“Took in London on your way, I suppose?”
“I have not yet seen London, but shall visit it later. I have been traveling in South America and Africa.”
The young man lifted his eyebrows and regarded Frank with fresh interest.
“That’s queer. You seem to be rather original in the thing you do. Don’t think I quite understand you.”
“I be gol derned ef I understand anything uv this air business!” said Ephraim, in bewilderment. “I’m twisted, by thutter!”
“Permit me to introduce Mr. Harvey Wynne, a newspaper reporter. Mr. Wynne, Mr. Gallup, of Vermont, a Yankee boy to the backbone, and a traveling companion of mine.”
Ephraim shook hands with Wynne, but still seemed dazed.
“And you ain’t no Englishman, arter all?” he asked.
“Not much,” smiled Wynne, “although I am passing as such here, and I wish to be known as Arthur Lumley, of London. Here is a card with my correct name and the paper I am employed upon.”
He gave each of the boys a card, on which was engraved “Harvey Wynne, Special Correspondent, New York.” Frank placed the card in his pocket.