“Bob!”
“What, Fitz?”
“Which would you rather—be eaten up by the Arabs, or bursted up by the mountain?”
“Why, neither, you silly old thing!” pettishly.
“We’ve got to choose, Bob.”
“Well, we haven’t!”
“What else can we do, Bob?”
“I know!” brightly. “An idea has just come to me, Fitz.”
“Oh! what is it, Bob?” joyfully.
“You’ll see—in time. Stop the balloon.”