"But I want to see it," retorted Tom. "What's the use of visiting the moon if you can't see it?"
"Reminds me of a poem I wrote once," put in the Poker. "'What's the Use?' was one of my masterpieces, and maybe if I recite it to you it will help your eyes."
"Bosh!" growled the Bellows, who was beginning to get a little short-winded with his labors, and, therefore, a trifle out of temper. "How on earth will reciting your poem help Tom's eyes?"
"Easy enough," returned the Poker haughtily and with a contemptuous glance at the Bellows. "My poem is so much brighter than the moon that the moon will seem dull alongside of it."
"Go ahead anyhow," said Tom, interested at once and forgetting his eyes for the moment. "Give us the poem."
"Here goes, then," said the Poker, with a low bow and then, standing erect, he began. "It's called
WHAT'S THE USE.
What's the use of circuses that haven't any beasts?
What's the use of restaurants that haven't any feasts?
What's the use of oranges that haven't any peels?
What's the use of bicycles that haven't any wheels?
What's the use of railway trains that have no place to go?
What's the use of going to war if you haven't any foe?