"And why not?" queried Mr. Punch, coolly.
"As how?" asked his companion.
"TIME, my boy" laughed the Sage, "you seem a bit behind yourself. Listen! 'Mr. EDISON is prosecuting an experiment designed to catch and record the sounds made in the sun's photosphere when solar spots are formed by eruptions beneath the surface.' Have you not read the latest of the Edisoniana?"
TIME admitted he had not.
"TIME, you rogue, you love to get
Sweets upon your list—put that in,"
quoted the Sage. "Something piquant for the 6001st Vol. of your Chronicles. But, after all, what is EDISON compared with Me? If you really wish for a turn round the Solar System, a peregrination of the Planets, put aside that antiquated spy-glass of yours and come with Me!"
And, "taking TIME by the forelock," in a very real sense, the Sage of Fleet Street rose with him like a Brock rocket, high, and swift, and light-compelling, into the star-spangled vault of heaven.
"SIC ITUR AD ASTRA!" said the Sage.
"Twinkle, twinkle, Fleet Street Star!