“It’s a wonderful work of art, Jack. When he wears it, you would swear it was his own luxuriant hair. And when he takes it off——”
“He’s certainly bald, and his head shines like a billiard ball. Yes, I know. What of it? What’s all this got to do with rescuing Prince Huaca—false teeth, glass eyes and toupee?”
Frank stared at him.
“Jack, don’t you see?”
Jack was sleepy, fatigued, and peevish.
“No, I don’t. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“Well, Jack, when you think of modern inventions, you think of the airplane and radio and steamers and locomotives and telephones, don’t you?”
“I suppose so.”
“But, Jack, the savages know nothing about glass eyes and false teeth and toupees. And I’m sure the Incas don’t know anything about them, either.”
Jack looked at Frank, puzzled.