“I-I hope not,” faltered Billy. “I never tried, though.”
“I’m afraid you couldn’t,” grumbled the Equator. “Perhaps you can tell me where I can find the Evening Star.”
“No,” said Billy decidedly. “I will not.”
“Oh, come now, don’t be rude. I won’t turn her into a very big Comet, you know.”
“I don’t care,” said Billy. “I shall not tell you where she is, and I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I was driven to it,” said the Equator; “when the Geographers made me, they wanted to be sure to have enough of me to go around, and I’ve been going around ever since. It got so monotonous after a while that I simply had to get into mischief or explode.”
“Was that why you escaped?” asked Billy.
“Yes; the Equine Ox went to sleep and I broke a meridian and got away. It was quite oxidental, my escaping; I mean accidental.”
“It cannot be very nice, being an Equator,” said Billy thoughtfully; “but it would be far worse to be a Comet.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” said the Equator. “Comets only have to get to a certain place once in two or three hundred years, while an Equator has to be in one place always. I’m very tired,” he said suddenly. “What do you usually do when you’re tired?”