“Rates like them should be regulated by Congress,” negotiate Hon. Irish, collecting together fractional pieces of airship what was strewed apart over hillside.
Arthur Kickahajama, missionary boy, are being a heathen awhile this summer because it are vacation, and because his derby was thieved by somebody at a Church Sociable. Missionary lady say him, “Arthur, you should be a sunshine.” He-say, “Too much sunshine creates headache. I think I shall put up a umbrella for a temporary time.”
Therefore Arthur are very sinical & pessimons when he speak of air navigation & human races.
“Airships,” say Arthur, “are like souls of people. There are continuous talk about elevating human race; but alarmingly seldom does souls get far enough off the ground to create much disturbance.”
“Some souls is like baloons,” I mitigate. “They has lofty tendencies, they are filled of gas. They go up & stay there where it is.”
“It are easy to be ideal like a baloon,” say Arthur. “But it are hard to be ideal like a airship. To go up on lofty thought & stay up there floating around without getting nowhere, that are job what lots persons do & say, ‘O my, I are so High Mind!’ But to go for trip in high air & know where you will arrive at—that are job for seldom and rare individuals. Such toply navigators can discover North Pole and become familiar with stars. They are not baloonists—they are Poets....”
“Poets are continually getting bumped to Earth,” I indulge.
“Excuse me so,” say Arthur, obtaining cigarettes from me, “when not a Christian I am a free-thinking Japanese.”
“When thinking freely you are most relidgous,” I commute.