"But he hit it with one of his artificial hands. Is that it, or did he hit it with one of the hands he manufactured?"
"No. No," said Sam. "He hit me in my real eye with his real hand."
"And that was why you picked up one of your legs and he took one of the girl's feet and he hit you in the real eye, no, I mean the artificial eye with his real hand,--that's not quite it. I mean he hit you in the hand with his artificial eye. No, that isn't it either. Hold on. He threw one of his legs at you and then he took his eye and threw it at one of the girl's feet. Hold on, I'm getting all mixed up. I can't tell just where I am at. Say it again, Sam."
"I think it's better for a man to have a wooden leg than it is to have a wooden head," spoke up Fred.
"Splendid, Peewee! Fine!" laughed George. "That's immense! Great! Sam," he added soberly as he turned to the mechanic who was now steering the Black Growler, "did you say you made artificial legs and arms and feet?"
"That's what I said," acknowledged Sam.
"Did you ever manufacture artificial heads?"
"Lots of 'em. Lots of 'em."
"Have you got any with you?"
"No, I haven't."