But Professor Featherwit shook his head in negation.
“That would only add to our trouble, friend. Knowing nothing of the dialect, you would be wholly at a loss. And, looking so entirely different in every respect, how could you hope to pass inspection?”
“All seems so confused, that I might—surely it is worth trying.”
“It would be suicidal, so say no more on that score,” almost harshly spoke the usually mild-mannered aeronaut, sending his vessel upon another circuit, only with stern vigilance choking back the appealing shout to his lost nephew.
This time the aerostat was brought directly above the Temple of the Sun, where there appeared to be some unusual disturbance, a number of armed guards fairly driving a gaily arrayed Indian down to the lower levels, and that greatly against his inclinations, judging from the harsh cries and ringing threats which burst from his lips.
Recognising the building, and unable to hold his intense emotions longer under stern control, Cooper Edgecombe called aloud the names of his wife and daughter, begging that they might come to him; but then the air-ship was sent onward and upward, with a dizzying swoop, and Professor Featherwit gripped an arm, sternly speaking:
“Quiet, sir! Another outbreak like that and I'll lock your lips, if I have to send a bullet through your mad brain!”
“I forgot. I could not wait longer, knowing that my loved ones—”
“You forgot that the lives of all depend upon our remaining at liberty,” coldly interrupted Featherwit. “Without this means of conveyance, how can your loved ones escape? Now, your solemn pledge to maintain utter silence, or I will take you back to yonder wilderness, leaving you to shift for yourself as best you can. Promise, sir!”
“I will,—I do. Forgive me, for I was carried away by—'twas there I saw—after so many horrible years!” huskily muttered the exile, fairly cowering there, before his saviour from the whirlpool.