“That’s for your own good!” Ben chuckled.
“But, I say, you know, the blawsted thing is burning clear down to me boots, don’t ye know!”
“I’m glad of that,” Ben grinned. “It seems to be having the desired effect! How’d you like to have something to eat about now?”
“I’m that hungry,” was the answer, “that I could eat a cat, don’t ye know! I’ve been long without food or drink.”
Ben turned to Terry to ask if anything in the line of provisions could be had there, but the fellow was seen wandering off in the direction of the cavern. After assisting the stranger to an easier position, Ben followed on after the guardian of the smuggled goods.
When he reached the cavern he found Terry lying flat on his face an empty whiskey flask in his hand. Kicks and cuffs did no good whatever, so the boy was obliged to leave him there to sleep off his debauch. When he went back to the fire he found the stranger retrieving his silk hat and hand-bag. He appeared much annoyed at the condition of both!
“The bloomin’ idiot!” he cried, “burned me luggage and mutilated me hat! Do you happen to know,” he went on with a pleading expression, “how one can get out of this blawsted country?”
“If you can walk about half a mile up and down hill,” Ben returned, “I can take you out in a flying machine.”
The stranger eyed Ben dubiously.
“You’re a school-boy,” he said. “You can’t run a flying machine!”