ON THE PASSIVE VOLCANO
Of course there was but one thing to do, and that was to escape as
quickly as possible. Even Nimbus, powerful as he was, couldn’t control
a runaway Equator single-handed, and if the Evening Star were ever
turned into a comet it would take years of patient effort on the part
of her parents to turn her back into a Star again.
Nimbus looked swiftly about him for a second, and then he said:
“Fortunately, this is not an active volcano, so we’ll slip into the
crater.”
He led the way toward a cavelike opening right in the summit of the
mountain--an opening which led downward diagonally, so that it afforded
ample shelter.
Billy hesitated. He had heard about volcanoes, and the thought of
bearding it in its crater was very terrifying.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Nimbus; “this is a passive volcano.”
That reassured Billy, and when he was safe inside the crater he asked
what a passive volcano was.
“It’s one that isn’t active. There are two kinds of verbs and two kinds
of volcanoes--active and passive. The fire in this one has been banked,
so it’s perfectly safe.”
Billy was still a little uneasy, and he was by no means cheered by a
sound of dull rumbling that came up out of the depths of the crater.
He had little time to worry about this new danger, however, for just
then the crater became filled with terrific heat, and its dark recesses
were illumined by a brilliant glare.
Billy’s eyes were dazzled at first, then right above him he made out
the circular form of the Equator staring blankly down at him.
“Oh, I am lost!” cried the Evening Star, and with a series of leaps she
disappeared down the crater.
“The goose, she’ll be burned to death!” said Nimbus, and started after
her.
There was a sound of falling gravel, a sharp patter of footsteps, and
then silence.
Billy knew that it would be foolish to follow, so he quietly waited for
something to happen.
The Equator, meanwhile, was getting a little more accustomed to the
darkness. As he peered about he muttered to himself, and Billy caught
the words: “I hope she hasn’t got away. There’s no one left but the
Equine Ox, and you couldn’t turn him into a Comet any more than you
could turn him out of a pasture.”
“You ought not to turn anybody into a Comet,” said Billy. “It isn’t
polite.”
The Equator started violently.
“Who are you?” he demanded, scowling at Billy.
“My name is Billy,” said the little boy, “and I am a friend of the
Evening Star.”
“Do you think you could be turned into a Comet, Billy?” asked the
Equator solicitously.
“I-I hope not,” faltered Billy. “I never tried, though.”
“I’m afraid you couldn’t,” grumbled the Equator. “Perhaps you can tell
me where I can find the Evening Star.”
“No,” said Billy decidedly. “I will not.”
“Oh, come now, don’t be rude. I won’t turn her into a very big Comet,
you know.”
“I don’t care,” said Billy. “I shall not tell you where she is, and I
think you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I was driven to it,” said the Equator; “when the Geographers made me,
they wanted to be sure to have enough of me to go around, and I’ve been
going around ever since. It got so monotonous after a while that I
simply had to get into mischief or explode.”
“Was that why you escaped?” asked Billy.
“Yes; the Equine Ox went to sleep and I broke a meridian and got away.
It was quite oxidental, my escaping; I mean accidental.”
“It cannot be very nice, being an Equator,” said Billy thoughtfully;
“but it would be far worse to be a Comet.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” said the Equator. “Comets only have to get to a
certain place once in two or three hundred years, while an Equator has
to be in one place always. I’m very tired,” he said suddenly. “What do
you usually do when you’re tired?”
“I sleep,” said Billy.
“Indeed!” said the Equator; “how interesting. How is it done?”
“Why,” exclaimed Billy eagerly, “you lie down somewhere, then you close
your eyes, then you think of sheep jumping through a fence and try to
count them until you fall asleep.”
“But I can’t think of any sheep jumping through a fence. I never saw a
sheep, nor a fence. Do you suppose it would do just as well to count
hippopotamuses jumping through a swamp?”
“Perhaps,” said Billy doubtfully, “although I never tried it.”
To his great joy the Equator settled down on the summit of the volcano
and closed his eyes. He breathed hard and regularly for a little, and
then, as one eye opened, he said: “What do you do when the third and
seventh and eleventh hippopotamus is a rhinoceros? Count him, too?”
“Certainly,” said Billy, and again the Equator closed his eyes.
Presently he opened them again. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “I’ve
counted all the hippopotamuses and rhinoceroses there are. Now what do
I do?”
“Begin on the camels and lions and tigers,” said Billy.
“And when they’re counted?”
“Count the ants,” said Billy with a sudden inspiration, and the Equator
troubled him no more.
Billy was delighted. The Equator’s lips moved rapidly for some minutes,
and Billy slipped quietly down into the crater to find Nimbus and the
Evening Star to tell them to hurry and make their escape.
He wandered about blindly for some little time, then stopped bewildered.
The crater forked in many directions. It seemed hopeless to explore any
one of them because his friends might have taken another.
At last he determined to make sure that when they did come back they
would have no trouble in escaping.
Returning to the mouth of the crater he saw the Equator still fast
asleep.
Billy’s hands went to his pockets, and when they came out they brought
a quantity of fish-line, which he always carried for emergencies.
He deftly tied the line to a huge stone, making sure that the knot Was
fast, and then very cautiously slipped it through the center of the
Equator, making a loose knot, but one that would be reasonably sure to
hold him. He doubled and redoubled the string, and when the job was
done stood back and surveyed it with considerable pride.
Then, assured that the Equator was at his mercy, he began to hope for
him to wake up so that he could enjoy his triumph. He even coughed once
or twice in the hope of awakening his captive, but the Equator was very
tired and it seemed impossible to arouse him.
At last, unable longer to restrain his impulse, Billy took a sharp
stick and poked the Equator smartly once, twice, three times.
The sleeper’s eyes opened, and he tried to yawn and stretch, but the
fish-line restrained him. He looked about wrathfully and espied Billy.
Instantly his dull glowing skin became white hot with rage, and the
line melted away like straw.
The Equator sprang to his feet, his whole circular body shining like
the iron which the blacksmith has just taken from the forge.
“You shall pay for this, young man!” he cried. “I may not be able to
turn you into a Comet, but I can maroon you on the Polar Star, which
will be quite as satisfactory.”
As Billy stood petrified with fear the Equator swept down upon him.
[Illustration: “Billy took a sharp stick and poked the Equator
smartly”]
JACK FROST