"But it ain't a rocket!"
"I didn't say it was. It's like a rocket."
"But a rocket has gunpowder."
"Well, this has something or other—I forget what—to make it go—" concluded Tassifer lamely. "Anyhow—"
"Rats!" snorted Judson. "You know a lot about it—you do! You—"
They might have landed under the bar in the tightly locked embrace of those defending their honor had not an unusual clamor from the avenue interrupted them. What seemed like the confused shoutings of a mob came through the closed windows.
"What's that?" gasped Bentham.
They paused, intent. Evidently, something had happened—an accident, maybe. They could hear a subdued, distant roar, in which were mingled the tooting of motors, the clanging of bells, the bellowing of whistles, and the cries and yells of excited humanity. A multitude of black shadows rushed by. The bartender threw open the window. The avenue was filled with a hurrying crowd—all gazing skyward.
"Hooray!" yelled the crowd. "Hooray! Hooker's back! Hooray!"
Tassifer and Judson looked at one another mutely. Suddenly, the bartender leaped out the window and joined the mob. The whole city was in the streets.