of matter we are on. That wouldn't help.
We've got to get it out of space. We can't push it hard enough to do
that. It's got to be shot out suddenly--"

"And we haven't got a gun handy," Phil remarked droopingly.

"Not exactly a gun. A sort of sling--"

Phil leaped to his feet.

"A sling. Why! To be sure! The vines!"

Without another word, both of them got up and ran. They hastened in a
direction opposite to the one they had at first taken on their trip of
exploration, and this brought them first past the "space" of the
Tinkertoy-like animals. As they went by, several of these beasts
darted at them, one of them snapping at Ione's heels. She uttered a
scream, causing Phil to turn about and kick right and left among them.
He drove them back and escaped from them, rejoining Ione.

"Wait," he said, when they reached the vines. "Remember those wooden
balls. If I could get a few to throw at those critters--"

In a moment they were off, and finally arrived at the point from which
they first saw the balls. Odd it seemed, how they hung suspended in
space, thousands of them, all sizes. Phil reached out and grasped one
about the size of a baseball and drew it toward himself. He felt a
dizzy lurch and heard Ione scream.

"Let go!" she screamed again.

When he suddenly realized what was going on, he found himself
prostrate on the ground, with Ione across him, her arms about his
knees.

"Do you realize," she panted, disentangling herself, "that you were
pulling yourself out of this space into that one?"

"Thanks!" said Phil. "Never say die. More careful this time, and a
smaller one."

* * * * *

He reached out and grasped a ball smaller than a golf-ball, and pulled
carefully, keeping an eye upon Ione. There was resistance to his pull,
but gradually the ball came. It seemed heavy. There was a crack as of
breaking wood, and he fell backward, with a wave of nausea sweeping
strongly over him. He gazed in amazement at a heavy wooden stick that
he held in his hands. The only thing about it that suggested the ball
for which he had reached was its diameter.

"Can't understand it, but appreciate it just the same," he said. He
broke the stick in two, and had two excellent clubs.

"Simple," Ione replied. "The balls are cross-sections of these trees
or sticks which grow in a 'space' at right angles to our own; and we
only see their three-dimensional cross-sections."

"Yes," said Phil. "Cabbages