the scientists term the cyclone belt--"

"We would be all at sea," quickly interposed the professor, the fingers
of one hand vigorously stirring his gray pompadour, while the other
was lifted in a deprecatory manner. "At sea, literally as well as
metaphorically, my dear Bruno; for, correctly speaking, the ocean alone
can give birth to the cyclone."

"Why can't you remember anything, boy?" sternly cut in the roguish-eyed
youngster, with admonitory forefinger, coming to the front. "How many
times have I told you never to say blue when you mean green? Why don't
you say Kansas zephyr? Or windy-auger? Or twister? Or whirly-gust on a
corkscrew wiggle-waggle? Or--well, almost any other old thing that you
can't think of at the right time? W-h-e-w! Who mentioned sitting on a
snowdrift, and sucking at an icicle? Hot? Well, now, if this isn't a
genuine old cyclone breeder, then I wouldn't ask a cent!"

Waldo Gillespie let his feet slip from beneath him, sitting down with
greater force than grace, back supported against a gnarled juniper,
loosening the clothes at his neck while using his other hand to ply his
crumpled hat as a fan.

Bruno laughed outright at this characteristic anticlimax, while
Professor Featherwit was obliged to smile, even while compelled to
correct.

"Tornado, please, nephew; not cyclone."

"Well, uncle Phaeton, have it your own way. Under either name, I
fancy the thing-a-ma-jig would kick up a high old bobbery with a man's
political economy should it chance to go bu'st right there! And,
besides, when I was a weenty little fellow I was taught never to call
a man a fool or a liar--"

"Waldo!" sharply warned his brother, turning again.

"So long as I knew myself to be in the wrong," coolly finished the
youngster, face grave, but eyes twinkling, as they turned towards his
mistaken mentor. "What is it, my dear Bruno?"

"There is one thing neither cyclone nor tornado could ever deprive you
of, Kid, and that is--"

"My beauty, wit, and good sense,--thanks, awfully! Nor you, my dear
Bruno, although my inbred politeness forbids my explaining just why."

There was a queer-sounding chuckle as Professor Featherwit turned away,
busying himself about that rude-built shed and shanty which sheltered
the pride of his brain and the pet of his heart, while Bruno smiled
indulgently as he took a few steps away from those stunted trees in
order to gain a fairer view of the stormy heavens.

Far away towards the northe