[Illustration: "Why it's really a trolley!"] "Certainly it is!" laughed Righty. "Didn't you know that? When you have watched the moon from your window at home and seen constant lines of clouds passing up to it and stopping before its face night after night what did you suppose they did it for? Fun? I guess not. They're clever people up here, these moonfolk are, and they make use of everything going. They've taken these electric clouds and turned 'em into a sort of Sky Traction Company, and instead of letting 'em travel all around the universe doing nothing and raising thunder generally, some of the richer Brownies have formed a company to control them." By this time the cloud had reached the point where our little party stood, and the motorman, in response to the Bellows' signal, brought it to a standstill. "Step lively, please," the conductor cried from the rear end. Tom and the two Andirons and the Poker and Bellows clambered aboard. The conductor clanged a bell. The motorman turned his wheel and the cloud moved rapidly on. And what a queer crowd of folks there were on board that strange trolley cloud. Tom had never seen such an interesting group before. CHAPTER VIII. On the Trolley Cloud. As I stated at the end of the last chapter, the travelers Tom and his companions encountered upon the Trolley cloud were a wonderful lot. In the first place, the whole situation was strange. Here was, in fact, a perfect car, made of what at a distance looked to be nothing but a fleecy bit of vapor. It had seats and signs--indeed, the advertising signs alone were enough to occupy the mind of any person seeing them for the first time to the exclusion of all else, what with the big painted placard at the end, saying: FOR POLAR BEARS GO TO ARCTICS FIFTY-SEVEN VARIETIES. No Home Complete Without Them. Another showing a picture of Potted Town, in which all the inhabitants lived on canned food and things that came in jars, reading: This is the famous Potted Town, Where everything is done up brown, We live on lobsters tinned, and beans, And freshly caught and oiled sardines; On ham and eggs done up in jars, And caramels that come in bars, Come buy a lot in Potted Town, And join the throngs we do up brown. A corner lot for fifty cents-- A bargain that is just immense. An inner lot for forty-nine For residence is just divine. If in a year you do not find That we are suited to your mind We'll give you fifteen cents in gold, And take back all the lots we've sold, If, when in other lands you go You'll recommend Soapolio. "Who on earth wants a Polar Bear at home?" ejaculated Tom as he read the first.