“I hope yo’ will congratulate me, professor,” said the major, as proud as a peacock. “Miss Ketchum has consented to become Mrs. Fitts as soon as we reach the United States. I’m sorry fo’ yo’, suh; but yo’ never really had a show, suh.”
“That’s right, major,” smiled Dick. “He didn’t have a show, because he is already——”
“Don’t you dare tell I’m married!” hissed Zenas, in the boy’s ear.
“He is all ready to carry out his plan to penetrate the wilds of Africa, where it would be impossible for him to take a bride, and he could not bear to be parted from one so young and charming as Miss Ketchum, were he to have the good fortune to capture her.”
“Saved your life, you rascal!” whispered Zenas, and then hastened to bow low to the coy and confused lady from Boston.
At Beirut the party split up, the professor and the boys going to Damascus, a distance of ninety-one miles, which was covered by an excellent narrow-gauge railroad, built by Swiss engineers.
“We’re off, boys!” cheerfully exclaimed the professor, as the train finally started. “We’ll soon be in the oldest city in the world.”
“Do you mean Damascus, professor?” inquired Dick.
“Of course I mean Damascus! We’re not bound for any other place, are we? Did you think I meant New York? Did you fancy I was speaking of Hoboken? Hum! Haw!”
“But there is no absolute proof that Damascus is the oldest city in the world. There may be older cities in China or India.”