as to which it shall be."

"Subject, of course, to my advice," said the Righthandiron, with a bow to
Tom. "You can go where you please if I please. See?"

"Yes," said Tom. "I see. I can have my way as long as it is your way."

"Precisely," said the Righthandiron, with an approving nod. "And as you
may have heard, precisely means exactly so. You can have your way as long
as it is my way, which shows how generous I am. Fond of my way as I am, I
am willing to divide it with you."

"All right," returned Tom. "I'm very much obliged. What are the two things
we can do?"

"Well," said the Lefthandiron, scratching his head softly, "we can fly up
a little higher and sit down and watch the world go round; we can take the
long jump, or we can visit Saturn."

"What was the first?" asked Tom.

"To fly up a little higher, where we can get a better view; to sit down
there and watch the world go round. It is an excellent way to travel. It's
awfully easy--in fact, it isn't you that travels at all. It's the world
that does the traveling, while all you've got to do is to sit down there
and keep an eye on it. It's like a big panorama, only it's real, and any
time you see a place going by that you think you'd like to see more of,
all you've got to do is to fly down there and see it."

"When you get up higher and sit down," said Tom, "what do you sit on?"

"You sit on me and I sit on my hind legs, of course," said Lefthandiron.
"Don't you know anything?"

"Of course I do," said Tom, indignantly. "I know lots of things."

"Then I can't see why you ask such silly questions," retorted the
Lefthandiron. "What do we sit on? Why, you might just as well ask a dog
what he barks with, or a lion what he eats his breakfast with--and that
would be as stupid as the Poker's poem on Sandwiches."

"Did the Poker write a poem on Sandwiches?" asked Tom.

"Eight of 'em," returned the Lefthandiron. "The first of them went this
way:

"He sat upon a lofty hill,
And smoked his penny pipe.
'Ha!' quoth a passing whip-poor-will,
'The oranges are ripe.'"

"The other seven went like this," observed the Righthandiron:

"The day was over, and the six-
Teen little darkies then
Found they were in a dreadful fix,
Like several other men."

"There isn't anything about Sandwiches in those poems," said Tom, with a
look of perplexity on his face.

"No. That's where the stupidity of it comes in. He wrote those poems a