Rob had been studying the other’s face, and it told him something.
“You found your firm represented there, of course, Hiram?” he remarked.
“’Course they are, and cutting some high jinks, too,” came the reply. “They’ve got some of their finished products working in the field, with air pilots of national renown in charge of the flights. You must get over that way some time and see.”
“We will, perhaps before the day is done,” Rob assured him; “but I suppose now, Hiram, you didn’t introduce yourself to the Golden Gate people?”
“Naw. I just took it all in, and browsed around everywhere, laughing to myself to think how surprised they were going to be when they found out that the Hiram Nelson, inventor of the wonderful stabilizer for aëroplanes, was only a Boy Scout. But what are we going into the Zone for, tell me?”
“Why, to get something to eat, to be sure,” remarked Andy.
“But I’m no cannibal,” expostulated Hiram, holding back in pretended alarm; “even if they do have that stripe of people here on exhibition. I don’t hanker after trying a roast Fiji Islander, or a fricasseed Igorrote from the Philippine Islands—I’m not that hungry.”
“Oh!” Andy told him, tugging at his sleeve, “we’ll find a thousand places here where they cook meals after the fashion of every nation under the sun. I hope we pick out one that is close to that giant seesaw; because I’m wild to go up in it so as to get a magnificent view of the harbor, the Exposition grounds and the City of San Francisco.”
It was found to be an easy matter to accomplish this, and they were soon being served at a table that stood out-of-doors, so that as they enjoyed their lunch they could watch the endless procession of people passing and repassing.
As so many attractions in the amusement concession were connected with foreign countries, it was really almost as good as being abroad to see the various representative types that sauntered or hurried by.