“Oh, you won’t have to be bothered that way,” said Budge. “When you die your spirit goes up to heaven, an’ you can look straight down froo the sky with your new eyes, an’ laugh at the old dirt that thinks it’ keepin’ your old eyes shut up.”
“Don’t want no new eyes! Eyes I’zh got izh good enough to see fings wif.”
“But just you think, Toddie,” reasoned Budge, “heaven-eyes can’t get dust in ’em, or have to be washed, or be bothered with choo-choo smoke.”
“Can’t smoke get in the windows of steam-cars up in hebben?”
“Of course not! Not if everythin’ goin’ to be all right up there. There ain’t no choo-choos in heaven anyhow. What does angels want of choo-choos, I’d like to know, when they’ve got wings to fly with?”
“WE’RE GOIN’s HOME”
“I’d never want all the choo-choos to go away, even if I had a fousand wingsh,” said Toddie. “’Twould be such fun to fan myself wif my wings when I was goin’ froo hot old tunnels.”
“Tunnels can’t be hot in heaven,” explained Budge; “’cause they’re uncomfortable, an’ nothin’ can be uncomfortable in heaven. I guess there ain’t any tunnels there at all. Oh, yes! I guess there’s little bits of ones, just long enough to give little boys the fun of ridin’ in and ridin’ out of ’em.”
“Well, how’s you goin’ to ride in an’ out if dere ain’t no choo-choos to pull de cars?”