o me, sir, on the contrary, aerostatics have long been an alluring
study. I might even, Mr. ----, I might even, I say, term it the passion
of my life." His mild eyes shone behind their glasses. "I remember
Vincent Lunardi, sir. I was present in Heriot's Gardens when he made an
ascension there in October '85. He came down at Cupar. The Society of
Gentlemen Golfers at Cupar presented him with an address; and at
Edinburgh he was admitted Knight Companion of the Beggar's Benison, a
social company, or (as I may say) crew, since defunct. A thin-faced man,
sir. He wore a peculiar bonnet, if I may use the expression, very much
cocked up behind. The shape became fashionable. He once pawned his watch
with me, sir; that being my profession. I regret to say he redeemed it
subsequently: otherwise I might have the pleasure of showing it to you.
O yes, the theory of ballooning has long been a passion with me. But in
deference to Mrs. Sheepshanks I have abstained from the actual
practice--until to-day. To tell you the truth, my wife believes me to be
brushing off the cobwebs in the Kyles of Bute."

"_Are_ there any cobwebs in the Kyles of Bute?" asked Dalmahoy, in a
tone unnaturally calm.

"A figure of speech, sir--as one might say, holiday-keeping there. I
paid Mr. Byfield five pounds in advance. I have his receipt. And the
stipulation was that I should be concealed in the car and make the
ascension with him alone."

"Are we then to take it, sir, that our company offends you?" I demanded.

He made haste to disclaim. "Not at all: decidedly not in the least. But
the chances were for less agreeable associates." I bowed. "And a
bargain's a bargain," he wound up.

"So it is," said I. "Byfield, hand Mr. Sheepshanks back his five
pounds."

"O, come now!" the aeronaut objected. "And who may you be, to be
ordering a man about?"

"I believe I have already answered that question twice in your hearing."

"Mosha the Viscount Thingamy de Something-or-other? I dare say!"

"Have you any objection?"

"Not the smallest. For all I care, you are Robert Burns, or Napoleon
Buonaparte, or anything, from the Mother of the Gracchi to Balaam's Ass.
But I knew you first as Mr. Ducie; and you may take it that I'm Mr.
Don't-see." He reached up a hand towards the valve-string.

"What are you proposing to do?"

"To descend."

"What?--back to the enclosure?"

"Scarcely that, seeing that we have struck a northerly current, and are
travelling at the