“Ha, ha!” roared Cranny. “Why, you silly little duffer, the moon doesn’t give out any heat.”
“Listen to the professor,” jeered Willie, ambling slowly up the steps. “Like the mischief it doesn’t. Go back there and feel it.” He seated himself on the rail. “Isn’t it a white-hot ball, Mr. Beaumont?”
“Oh, Willie, you’ll be the death of me!” laughed Cranston.
“The moon is illuminated by the sun’s rays,” explained Mr. Beaumont, “and astronomers tell us that it has no atmosphere, and is so cold that not a vestige of life could exist upon its surface.”
“Oh, goodness! Now isn’t that odd?” murmured Willie, with a peculiar little gasp. “Isn’t hot, after all, eh? But how do those old codgers know?—They weren’t ever up there.”
“Willie,” spoke up his guardian, suddenly, “how would you like to take a vacation?”
“Eh?” demanded Willie, apparently somewhat startled.
“Cranny expects some of his young friends here in a few days—they are on their way to Circle T Ranch, in Wyoming. Do you care to go along?”
“I?”
“Yes, you!” cried Cranny, impatiently.