help strikes me as rank injustice."

"Wonder to me that Jupiter doesn't interfere in this business," said
I. "He could help Callisto out without much trouble."

"The point about that is that he's afraid," Cephalus explained. "Juno
has threatened to sue him for divorce if he does, and he doesn't dare
brave the scandal."

We had by this time reached a long, low building that looked like a
stable, and, as we entered, Cephalus observed:

"This is our fire-proof building where we keep our inflammable beasts.
That big, sleeping creature that looks like a mastodon lizard is the
dragon that your friend St. George, of London, got the best of, and
sent here with his compliments. I'll give the beast a prod and let you
see how he works."

Cephalus was as good as his word, and for a moment I wished he wasn't.
Such a din as that which followed the dragon's awakening I never heard
before, and every time the horrible beast opened his jaws it was as if
a fire-works factory had exploded.

"Very dangerous creature that," said Cephalus. "But he is splendid
for fetes. Shows off beautifully in the dark. I'll prod him again and
just you note the prismatic coloring of his flames. Get up there,
Fido," he added, poking the dragon with his stick a second time. "Wake
up, and give the gentleman an illumination."

The scene of the moment before was repeated, only with greater
intensity, and even in the sunlight I could see that the various hues
his fiery breathings took on were gorgeous beyond description. A
bonfire built of red, pink, green, and yellow lights, backed up by
driftwood in a fearful state of combustion, about describes it.

"Superb," said I, nearly overcome by the grandeur of the scene.

"Well, just imagine it on a dark night!" cried Cephalus,
enthusiastically. "Fido is very popular as a living firework, but he's
a costly luxury."

I laughed. "Costly?" said I. "I don't see why. Fireworks as grand as
that must cost a deal more than he does."

"You don't know," said Cephalus, pressing his lips together. "Why,
that dragon eats ten tons of cannel coal a day, and it takes the
combined efforts of six stokers, under the supervision of an expert
engineer, to keep his appetite within bounds. You never saw such an
eater, and as for drinking--well, he's awful. He drinks sixteen
gallons of kerosene at luncheon."

I eyed Cephalus narrowly, but beyond a wink at the dragon, I saw no
reason to believe that he was deceiving me.

"Then