“Yours very sincerely,
“Alan Forsyth.”
“There! I think that will meet the case,” and Alan fastened up the letter and posted it.
The seventh at last! All the luggage was on board; Desmond and his wife drove up radiantly happy to the quay and waved excitedly as they saw Alan leaning over the bulwarks. The bell clanged, the sailors gave vent to their sonorous cry, “All ashore! All ashore!” The siren sounded. Gradually the great vessel glided away; the smoke belched out in volumes from her funnels; the landing stage grew smaller and smaller until it was out of sight altogether. The vessel had started on her journey to England.
That night after dinner, when Mavis had gone to her state-room, the two cousins had a heart to heart talk in the moonlight.
“It seems impossible we are really going home at last,” said Desmond. “I feel like a child again. I have so much to learn. When we disappeared aeroplanes were only beginning to be used—now they are almost perfect, and are vehicles of every day use. The whole world seems to have progressed a century in these last few years.”
“There certainly is a great deal for us to learn,” agreed Alan, “but we must leave it to Uncle John. He will put us right about everything.”
“I wonder how he has progressed with his airship,” said Desmond after a pause. “We used to laugh at the dear old chap; he has the laugh on us now.”
“He always said that the future of commerce was in the air.”
“Have you the papyrus safe?” asked Desmond suddenly.