CHAPTER VII. TOM RESPECTS THE FLEA 

"NOON!" says Tom, and so it was. His shadder was just a blot around his feet. We looked, and the Grinnage clock was so close to twelve the difference didn't amount to nothing. So Tom said London was right north of us or right south of us, one or t'other, and he reckoned by the weather and the sand and the camels it was north; and a good many miles north, too; as many as from New York to the city of Mexico, he guessed. 

Jim said he reckoned a balloon was a good deal the fastest thing in the world, unless it might be some kinds of birds--a wild pigeon, maybe, or a railroad. 

But Tom said he had read about railroads in England going nearly a hundred miles an hour for a little ways, and there never was a bird in the world that could do that--except one, and that was a flea. 

"A flea? Why, Mars Tom, in de fust place he ain't a bird, strickly speakin'--" 

"He ain't a bird, eh? Well, then, what is he?" 

"I don't rightly know, Mars Tom, but I speck he's only jist a' animal. No, I reckon dat won't do, nuther, he ain't big enough for a' animal. He mus' be a bug. Yassir, dat's what he is, he's a bug." 

"I bet he ain't, but let it go. What's your second place?" 

"Well, in de second place, birds is creturs dat goes a long ways, but a flea don't." 
What did Tom read about Railroads?
But Tom said he had read about railroads in England going nearly a hundred miles an hour for a little way