It was a very modest establishment indeed, considering the prodigious results that he achieved, and the wonder was that in such cramped quarters, and with so few to aid him in his work, he could do as much as he did. The cavern was down by the sea, in among huge rocks and boulders, and over the door, in very modest lettering, was the business sign: VULCAN GOD OF FIRE. Inside was a forge with bellows such as any country blacksmith has, and here Vulcan manufactured earthquakes and volcanos at will. He could create seismic disturbances all over the world, in a trice throw Vesuvius into hysterical contraptions, or make things suddenly red-hot in Mexico or the British Honduras. His wares were known in every quarter of the globe, and he didn't even so much as advertise. On this particular night he stood as usual at his forge--a great big, husky, bearded fellow in a red flannel undershirt bared at his brawny, hairy chest, and with sleeves rolled almost up to his shoulders to give the tremendous muscles of his arms full play. [Illustration: Vulcan threatening his imps with a hot poker.] He wore a round leather cap and had on a leather apron tied to his burly waist by leather thongs. Things needed touching up a bit, and he was getting busy. "Where are those lazy 'prentices of mine?" he roared, in rumbling tones, as he pumped the bellows, while the flames in the forge leaped higher and higher. "Spry, Flash, Nimble, Twist, and the rest of you--where are you, I say? Has my voice grown so weak, you rogues, that you cannot hear me? Come hither this instant!" From all directions in response to the angry summons came imps in red attire that fitted their lithe, supple bodies as snugly as the skins of eels. They somersaulted down the chimney, popped up like jack-in-th'-boxes from the earthen floor, and described parabolas through the air from the cavern's ceiling, grouping themselves humbly on their knees before their irate master, with their arms supplicatingly extended. "Here at last, are you?" again roared Vulcan. "And none too soon, either! Where have you been, imps? Idling your time away? Quick! heap coals on, all of you, or the fire will be out!" Forthwith they flung balls of living fire into the forge, and, as Vulcan pumped away at the bellows, he burst out in lusty song: "When the flames leap high From the crater to the sky I roll up my sleeves with delight; When the strongest buildings rock To the awful earthquake's shock The trembling millions all confess my might!" The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and over all the storm was heard a voice calling: "Vul-can! Vul-can!" Vulcan stopped work while his imps crept stealthily toward the door to listen. "Is Vulcan at his forge?" was shouted in the wind and rain outside, with the accompaniment of a terrific knock on the door. "Who dares disturb me on my busy night?" cried Vulcan, in a towering passion.