"Go on," he said.
"I've gone as far as I can without flying. It's a lead from the golden streets of the New Jerusalem. Followed it up to the foot of Bingham Pass; caught it above the slide, then it took up the cliff, and disappeared in the cerulean. Say, Goggles, how are you off for chuck? I've been up against glory, and I'm down hungrier than a she-bear that's skipped summer and hibernated two winters."
"Good! Guess Bennie will fix us up something. Can you wait a few minutes?"
"I think I can. I've been practising on that for years. No telling when such things will come in handy. You don't object to music, Goggles?"
"Not to music, no," Firmstone answered, with an amused glance at Zephyr.
Zephyr, unruffled, drew from his shirt a well-worn harmonica.
"Music hath charms," he remarked, brushing the instrument on the sleeve of his shirt. "Referring to my savage breast, not yours."
He placed the harmonica to his lips, holding it in hollowed hands. His oscillating breath jarred from the metal reeds the doleful strains of Home, Sweet Home, muffled by the hollow of his hands into mournful cadences.
At last Firmstone closed his desk.
"If your breast is sufficiently soothed, let's see what Bennie can do for your stomach."