“But you wouldn’t say it was absurd to talk about umbrellas because we’d had three or four lovely days, uncle. Storms are sure to come.”
“Snubbed!” exclaimed Uncle Jeff.
“Uncle!”
“Well, I am, Stan—regularly snubbed; and I deserve it, boy. Never mind your umbrella simile; let’s have a better one. Suppose we say it’s foolish to build a house on the slope of a volcano because the mountain has been quiet for a few years. That’s better. Yes, it would be foolish to settle down in the belief of there being peace when that lady of the doves doesn’t seem to be indigenous to Chinese soil. We’ll see about the torpedoes at once, Stan; but let us moderate our transports, and begin with a couple. They’ll be easier to manage, and we might find that we could improve upon them.”
“Yes, that is most likely, uncle,” said Stan. “Let it be two, then.”
“Take a sheet of paper, and we’ll make out a list of the things we want sent out.”
“Yes, uncle,” said the lad eagerly; and he took a big sheet of ruled foolscap, dipped a pen, and sat ready to take down his uncle’s words.
But none came, for Uncle Jeff was filling a pipe now and looking thoughtfully before him in silence.
“It seems to me,” he said at last, “that—Hullo, Blunt! We’re jotting down some notions for our torpedoes.”
“You haven’t any ready, I suppose?”