“Well, I don’t believe it,” said Tubby. “Because I know it ain’t so—not none of it.”
He stood up again; then with sudden thought he waddled across the room to the open window.
“Come here,” he said, commandingly; the two other men joined him.
“Ain’t them stars up there?” he asked. He pointed through the open casement to a brilliant, cloudless summer evening sky.
“Yes—them’s stars all right,” the first man agreed. “If that’s what you mean.”
“That ain’t what I mean,” said Tubby. “I said, ‘Ain’t them stars up there?’ Are they up there, or ain’t they? That’s what I want to know.”
“They’re up there all right, Jake,” said the second man.
“If you can see them, mustn’t they be there?” Tubby persisted.
“Yes,” said the first man. “When you can see them they must be there.”
“Then,” said Tubby—he paused impressively—“then the light of them must be here and there at the same time. Am I right?”