Coming Down from the Clouds.
"Guten nacht!" said the Herr. "Folkestone should be someveres about. Fordunately, de moon is out, and you may be able to find it!"
"I say!" shrieked the Moon-man, as the balloon began to free itself on its upward flight, "How far off is it?"
"I vill not be—was heist es?—interviewed. Guten nacht."
Soon the great sphere was no bigger than a star in the heavens.
"This is a nice go," said the Moon-man, when they had climbed down.
"Oh, don't trouble. I know the Southeast coast well. There is sure to be a town within a four mile radius."
"Then let us take a hansom," said the Moon-man.
"Wilkins, are you—I mean you are—losing your head," said Lord Silverdale. And linking the interviewer's arm in his, he fared forth into the darkness.
"Do you know what I thought," said Wilkins, as they undressed in the lonely roadside inn (for ballooning makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows), "when I was sliding down the trunk with you on the branches above?"