r cents per complaint."

"But what was your answer?" demanded Tom.

"I merely told them that my book stood upon its own merits, and that if
they didn't like my unwritten poems they could write some of their own on
the blank pages of the book. It was a perfectly fair proposition," the
Bellows replied.

"I think I like written poetry best, though," said Tom.

"That's entirely a matter of taste," said the Bellows, "and I shan't find
fault with you for that. The only thing is that Unwritten Poems are apt to
have fewer faults than the written ones, and every great poet will tell
you that nobody ever detected any mistakes in his poems until he had put
them down on paper. If he had left them unwritten nobody would ever have
known how bad they were."

Tom scratched his head in a puzzled mood. He could not quite grasp the
Bellows' meaning.

"What do you think about it, Righty?" he demanded of the Andiron.

"Oh, I don't think anything about it," replied Righty. "I haven't watched
poetry much. You see, Lefty and I don't see much of it. People light fires
nowadays more with newspapers than with poetry."

"What I've seen burns well," observed the Lefthandiron, "and don't make
much ashes to get into your eyes; but, say, Wheezy, if you'll do your
blowing about this cloud rather than about your poetry we may get
somewhere."

"Very well," said the Bellows; "fasten your hats on tight and turn up your
collars. I'm going to give you a regular tornado."

And he was as good as his word, for, expanding himself to the utmost
limit, he gave a tremendous wheeze, which nearly blew Tom from his perch,
sent his cap flying off into space and smashed the cloud into four
separate pieces, one of which, bearing the Poker, floated rapidly off to
the north, while the other three sped south, east and west, respectively.

[Illustration: "HE GAVE A TREMENDOUS WHEEZE."]

"Hi, there," cried Righty, as he perceived the damage done to their fleecy
chariot. "What are you up to? We don't want to be blown to the four
corners of the earth. Pull in--pull in, for goodness sake, or we'll never
get together again!"

"There's no satisfying you fellows," growled the Bellows. "First I don't
blow enough, and then I blow too much."

"Stop growling and haul us back again!" cried the Poker.

The Bellows began to haul in his breath rapidly, and by a process of
suction soon had the four parts of the burst cloud back together once
more.

"By jingo!" panted Lef