“Gosh!” said the young airman.

“Yes,” pursued Mr. Lavender, who was now unconsciously reading himself in his morning’s paper, “one can only compare the emotion to that which the disembodied spirit might feel passing straight from earth to heaven.  We saw at a great depth below us on a narrow white riband of road two crawling black specks, and knew that they were human beings, the same and no more than we had been before we left that great common place called Earth.”

“Gum!” said the young airman, as Lavender paused, “you’re getting it fine, sir!  Where will it appear?”

“Those great fleecy beings the clouds,” went on Mr. Lavender, without taking on the interruption, “seemed to await our coming in the morning glory of their piled-up snows; and we, with the rarefied air in our lungs, felt that we must shout to them.”  And so carried away was Mr. Lavender by his own style that he really did begin to address the clouds:  “Ghosts of the sky, who creep cold about this wide blue air, we small adventuring mortals great-hearted salute you.  Humbly proud of our daring have we come to sport with you and the winds of Ouranos, and, in the rapturous corridors between you, play hide-and seek, avoiding your glorious moisture with the dips and curves and skimming of our swallow flights—­we, the little unconquerable Spirits of the Squirth!”

The surprise which Mr. Lavender felt at having uttered so peculiar a word, in the middle of such a flow of poetry reduced him to sudden silence.

“Golly!” said the airman with sudden alarm in his voice.  “Hold tight!” And they began to shoot towards earth faster than they had risen.  They came down, by what seemed a miracle to Mr. Lavender, who was still contemplative, precisely where they had gone up.  A little group was collected there, and as they stepped out a voice said, “I beg your pardon,” in a tone so dry that it pierced even the fogged condition in which Mr. Lavender alighted.  The gentleman who spoke had a dark moustache and thick white hair, and, except that he wore a monocle, and was perhaps three inches taller, bore a striking resemblance to himself.

“Thank you,” he replied, “certainly.”

“No,” said the gentleman, “not at all—­on the contrary, Who the hell are you?”

“A public man,” said Mr. Lavender, surprised; “at least,” he added conscientiously, “I am not quite certain.”

“Well,” said the gentleman, “you’ve jolly well stolen my stunt.”

“Who, then, are you?” asked Mr. Lavender.

“I?” replied the gentleman, evidently intensely surprised that he was not known; “I—­my name——­”

But at this moment Mr. Lavender’s attention was diverted by the sight of Blink making for the horizon, and crying out in a loud voice:  “My dog!” he dropped the coat in which he was still enveloped and set off running after her at full speed, without having taken in the identity of the gentleman or disclosed his own.  Blink, indeed, scenting another flight in the air, had made straight for the entrance of the enclosure, and finding a motor cab there with the door open had bolted into it, taking it for her master’s car.  Mr. Lavender sprang in after her.  At the shake which this imparted to the cab, the driver, who had been dozing, turned his head.