“Hold on!” said the meteor. “Why are you hurrying so? I cannot keep up with you.”
“I cannot stop myself!” cried No. 73. “Something is drawing me forward, faster and faster!”
On he went at a terrible rate, the meteor following as best he might. Several planets that he passed shouted to him in warning tones, but he could not hear what they said. The Sun stirred his fire again, and blazed brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter; and onward rushed the wretched little comet, faster and faster, faster and faster!
“Catch hold of my tail and stop me!” he shrieked to the meteor. “I am shrivelling, burning up, in this fearful heat! Stop me, for pity’s sake!”
But the meteor was already far behind, and had stopped short to watch his companion’s headlong progress. And now,—ah, me!—now the Sun opened his huge fiery mouth. The comet made one desperate effort to stop himself, but it was in vain. An awful, headlong plunge through the intervening space; a hissing and crackling; a shriek,—and the fiery jaws had closed on Short-Tail No. 73 forever!
“Dear me!” said the meteor. “How very shocking! I quite forgot that the Sun ate comets. I must be off, or I shall get an æon in the Reform School for this. I am really very sorry, for he was a nice little comet!”
And away frisked the meteor, and soon forgot all about it.
But in the great court-yard in front of the Comet House, the Master took a piece of chalk, and crossed out No. 73 from the list of short-tailed comets on the slate that hangs on the door. Then he called out, “No. 1 Express, come forward!” and the swiftest of all the comets stood before him, brilliant and beautiful, with a bewildering magnificence of tail. The Comet Master spoke sharply and decidedly, as usual, but not unkindly.
“No. 73, Short-Tail,” he said, “has disobeyed orders, and has in consequence been devoured by the Sun.”