When Mr Goodall arrived, he begged Trigger and Bennet with all haste to attach the car to the balloon, but not to remove anything in it until he told them to do so. “And you can fix on my water drag and the other contrivances, Tom; you understand I daresay?” said the aeronaut, who espied the old doctor hobbling in with two sticks and looking like a man with a grievance that he wanted to ventilate.
Tom Trigger obeyed orders, but he knew not what to make of his master’s movements. Something was up, he mumbled to Bennet, which he was not aware of himself.
“However, he may be going to have a flutter. I should not be at all surprised at that,” said Trigger, “though the wind at present does not blow in a very fair quarter.”
“Indeed, no,” replied Bennet, “it is for the coast.”
Harry Goodall at this moment was looking bright and full of action. He replied in a friendly way to the doctor’s greeting, who had seen the top of the balloon much higher than formerly above the trees and wondered whether the aeronaut was going to take flight; but as Mr Goodall regarded his presence just then as an impediment to his movements, he said,—
“The balloon had got so thoroughly drenched during the storm, that she was now about to be dried, and must be so placed, and elevated, if necessary, that she could get the full power of the sun’s rays.”
This last declaration was quite enough for Tom Trigger; it was a tip which he at once understood.
“But how is the head, my dear sir?” asked the doctor.
“It is vastly better, thanks; but I wish I had another box of your soft salve, doctor.”
“I will stump away and fetch some,” cried the doctor. “By the way, Mr Goodall, I had no idea that you were connected with old acquaintances of mine. I want to talk with you—”