom. "It's a spear of ice that hangs from a piazza roof."

"That's what it is at home," said the Poker, "but not here, my lad. Here an icicle is a bicycle with runners instead of wheels."

"But what makes it go?" demanded Tom.

"Pedals, of course," returned the Poker. "You just tread away on the pedals, as if you were riding on a bicycle, and the chain sets a dozen ice picks revolving that shove you over the ice like the wind. Oh, it's great sport!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOU SEE, IT'S THIS SHAPE."]

Another rush and roar of a pa.s.sing toboggan caused them to pause in their conversation for a moment, and then Tom turned his attention to the diagram Righty had drawn on the snow.

"Suppose you didn't stop at B and go back--what would happen?" he asked as he considered the possible dangers of this wonderful new sport.

"You'd fall over the edge, of course," said the Poker.

"I see that," said Tom. "But if you fell over the edge what would become of you? Where would you land?"

"If you had luck you wouldn't land anywhere," said Righty. "The chances are, however, you'd fall back on the earth again. Maybe in Canada, possibly in China, perhaps in Egypt. It would all depend on the time of night."

"And wouldn't you be killed?" Tom asked.

"Not if you had your rubbers on," said Righty. "If you had your rubbers on it would only jar you slightly. You'd just hit the earth and then bounce back again, but there's no use of talking about that, because it never happened but once. It happened to a chap named Blenkinson, who took an Oscillator that hadn't any brake on it. He was one of those smart fellows that want to show how clever they are. He whizzed down one side and up the other, and pouf! First thing he knew he was flying off into s.p.a.ce."

"And what became of him?" demanded Tom.

"He had the luck not to hit anything, but he suffered just the same," said Righty. "He flew on until he got to a point where he was held fast up in the air by the force of gravity of 1,600 different planets, and he's there yet. At a distance he looks like another new star, but when you get close to him he's nothing more than just a plain, everyday Smarty."

"I should think he'd starve to death," said Tom, as he reflected on the horrid fate of Blenkinson.

"He would if he had any appet.i.te," said the Bellows. "But he hasn't. He's so worried all the time that he can't eat, so he gets along very well without food."

"Let's quit talking now," suggested the Poker, "and get a ride, eh?"

"I'm ready," said Tom eagerly. "Where do we start?"

"There's the station up on the hill. It's only about 700 miles. We can walk it in a year," said Righty.

"I move we take this cloud that's coming up," said the Bellows. "I'm winded."

Tom looked in the direction in which the Bellows had pointed, and, sure enough, there was a cloud coming slowly along, shaped very much like a trolley car, and on the front of it, as it drew nearer, the lad was soon able to discern the funny little figure of a Brownie acting as motorman.

"Why, it's really a trolley!" he cried.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Why it's really a trolley!"]

"Certainly it is!" laughed Righty. "Didn't you know that? When you have watched the moon from your window at home and seen constant lines of clouds pa.s.sing up to it and stopping before its face night after night what did you suppose they did it for? Fun? I guess not. They're clever people up here, these moonfolk are, and they make use of everything going.

They've taken these electric clouds and turned 'em into a sort of Sky Traction Company, and instead of letting 'em travel all around the universe doing nothing and raising thunder generally, some of the richer Brownies have formed a company to control them."

By this time the cloud had reached the point where our little party stood, and the motorman, in response to the Bellows' signal, brought it to a standstill.

"Step lively, please," the conductor cried from the rear end.

Tom and the two Andirons and the Poker and Bellows clambered aboard.

The conductor clanged a bell. The motorman turned his wheel and the cloud moved rapidly on.

And what a queer crowd of folks there were on board that strange trolley cloud. Tom had never seen such an interesting group before.

CHAPTER VIII.

On the Trolley Cloud.

As I stated at the end of the last chapter, the travelers Tom and his companions encountered upon the Trolley cloud were a wonderful lot. In the first place, the whole situation was strange. Here was, in fact, a perfect car, made of what at a distance looked to be nothing but a fleecy bit of vapor. It had seats and signs--indeed, the advertising signs alone were enough to occupy the mind of any person seeing them for the first time to the exclusion of all else, what with the big painted placard at the end, saying:

FOR POLAR BEARS GO TO ARCTICS FIFTY-SEVEN VARIETIES.

No Home Complete Without Them.

Another showing a picture of Potted Town, in which all the inhabitants lived on canned food and things that came in jars, reading:

This is the famous Potted Town, Where everything is done up brown, We live on lobsters tinned, and beans, And freshly caught and oiled sardines; On ham and eggs done up in jars, And caramels that come in bars, Come buy a lot in Potted Town, And join the throngs we do up brown.

A corner lot for fifty cents--

A bargain that is just immense.

An inner lot for forty-nine For residence is just divine.

If in a year you do not find That we are suited to your mind We'll give you fifteen cents in gold, And take back all the lots we've sold, If, when in other lands you go You'll recommend Soapolio.

"Who on earth wants a Polar Bear at home?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom as he read the first.

"I do," growled a deep ba.s.s voice at his side, and the little traveler, turning to see who it was that had spoken, was surprised and really startled to find himself seated next to a s.h.a.ggy-coated beast of that precise kind. "I do," repeated the Polar Bear, "and if anybody says I don't I'll chew him up," and then he opened his mouth and glared at Tom as if to warn the young man from pursuing the subject further.

"So would I," put in Righty. "So would I if all the Polar Bears were like you."

The bear was apparently pleased by the compliment and, with a satisfied wink at Righty, folded his fore legs over his chest and went to sleep.

"I think I'll buy one of those lots in Potted Town," said a Kangaroo who sat opposite to Tom.

"You couldn't raise the money," growled a Flamingo who sat at the far end of the car. "Thirty cents is your measure."