as though this had been his express
purpose, the professor passed the pipe over, quietly speaking:

"Perhaps you would like a little smoke after your supper, my good
friend? Oblige me by--"

"May I? Oh, sir, may I--really taste--oh, oh, oh!"

Bruno struck a match and steadied the pipe until the tobacco was fairly
ignited, then drew back and left the exile to himself for the time
being. And, as covert glances told them, never before had their eyes
rested upon mortal being so intensely happy as was the long-lost
aeronaut then and there.

At a sign from the professor, Bruno and Waldo silently arose and left
the cavern, bearing their guardian company to where the air-ship was
resting. And there they busied themselves with making preparations for
the night, which was just settling over that portion of the earth.

Presently Cooper Edgecombe appeared, the empty pipe in hand, held as
one might caress an inestimable treasure, a dreamy, almost blissful
expression upon his sun-browned face.

"I thank you, sir, more than tongue can tell," he said, quietly, as he
restored the pipe to its owner. "If you could only realise what I have
suffered through this deprivation! I, an inveterate smoker; yet suddenly
deprived of it, and so kept for ten long years! If I had had a pipe and
tobacco, I believe--but enough."

"I can sympathise with you, at least in part, my friend. Will you have
another smoke, by the way?"

"No, no, not now; I feel blessed for the moment, and more might be worse
than none, after so long deprivation. And--may I talk openly to you,
dear, kind friends? May I tell you--am I selfish in wishing to trouble
you thus? Ten years, remember, and not a soul to speak with!"

He laughed, but it was a sorry mirth; and not caring to trust his tongue
just then, uncle Phaeton nodded his head emphatically while filling his
pipe for himself. But Waldo never lacked for words, and spoke out:

"That's all right, sir; we can listen as long as you can chin-chin. Tell
us all about--well, what's the matter with that big Injun?"

"Quiet, Waldo. Say what best pleases you, my friend. You can be sure of
one thing,--sympathetic listeners, if nothing better."

With a curious shiver, as though afflicted with a sudden chill,
Edgecombe turned partly away, figure drawn rigidly erect, hands tightly
clasped behind his back. A brief silence, then he spoke in tones of
forced composure.

"A balloon was the best, in my day, and I was proud of my