on one of the artificial feet and I mean he broke it. Oh, no, he
didn't cut one of my REAL feet off. But he did hit me in the eye
with one of his hands."

"I see," said George seriously. "It was an artificial eye of
yours that he hit."

"No, it wasn't," retorted Sam. "It was my real eye."

"But he hit it with one of his artificial hands. Is that it, or
did he hit it with one of the hands he manufactured?"

"No. No," said Sam. "He hit me in my real eye with his real
hand."

"And that was why you picked up one of your legs and he took one
of the girl's feet and he hit you in the real eye, no, I mean the
artificial eye with his real hand,--that's not quite it. I mean
he hit you in the hand with his artificial eye. No, that isn't it
either. Hold on. He threw one of his legs at you and then he took
his eye and threw it at one of the girl's feet. Hold on, I'm
getting all mixed up. I can't tell just where I am at. Say it
again, Sam."

"I think it's better for a man to have a wooden leg than it is to
have a wooden head," spoke up Fred.

"Splendid, Peewee! Fine!" laughed George. "That's immense! Great!
Sam," he added soberly as he turned to the mechanic who was now
steering the Black Growler, "did you say you made artificial legs