“What’s the matter with him, anyway? Why don’t he sit still?”
“He can’t sit still,” said Nimbus. “A meteor is a shooting star and ever so often he has to shoot.”
“Shootin’ is against the rules,” growled the motorman. “No shootin’ allowed in any cars of this company.”
“He isn’t shooting aloud. He’s shooting to himself,” said Nimbus. “I’ll send him back to the Equator as soon as I compose a message that is strong enough to tell the Equine Ox what I think of him.”
Billy had been looking out of the window. A long way off he noticed a row of enormous signs, each with curious characters on it, all outlined in bright green and blue stars.
“Signs of the Zodiac,” said the Meteor, coming to a sudden stop and looking over Billy’s shoulder. “‘Keep off the sky,’ and ‘No loose dogs allowed,’ and such like. The Aerolites have just turned ’em on. They come right after the twilight.”
“I—I don’t think I understand,” said Billy.
“Neither do I,” said the Meteor, “but I’ll explain it in a minute. I’ve got a few shots in me now that have got to go off.”
He leaped to his feet and began to dart backward and forward in the car till Nimbus, who was writing on a pad of paper, became irritated and slammed the car-door on the Meteor’s tail.
“Isn’t he peevish!” said the Meteor, sinking down at Billy’s side. “But as I was saying about the Aerolites, every night the Sun goes down, as you know, and it would be pitch dark until the Moon and the Stars came up if it wasn’t for them.