“Confound it all!” exclaimed Harry Goodall, “I would not have descended here on any account, if I had known it. Link, I’m done for,” continued Goodall, turning to the captain. “Squire Dove and his daughter reside here. Whatever will my uncle say? Do tell them to let go the rope, as I wish to proceed further.”
“But can’t we get out of this little affair without making an ignominious retreat, Harry?” suggested Captain Link.
“It is a lovely spot!” urged Miss Chain. “What a pity to leave it, and do notice that young lady who appears to be anxious for us to descend, Mr Goodall.”
“Well, listen then, Link,” whispered Harry in a highly nervous state, “there is only one way out of the difficulty. We must not say who we are or where we came from. Let us merely call ourselves experimentalists who do not desire publicity—remember that now.”
“Don’t forget, sir, that they know me,” said Trigger.
“Hold your tongue, Tom; I am very angry with you.”
“There is really nothing to be frightened about, Harry,” urged the captain. “Neither Squire Dove nor his daughter know you personally, and as to Trigger, you can call him the balloon pilot.”
“Bother his pilotage, and my own too! I ought to say, however, we are all agreed not to divulge our names.”
“Oh, do listen,” said Miss Chain; “they are so anxious to have us down.”
“Welcome to Wedwell!” cried the squire once more. “Do pray come down.”