“Back to the place where the Equator ought to be,” said the Equine Ox. “I’m tired of this business. I wish I’d never come.”
“He means that he wishes he’d never came,” said the conductor to the motorman. “Somehow that sentiment hits me—hits me hard.”
“It hits me like a pile driver,” said the motorman. “Let’s go back with him.”
“Hurry, if you are coming,” said the Equine Ox, who had overheard them. “I’ll give you a lift as far as—where do you live, anyway?”
“Suburbia,” said the conductor.
“All right,” said the Equine Ox; “climb on my back and we’ll be in Suburbia in time for supper. Jack Frost, you can send Nimbus back with the car.”
“All right,” cried Jack Frost after them, “as soon as we find the Equator.”
For a little while Billy, standing beside Jack Frost, watched them as they galloped off toward where the blue of the sky met the white of the snowfields. The Equine Ox seemed not to mind the load he carried, and just as Billy turned away the conductor and the motorman were lighting their pipes preparatory to settling down for a comfortable ride. Then Jack Frost spoke to him and Billy saw them no more.
“What is that on the snow mountain over there?” Jack Frost was saying.
“Let’s go and see,” said Billy, even before he turned to look.