THE TRAIL OF THE RUNAWAY
With wild cries the conductor and the motorman ran after the Equine Ox,
but although he appeared to be walking, he went at a tremendous speed,
and soon they were compelled to give up the chase.
“Oh! Oh!” wailed Billy, who was terribly distressed at the escape of
the Equine Ox, “I wish there was something I could do. But I am so
small that I am absolutely useless around here.”
There was a cracking of branches close at hand, and to Billy’s
astonishment and delight the Equine Ox reappeared.
“Do you think it is unlucky to be small, Billy?” he inquired.
The motorman and the conductor started forward, but the Equine Ox
lowered his horns.
“Never mind that now,” he said to them. “I will give you due notice of
my next movements, and on the whole I don’t think I will go at all. I
don’t think the Equator will come this way, at all events.”
The conductor and the motorman still advanced, but Billy said:
“I think the Equine Ox is speaking the truth. His eyes look honest.”
“My eyes are honest,” said the Equine Ox. “They never deceived me in my
life. But as I was saying, why are you so sorry that you’re small?”
“Because,” said Billy, “I can’t be of any help when things happen.”
“Listen,” said the Equine Ox, and throwing back his head he sang:
THE MELANCHOLY STAR
“A foolish little star I knew, quite petulant and peevish grew,
And all because he thought he was
Compelled to shine unheeded.
‘I know,’ he sighed, ‘that I am small, and so I shouldn’t shine at
all;
It isn’t fair to keep me where
I plainly am not needed.’
“So every night, from dark till dawn, dejectedly he carried on,
And pined and sighed and whined and cried
In this dyspeptic fashion.
In bitterness and discontent his poor defenseless rays he rent,
And tore his hair, till sore despair
Became his ruling passion.
[Illustration: “Listen, said the Equine Ox, and throwing back his head,
he sang”]
“Of course when one thus falls a prey to melancholy, night and day,
And merely moans and mopes and groans,
He’ll grow weak-minded from it;
And as this star became more blue, and thinking of his sorrows grew
Each day more sad, he soon went mad,
And turned into a comet.
“Now little girls who fancy they are always in grown people’s way,
And little chaps who think perhaps
They’re not appreciated;
Of course will surely never share the fate this starlet had to bear,
But still they need perhaps to heed
This tale that I’ve related.
“For if they do not mind at all because they happen to be small,
They soon will see their tasks will be
Made wonderfully lighter;
And when a child is gay of heart, and always gladly does his part,
And never sighs and never cries,
He makes the whole world brighter.”
“I’ll try not to be sorry any more,” said Billy, when the song was
finished.
“That’s right,” said the Equine Ox; “and now, if the gentlemen don’t
mind, I’d like to go back into the trolley car. It fitted me perfectly,
and it was such fun ringing that bell.”
“The trolley car’s broke,” said the conductor. “And if it wasn’t I
wouldn’t take a chance on having you ring up any more fares.”
“Very well,” said the Equine Ox, “then we might as well sit quietly and
await the reports of the Meteors. They’ll be coming in very soon now.”
But it was not a Meteor who first arrived. It was Jack Frost and
Nimbus, coming in from opposite directions almost at the same time.
Both had been clear around the world, they said, and neither had seen a
sign of the Equator or the Evening Star.
“I suppose,” said Billy, when this dismal report was received, “that we
ought to notify the Sun.”
“I can’t notify him,” said Jack Frost. “He and I are utter strangers.”
“I sent the Rays to notify him,” said Nimbus. “But I don’t think it
will do any good. He can only travel so fast anyway, not more than a
million miles a minute, and that would not do any good.”
“What is there to do, then?” inquired Billy disconsolately.
Hardly were the words out of his mouth when a Meteor came dashing in
among them.
“Any news?” asked Jack Frost.
“Lots of it,” said the Meteor. “News is happening every minute.”
“He means any news of the Evening Star or the Equator,” said Nimbus.
“No,” said the Meteor. “In fact I had forgotten all about them in the
excitement.”
“What excitement?” demanded Nimbus.
“Why,” said the Meteor, “the most astonishing things are happening. In
Chicago grapefruits are growing on Wabash Avenue, monkeys are swarming
up the Tribune Building on Madison Street, and they are raising tobacco
and watermelons on Drexel Boulevard.”
“Gracious,” said Jack Frost, “and this is the middle of January! What
can that mean?”
“Great news,” sang out a voice overhead, and another Meteor settled in
among them.
“Snow has all melted in Duluth,” he said, “and there is an
unprecedented sale of palmleaf fans all through that part of the
country.”
Before any one could express surprise at this astonishing information a
third Meteor and a fourth alighted.
“It is ninety degrees in the shade in Winnipeg,” said the third Meteor,
“and they are picking cocoanuts in Quebec. The baseball season has
opened in Iceland.”
“Hotter still in Norway,” said the fourth Meteor, who had just arrived;
“oldest inhabitant never remembers such sultry weather. Eskimos are now
wearing mosquito nets instead of furs, and they’re catching crocodiles
in the Arctic Ocean. The icebergs have begun to boil.”
“This won’t do!” cried Jack Frost excitedly. “All the work that I’ve
been at for centuries is being undone. I’ll soon have to organize a
syndicate to attend to my business if this keeps up. Whatever can have
happened?”
Another Meteor came in just then with still more tidings.
“Great schools of whales are passing Cape Nome,” he said, “all going
north. They’re picking strawberries off the tundras there, and they are
advertising hot springs for rheumatism in a glacier.”
Nimbus, who had been sitting with knitted brows, suddenly leaped to his
feet, and slapped the conductor on the back with such violence that
that gentleman fell forward against the Equine Ox.
“I know what it is,” shouted Nimbus. “The Equator is up there. That’s
what’s making all this trouble!”
“Then far be it from me to stay here,” said Jack Frost, preparing to
start at once. “I’m not going to have all my good icebergs and glaciers
melted like ice cream. It took me countless centuries to make some of
them.”
“Oh, never mind your old icebergs and glaciers,” said Nimbus. “The
point is that we’ve located the Equator and we can stop him before he
catches the Evening Star. He can only thaw a radius of a few miles at
one time, now that he’s shrunk so, so you don’t need to worry at all
about his undoing your work.”
“Well, anyway, we must go up there,” said Jack Frost.
“We certainly must,” said Nimbus, “and as soon as possible. I expect
Aurora Borealis will be reporting him at any time now.”
At that exact moment the sky lighted up with pink splendor that waved
and flickered and danced over the heavens.
“There she is now,” cried Nimbus. “Come, let us be off!”
“Please,” said Billy, who was intensely excited, “may I go, too? I
should dearly love to help catch him.”
“Why, yes, I guess so,” said Nimbus. “I’ll enchant the trolley car
again and we’ll all go in that.”
The trolley car had been very badly damaged by the Equine Ox, but
Nimbus merely tapped it with his wand and it became whole again. The
motorman regarded him open-mouthed.
“Wouldn’t he be a wonder in a repair shop?” he exclaimed.
“I guess she’ll hold together now,” said Nimbus. “Come on, Jack Frost;
come on, Billy,” and he led the way into the car.
The conductor and the motorman took their places, and the Equine Ox at
the last moment crowded into the rear door. There was scarcely room for
him, but Nimbus did not care to lose any time in putting him out.
The car was speedily got under way and soon was merrily sailing along
in the direction of the North Pole.
[Illustration: “The Equine Ox crowded into the rear door”]
WHERE NIGHT IS SIX MONTHS LONG