"So are the rest of us," added a lot of voices in chorus, and Tom, turning to see who beside himself and his companions had got aboard, was hugely amused to see the Kangaroo, the Monkey, the Hippopotamus and all the other creatures from the Trolley, save only the conductor and motorman, seated there behind, as happy as you please.

"It doesn't pay to associate with conductors," said the Flamingo. "They don't think of anything but money all the time, and they're awfully rude about it sometimes. Why, I knew a conductor once who refused to change a $100 bill for me."

"I don't believe you ever had a $100 bill," growled the Hippopotamus.

"I've got one I wouldn't sell for $1,000," said the Flamingo. "It's the one I eat with," he added.

"That's not legal tender," said the Polar Bear.

"You couldn't change it if it was," sneered the Flamingo.



"I could change it in a minute if I wanted to," said the Polar Bear, with a chuckle.

"What with, cash?" demanded the Flamingo, scornfully.

"No—with one whack of my paw," said the Bear, shaking his fist menacingly at the Flamingo. "I could change your whole face, for that matter," he added, with a frown.

"I was only fooling, Poley, old man," said the Flamingo, a trifle worried. "Of course you could, but you wouldn't, would you?"

"Not unless I had to," replied the Bear, "but, gee, aren't we just whizzing along! Are you cold, Tom?"

"Yes," said Tom, with a shiver, "just a little."

"Well, come sit next to me and I'll let you use my furs. I don't need 'em myself. I'm a pretty warm Bear, considering where I come from."

"Sit close, gentlemen," cried the man in charge of the Oscycle. "We're coming to a thank-you-marm. Look out! Look out! Hang together. By jove, there goes the Monkey."

And sure enough, off the Monkey flew as the Oscycle crossed the hump at an enormous rate of speed.

"Hi, there, you fellows," the Monkey shrieked, as he landed in the soft snow, "wait a minute. Hi, you! Stop! Wait for me!"

"Can't do it," roared the man in charge. "Can't stop—going too fast."

"But what am I going to doo-oo-oo?" shrieked the Monkey excitedly.

"Get inside of a snowball and roll down. We'll catch you on the way back," the Kangaroo yelled, and as they now passed out of hearing of the monkey's voice no one knew how the little creature took the suggestion.

"I'm glad he's gone," said the Hippopotamus. "He was a nuisance—and I tell you I had a narrow escape. He had his tail wound around my neck a minute before. He might have yanked me off with him."

"Yanked you?" said the Old Gentleman from Saturn, gazing contemptuously at the Hippopotamus. "Bosh! The idea of a seven-pound monkey yanking a three-ton Hippopotamus!"

"What?" roared the man in charge. "A what how much which?"

"Three-ton," said the Old Gentleman from Saturn. "That's what he weighs. I know because he stepped on my toe getting off the Trolley."

"But it's against the law!" cried the Man in Charge. "We're not allowed to carry more than 1,000 pounds on these Machines."

"Humph!" laughed the Kangaroo. "It's very evident, Hippy, that you'll have to go way back and lose some weight."

"I can't help weighing three tons," said the Hippopotamus. "I'm built that way."

"That's all right," said the Man in Charge, wringing his hands in despair; "but you'll have to get off. If you don't we'll go over the edge." His voice rose to a shriek.

Tom's heart sank and he half rose up.

"Sit still," said the two Andirons, grabbing him by the arms. "We're in for it. We've got to take what comes."

"Right you are," said the Bellows. "Don't you bother, Tom. We'll come out all right in the end."



"But what's the trouble, Mr. Man?" asked the Poker. "What's the Hippo's weight got to do with our going over the edge?"

"Why, can't you see?" explained the Man in Charge. "His 6,000 pounds pushing the machine along from behind there gives us just so much extra speed, and all the brakes in the world won't stop us now we've got going unless he gets off."

The announcement caused an immediate panic, and the Polar Bear began to cry like a baby.

"Oh, why did I ever come?" he moaned as the tears trickled down his nose and froze into a great icicle at the end of it. "When I might have stayed home riding around on my own private iceberg?"

"Stop your whimpering," said the Kangaroo. "Brace up and be a man."

"I don't want to be a man," blubbered the bear, "I'm satisfied to be a poor, miserable little Polar Bear."

"You've got to jump, Hippy," said the Flamingo. "That's all there is about it."

"Sir," replied the Hippopotamus solemnly, "I shall not jump. It would ill comport with my dignity for me to try to jump as if I were merely a Kangaroo. No sir. Here I sit, firm as a rock. You might as well ask an elephant to dance a jig."

"We'll put you off if you don't get off of your own accord," roared the Polar Bear, bracing up, and removing the icicle from his nose he shook it angrily at the Hippopotamus.

"All right," said the Hippopotamus with a pleasant smile "All right. Has any gentleman brought a derrick along with him to assist in the operation? You don't happen to have a freight elevator in your pocket, do you, Mr. Kangaroo?"

"Pry him off, Poker," cried the Kangaroo.

"I would if I could," answered the Poker, mournfully. "But I'm not a crowbar."

"Well, then, all together here," shouted the Man from Saturn. "Line up and we'll shove him off."

There was a frantic rush at the stolid Hippopotamus in response to this suggestion, but they might as well have tried to batter down the rock of Gibraltar by hurling feathers against it, so firmly fixed in his seat was this passenger of outrageous weight.

"Come again, gentlemen," said the Hippopotamus suavely. "There's nothing better for the complexion than a good rub, and I assure you you have placed me under an obligation to you."

"Prod him with the icicle," said the Kangaroo to the Polar Bear.

"I am not to be moved by tears, even if they are frozen and sharpened to a point," laughed the Hippopotamus, as the Polar Bear did as he was told, smashing the icicle without so much as denting the Hippo's flesh.

"Well, if you won't jump, I will," said the Man from Saturn angrily. "If I'm hurt I'll take it out of your hide when we meet again."

"All right," retorted the Hippopotamus. "You'll have to get a steam drill and blast it out. By-by."

The man from Saturn jumped and landed head first in the snow, but whether he was hurt or not the party never knew, for their speed was now so terrific that he had barely landed before they whizzed past the bottom of the hill and up the other incline. It became clear, too, as they sped on that at such a fearful rate of progress nothing could now keep the Oscycle from going over the edge, and the others began to lay plans for safety.



"I'm going to jump for a passing trolley cloud the minute we get to the edge," said the Kangaroo.

"I don't know what I shall do," sobbed the Polar Bear. "If I land on my feet I'll be all right, for they're big and soft, like sofa cushions, but if I land on my head—"

"That's softer yet, Poley," laughed the Flamingo, who appeared to be less concerned than anybody. "If you land on your head it will be just as if you fell into a great bowl of oatmeal, so you're all right."

"I'm not afraid for myself," said the Poker. "I can drop any distance without serious injury, being made of iron, and my friends, the Andirons, are equally fortunate. The Bellows, too, is comparatively safe. The worst that can happen to him is to have the wind knocked out of him. But—"

"It's Tom we're bothered about," said the Righthandiron, with an anxious glance at Lefty. "You see, we invited him to come off here with us, and—"

"Who is he, anyhow?" demanded the Flamingo, glancing at Tom in such a way that the youngster began to feel very uncomfortable.

"I'm a Dormouse," said Tom, remembering the agreement.

"Not for this occasion," put in the Poker. "This time you're a boy, and we've got to save you somehow or other and we'll do it, Tom, so don't be afraid."

"What kind of boy is he?" demanded the Flamingo. "One of these bean-snapping boys that go around shooting robins and hooking birds' eggs when they haven't anything else to do?"

"Not a bit of it," said Righty. "He never snapped a bean at a bird in all his life."

"Humph!" said the Flamingo. "I suppose he's been too busy pulling feathers out of peacocks' tails to decorate his room with to be bothering with robins and eggs."

"Never did such a thing in all my born days," retorted Tom indignantly.

"Probably not," sneered the Flamingo. "And why? Because you were so well satisfied keeping a canary locked up in a cage for your own pleasure that you hadn't any time to chase peacocks."

"I've lived in the family forty years," said the Righthandiron, "and to my knowledge there was never a caged bird in the house."

"Really?" said the Flamingo, looking at Tom with interest. "Rather a new kind of boy this. Very few boys have a good record where birds are concerned."

"Tom's no enemy to birds," observed the Bellows. "I know that because I've been in his family longer than he has, and I've watched him."

"Well," said the Flamingo, "if that's the case, maybe I can help him. One good turn deserves another. If he is good to birds I may be able at this time to do good to him. This trouble ahead of us doesn't bother me, because I have wings and can fly—" Here the Flamingo flapped his wings proudly—"and I could take Tom on my back and fly anywhere with him, for I am an extremely powerful bird. But I want to know one more thing about him before I undertake to save him. We birds must stand together, you know, and I'm not going to befriend a foe to my kind under any circumstances. Thomas!"



"Yes, sir," replied Tom, all of a tremble, for he hadn't the slightest idea what was coming, and as a truthful boy he knew that whatever the consequences to himself might be he must give the correct answer.

"Do you have Sunday breakfast at home?" asked the Flamingo.

"Yes, sir," Tom replied respectfully.

"You have coffee and hominy and toast and fried potatoes and all that?" queried the bird.

"Yes, sir," Tom answered, turning very pale, however, for he was in great dread of what he now saw was likely to come next.

"And—ah—fruit?" said the Flamingo.

"Oh, yes, plenty of fruit," replied Tom very nervously.

"And now, sir," said the Flamingo, severely, and ruffling his feathers like an angry turkey, "now for the main point. Thomas—and, mind you I want a truthful answer. Did you ever eat a broiled—Flamingo for your Sunday morning breakfast?"

Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the Flamingo blurted out the last part of his question.

"No, sir. Never!" he replied.

"Then hurry and climb up on my shoulders here," the Flamingo cried. "You're a boy after my own heart. I believe you'd be kind to a stuffed parrot. But hurry—there's the edge right ahead of us. Jump—"

Tom jumped and in a moment was sitting astride of the great bird's neck. In his right hand he grasped the claw of Righty, in his left that of Lefty, while these two clutched tightly hold of the Bellows and the Poker respectively. A moment later the Oscycle reached the edge and dashed wildly over it, the Kangaroo following out his plan of jumping higher still and fortunately for himself catching a passing trolley cloud by which he was borne back to the starting point again.

As for the Polar Bear and the Hippopotamus, they plunged out into space, while the group comprising our little party from home and the Flamingo soared gracefully back to earth again, where the generous-hearted bird deposited them safely on top of the most convenient Alp.

"Thanks very much," said Tom, as he clambered down from the bird's neck and stood upon solid ground again.

"Don't mention it," said the Flamingo. "It's a pleasure to serve a bird-defender and his friends," and with this he soared away.

"I'm glad he didn't ask me if I ever ate broiled chicken for Sunday breakfast," said Tom.

"Why?" asked the Poker. "Do you?"

"Do I?" cried Tom. "Well, I guess. I don't do anything else."



CHAPTER X.

Home Again

"And now," said the Lefthandiron as the Flamingo flew off and left them to themselves, "it strikes me that it is time we set about having some supper. I'm getting hungry, what with the excitement of that ride, and the fact I haven't eaten anything but a bowlful of kindling wood since yesterday morning."

"I'm with you there," said Tom. "I've been hungry ever since we started and that snow on the moon whetted my appetite."

"Never knew a boy who wasn't hungry on all occasions," puffed the Bellows. "Fact is, a boy wouldn't be a real boy unless he was hungry. Did you ever know a boy that would confess he'd had enough to eat, Pokey?"

"Once," said Poker, "I wrote a poem about him, but I never could get it published. Want to hear it?"

"Very much," said Tom.

"Well, here goes," said the Poker anxiously, and he recited the following lines:

THE WONDROUS STRIKE OF SAMMY DIKE.

Young Sammy Dike was a likely boy Who lived somewhere in Illinois, His father was a blacksmith, and His Ma made pies for all the land. The pies were all so very fine That folks who sought them stood in line Before the shop of Dike & Co., 'Mid passing rain, in drifting snow, For fear they'd lose the tasty prize Of "Dike's new patent home-made pies." One day, alas, poor Mrs. Dike, Who with her pies had made the strike, By overwork fell very ill, And all her orders could not fill. So ill was she she could not bake One-half the pastry folks would take; And so her loving husband said He'd take her place and cook, instead Of making horse-shoes. Kindly Joe, To help his wife in time of woe! He worked by night, he worked by day— Yet worked, alas, in his own way And made such pies, I've understood, As but a simple blacksmith could. He made them hard as iron bars; He made them tough as trolley cars. He seemed to think a pie's estate Was to be used as armor plate. And not a pie would he let go That had not stood the sledge's blow Upon the anvil in his sanctum, Whence naught went out until he'd spanked 'em. Result? With many alas and 'lack The pies Joe made they all came back. From folks who claimed they could not go The latest pies of Dike & Co. And here it was that Sammy came To help his parents in the game. "Can't eat 'em?" cried indignant Joe. "Can't eat 'em? Well, I want to know! Here, Sammy, show these people here How most unjust their plaint, my dear. Come, lad, and eat the luscious pies That I have made and they despise." Poor loyal Sammy then began Upon those stodgy pies—the plan Was very pleasing in his eyes, For Sammy loved his mother's pies. He nibbled one, he bit another, And then began to think of mother. He chewed and gnawed, he munched and bit, But no—he could not swallow it; And then, poor child, it was so tough He had to say he'd had enough, Though never in the world before Was lad who had not wanted more. And what became of Sammy's Ma? And what became of Sammy's Pa? Their profits gone, how could they eke A living good from week to week? They took the recipe for pies That mother made and—Oh, so wise— Let Father make them in his way In form elliptical, they say. And when the football season came Won fortune great, and wondrous fame, Beyond the wildest hope of dreams, By selling these to football teams. And those by whom this game is played Called them the finest ever made. "The Shuregood football" made of mince, Has never quite been equaled since; And few who kick them with their feet, Know they're the pies Sam couldn't eat— The only pies upon this orb A healthy boy could not absorb.



"Great poem that, eh?" said the Bellows, poking Tom in the ribs, and grinning broadly.

"Splendid," said Tom. "New use for pies, that."

"It's beautifully long," said Lefty.

"But why couldn't it be published?" asked Righty. "Wasn't it long enough?"

"The editor said it wasn't true," sighed the Poker. "He had three boys of his own, you know, and he said there never was a boy who couldn't eat a pie even if it was made of crowbars and rubber, as long as it was pie."

"I guess he was right," observed Righty. "I knew a boy once who ate soft coal just because somebody told him it was rock-candy."

"Did he like it?" asked Tom.

"I don't think he did," replied Righty, "but he never let on that he didn't."

"Well, anyhow," put in Lefty, "it's time we had something to eat and we'd better set out for the Lobster shop or the Candydike—I don't care which."

"Or the what?" asked Tom.

"The Candydike?" said the Lefthandiron. "Didn't you ever hear of the Candydike?"

"Never," responded Tom. "What is it?"

"It's a candy Klondike," explained the Lefthandiron. "There are Gumdrop Mines and Marshmallow Lodes and Deposits of Chocolate Creams beyond the dreams of avarice. Remember 'em, Righty?"

"Oom, mh, mh!" murmured Righty, smacking his lips with joy. "Do I remember them! O, my! Don't I just. Why, I never wanted to come back from there. I had to be pulled out of the Peppermint mine with a derrick. And the river—O, the river. Was there anything ever like it?"

Tom's mouth began to water, he knew not why.

"What about the river?" he asked.

"Soda water flowing from Mountain to the Sea," returned the Righthandiron, smacking his lips again ecstatically. "Just imagine it, Tom. A great stream of Soda Water fed by little rivulets of Vanilla and Strawberry and Chocolate syrup, with here and there a Cream brook feeding the combination, until all you had to do to get a glass of the finest nectar ever mixed was to dip your cup into the river and there you were."

Tom closed his eyes with very joy at the mere idea.

"O—where is this river?" he cried, when he was able to find words to speak.

"In the Candydike, of course. Where else?" said the Poker. "But of course we can go to the Lobster shop if you prefer."

"Not I," said Tom. "I don't care for any Lobster shop with a Candydike in sight."

"Don't be rash," said the Bellows, who apparently had a strong liking for the Lobster shop. "Of course we all love the Candydike because it is so sweet, but for real pleasure the Lobster shop is not to be despised. I don't think you ought to make up your mind as to where you'll go next in too much of a hurry."

"What's the fun in the Lobster shop?" asked Tom.

"Purely intellectual, if you know what that means," said the Bellows. "You get your mind filled there instead of your stomach. You meet the wittiest oysters, and the most poetic clams, and the most literary lobsters at the Lobster shop you ever saw. For my part I love the Lobster shop. I can get something to eat anywhere. I can get a stake at any lumber yard in town. I can get a chop at any ax factory in the country, and if I want sweets I can find a Cakery—"

"Bakery, you mean?" said Tom.

"No, I don't at all," said the Bellows. "I mean Cakery. A Cakery is a place where they sell cake, and when I say Cakery I mean what I say. Just because you call it Bakery doesn't prove anything."

"We're out for pleasure, not for argument," growled the Lefthandiron. "Go on and say what you've got to say."

"Well," said the Bellows, "what I was trying to say, when interrupted, was that you can get your stomach filled almost anywhere, but your mind—that is different. I'm hungrier in my mind than in my stomach, and I'd rather be fed just now on the jests of an oyster, the good stories of a clam and the anecdotes of a Lobster, than have the freedom of the richest marshmallow mine in creation."

"Well, I'm sure I don't know what to do," said Tom, very much perplexed. The Candydike was glorious, but the Lobster shop, too, had its attractions, for Tom was fond of witty jokes and good anecdotes. The idea of having them from the lips of lobsters and oysters was very appealing.

"I say," he said in a minute, "why isn't the Lobster shop the best place for us to go after all, if we are really hungry? We could sit down at the table, you know, and listen to the Lobster's anecdotes, and then eat him afterward. In that way we could hear the stories and fill up beside."

"Well—I de-clare!" cried the Bellows. "What an idea! You most ungrateful boy!"

"Not at all," said the Poker. "Not at all. It's merely the habit of his kind. Many's the time when I've heard of men and women devouring their favorite authors. Tom couldn't better show his liking for the lobster than by eating him. On the other hand, if he goes there and turns his back on the Candydike he'll miss the most wonderful sight in all creation, and that is the Nesselrode Cataract on the Soda Water river. It is located at the point where the Vanilla glacier comes down from the Cream mountains on the one side, and the famous Marrons orchards line the other bank for a distance of seven miles. It's a perfectly gorgeous sight."

"Mercy me!" cried Tom. "Indeed, I should like to see that."



"No doubt," put in the Bellows. "Nevertheless, you can see Nesselrode pudding at home at any time, but did you ever see there a Turtle that can recite a fairy story of his own composition or a Crab capable of narrating the most thrilling story of the American revolutionary war that anybody ever dreamed of?"

"O dear, O dear, O dear!" said Tom. "What shall I do?"

As he spoke, from far down in the valley there seemed to come a crash and a roar, following close upon which the barking of a dog made itself heard.

"The ice is slipping," cried the Poker, as the mountain trembled beneath them. "There's going to be an avalanche, and we're on it!"

The whole top of the mountain shook as if it had been in an earthquake, and then it began to crash rapidly downward.

"Dear me! How annoying," observed the Bellows. "As if we haven't had enough coasting this trip without taking a turn on an avalanche."

"But what shall we do?" roared the Andirons excitedly. "I never foresaw this."

"Slide, I guess," said the Poker calmly. "It's all we can do."

The barking of the dog approached closer.

"Good!" cried Righty, clapping his claws together gleefully, as an idea flashed across his mind. "It's one of those famous St. Bernards; he'll take care of Tom, and as for us—"

The thunderous roar of the descending avalanche drowned the sounds of Righty's voice, and all that could now serve as a means of conveying their thoughts to each other was the making of wild motions with the hands. The Poker stood erect and stiff, looking grimly ahead of him, as if resolved to meet his fate bravely; the Bellows threw himself flat upon the glacier and panted; while the two Andirons, standing guard on either side of Tom, peered anxiously about for the rescuer of their little guest, nor did they look in vain, for in a few moments the huge figure of a St Bernard appeared below them, rushing with all his might and main to their side. For some reason or other, the St Bernard seemed to have something familiar about him, but Tom couldn't quite say what it was.

"Bow-wow-wow!" the dog barked gleefully, for this was just the sort of work he most enjoyed.

Strangely enough, Tom seemed to understand dog language for the first time in his life, for the bark said to him as plainly as you please: "Climb on my back sonny, and I'll have you out of this in a jiffy."

The lad lost not a moment in obeying. Aided by the affectionate boosts of the Andirons he soon found himself lying face downward upon the broad, shaggy back of the faithful beast.

He closed his eyes to shut out the blinding snow for a moment, and then—

* * * * *

Tom sat up and rubbed them, for there was no snow, no avalanche, no Alp, no St. Bernard dog in sight. Only a friendly pair of andirons staring fixedly at him out of the fireplace of his father's library: the poker standing like a grenadier at one side, and the bellows, hanging from a brass-headed nail on the other. Beside these, lying on the rug beside him, his head cocked to one side, his eyes fixed intently upon Tom's face, and his tail wagging furiously, was Jeffy, not a St Bernard, but a shaggy little Scotch terrier.

"Hello, Jeffy!" said Tom, as he rubbed his eyes a second time. "Where have you been all this time?"



"Woof!" barked Jeff, and cocking his eye knowingly.

"And was it you who rescued me from the avalanche?" Tom asked.

"Woof!" replied Jeff, as much as to say he wouldn't tell.

"Well, it was mighty good of you, if you did, Jeffy," Tom said, gratefully. "Only I wish you could have taken me to the Candydike or the Lobster shop instead of straight home—because I'm not only hungry Jeffy, but I should very much have liked to visit those wonderful places."

"Woof!" said Jeffy.

Which Tom took to be a promise that his rescuer would do better next time.

The little party has not been off again since, but the other night some pieces of newspaper were thrown into the fire place and all but one of them were burned. Righty held this one under his claw and Tom, while trying to get a word out of his friend, caught sight of it.

"Hello," said Tom, as he read what was printed on the clipping. "The astronomers at the Lick observatory have discovered a new constellation in the southeast heavens. It is of huge dimensions and resembles in its outlines the figure of a rhinoceros or some such pachydermatous creature."

"Well, I never!" he cried, as he read. "I say, Righty, do you believe that's the old Hippopotamus?"

And Righty said never a word, but the look in his eye indicated that he thought there was something in the notion.



The End