"Drop them all out that open window, there," commanded the Master.
"What, sir? Good Pommery? Veuve?"
"No argument, Bohannan! Out they go!"
Dismayed, the Celt did the other's bidding, while Alden smiled grimly.
Far below, glass crashed and jangled.
"What's the idea?" demanded the major ruefully.
"You know very well, Major, my ruling on alcohol. It doesn't mix with any motive power on this trip. Moreover, it's customary to christen every launching with champagne. We've done it!"
"Well, that's not so bad an idea, at that," Bohannan admitted, scratching his fiery head. "What name have you given this bus?"
"Nissr Arrib ela Sema."
"Come again, sir?"
"Eagle of the Sky, in Arabic. I suppose we'll have to cut that down to Nissr, for everyday use. But at any rate, our craft is christened. Well, now—"