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"
"No," said Barry, "but though they look quiet, I suppose if we could
really see, there is a most terrific whirling of millions of stars up
there, going at the rate of thousands of miles a minute."
"Millions of 'em, and all whirlin' about," said McCuaig in an
awe-stricken voice. "It's a wonder they don't hit."
"They don't hit because they each keep their own orbit," said Barry,
"and they obey the laws of their existence."
"Orbut," enquired McCuaig. "What's that?"
"The trail that each star follows," said Barry.
"I see," said McCuaig, "each one keeps its own trail, its own orbut,
and so there's peace up there. And I guess there'd be peace down here if
folks did the same thing. It's when a man gets out of his own orbut
and into another fellow's that the scrap begins. I guess that's where
Germany's got wrong."
"Something like that," replied Barry.
"And sometimes," continued McCuaig, his eyes upon the stars, "when a
little one comes up against a big one, he gets busted, eh?"
Barry nodded.


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