“My paper is dated the twoty-threeth of Januember,” replied the Crow, “but, since weekly papers never do come out on the day that they are dated, you are as likely to be right as I am.”
“Well, anyhow, we’d better get back as quickly as possible, your Majesties, hadn’t we?” asked the poor Wallypug.
“I suppose you are all coming back?” said the Royal Microscopist, looking around at the little group inquiringly.
“The Bathing-machine Woman and the Ancient Mariner don’t belong to Why,” explained the Wallypug, “but we can drop them out on our way.”
The Bathing-machine Woman screamed again and the Ancient Mariner looked greatly alarmed, too, till the Wallypug assured them that he did not mean to drop them out of the balloon, but only to set them down at their own homes when they reached them.
So the Bathing-machine Woman went to fetch her baby, which was still lying between the feet of the Sphinx. She came running back a minute or two afterwards, screaming violently.
“Take the child,” she cried breathlessly, bundling it into the Royal Microscopist’s arms, and immediately falling back against the Wallypug in a fainting fit.
“Good gracious! whatever is the matter with her?” said he, struggling under her weight, while the Ancient Mariner ran to his assistance.
“She’s fainted, I expect,” said the Wallypug, panting. “I wonder what we’d better do.”
Somebody suggested putting a key down her back.