“Why can’t it?” asked the youngest camel.
“Because it can’t,” snapped his mother. “Because your father didn’t take out any life insurance. Because things are or else they are not.”
“What about the caravan of white camels with solid gold hoofs that goes right around the earth like a belt?” asked the little camel, shifting his harp on his shoulder.
“Hooey,” said his mother. “A lot of hooey.”
“But a llama told me that back in Hindustan,” her son insisted. “They go right around the world through everything—cities, oceans, railway carriages, skyscrapers. They keep on going all the time and nothing can stop them and nobody except camels can see them. And whenever a camel is lost anywhere in the world he only has to join the caravan of white camels and in the end he’s bound to pass through his own country and find his family again—”
“Don’t be an ass,” said his mother. Her feet were beginning to hurt her very much. “You can be sure that’s one of the things that decidedly is not.”
“The llama said he knew a camel who—” he began, but his mother interrupted:—
“Llamas are notoriously untruthful.”
They went on in silence for a while, but presently the little camel began asking questions again.
“What about the two sides of the weather that Mohammed has for a fan?” he said to his mother. “The light blue side is turned towards him when he feels like dancing and singing, and then the dark side is turned out to us. And when he is in thought he fans himself with the dark side so the light won’t disturb him. That’s how we have good and bad weather.”