“One to be loved and reverenced, rather,” with poorly hidden emotion; then rallying, to add, “But when one finds it impossible to realise all that has happened this afternoon, when one feels afraid to even make an effort at such belief, how can the boy be blamed for feeling that all others would pronounce us mad or—wilful liars?”
Professor Phaeton saw the point, and made a wry grimace while roughing up his pompadour and brushing his closely trimmed beard with doubtful hand. After all, was the whole truth to be ever spoken?
“Well, well, we can determine more clearly after fully weighing the subject,” he said, turning back towards the flying-machine. “And, after all, what has happened to us thus far may not seem so utterly incredible after our explorations are completed.”
“Of this region, do you mean, sir?”
“Of the Olympic mountains, and all their mountainous chain may encompass,—yes,” curtly spoke the man of hopes, stepping inside the aerostat to perfect his arrangements for the night.
Waldo took greater pleasure in viewing the mountain lion towards whose destruction he had so liberally contributed, but when he spoke of removing the skin, Bruno objected.
“Why take so much trouble for nothing, Waldo? Even if we could stow the pelts away on board, they would make a far from agreeable burden. And if what I fancy lies before us is to come true, the more lightly we are weighted, the more likely we are to come safely to—well, call it civilisation, just for a change.”
“Then you believe that uncle Phaeton is really in earnest about exploring this region, Bruno?”
“He most assuredly is. Did you ever know him to speak idly, or to be otherwise than in earnest, Waldo?”
“Well, of course uncle is all right, but—sometimes—”