"What have you made up about airships, anything really fine, Songbird?"
"Well, I've written a few little verses, Tom. Would you like to hear them?"
"Sure!" cried the fun-loving Rover, and then Songbird commenced to recite:
"I spread my wings on the balmy air,
And float and float I know not where.
I rise, I fall, I fall, I rise,
For I am monarch of the skies!"
"Bang up, Songbird! Couldn't be better!" cried Tom. "Give us another dip, like the small boy said of the ice-cream." And the would-be poet continued:
"I rush along when skies are blue,
And when it hails I sail right through!
I feel"
"Hold on, Songbird! You've got to change that line. We didn't sail right through when it hailed—we came down just as quickly as we could."
"Oh, that's only a figure of speech," answered the would-be poet loftily, and then he continued:
"I feel I can sail anywhere,
For I am monarch of the air!"
"Good for you!" put in Sam, who was pres-
