"I thought we were goners," Westy said; "this is a nice place to stop. It's good they don't have any traffic cops here."
"I should worry where we stop," I said; "it's better than the lake. We stopped here because we stopped here. I never knew that Brewster's Centre had so much pep in it. This old station will go up in the air next. What do you say we get an anchor?"
"Where are we?" Pee-wee piped up.
"We're here, that's all I can tell you," I said.
"If you want to know where here is, look in the geography."
"We're neither here nor there," Westy said; "look at my hands, they're all blisters."
"Where do we go from here?" Connie wanted to know.
"I guess we take a southwesterly course and flow into the sink," I told him.
"Brewster's Centre ran away from home," Wig said. "Lost, strayed or stolen. We don't know where we are; we're in the middle of the road. Just like we said before, we're here, because we're here."
We all sat down on the steps of the platform and Wig started singing: