"You don't mean it, Uncle!"
"Well, having an hour to spare, I think perhaps--I've a very open mind, you know."
"Come on, sir!" cried Lawrence, slapping him on the back. "That's sporting, upon my word."
"Don't fly away with me," said Mr. Appleton, as he got into his place. "One hour: no more."
But when they were soaring northward down the river, and came to where the valley broadened out into the plains of Turkestan, Mr. Appleton forgot altogether about his time limit. The old adventurous spirit was still strong in him; after the first few minutes he was quite at his ease, and even when Bob "banked" the machine in wheeling round, or when a sudden gust swept through a rent in the mountain and made the aeroplane heel over slightly, he showed no nervousness. The flight lasted two hours, and as they walked back along the pathway, Mr. Appleton said--
"If the country were only flatter, I might be tempted to go in for flying myself. It's most exhilarating. But I'm afraid I'd never be much good at it. I fancy it ought to be learnt young, like golf."
After that both Mr. Appleton and Gur Buksh were occasional passengers with the boys. One day, as Lawrence was watching from the compound the flight of Bob accompanied by the Sikh, Ditta Lal came to his side.
"I am consumed with envy, sir," he said: "envy, eldest born of hell, as blind poet sings."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"Why, sir, that unlettered Sikh learns secrets of empyrean hidden from me, B.A. of Calcutta University."