“Fifteen years ago this month, on the 27th, to be exact, a balloon with two passengers was carried away on a terrific gale of wind which blew from the southeast. This happened in Washington Territory. Can you tell me—has anything ever been heard of either balloon or its inmates?”
Professor Featherwit shook his head in negation before saying:
“Not to my knowledge, though doubtless the prints of the day—”
Cooper Edgecombe shook both head and hand with strange impatience.
“No, no. I know they were never heard from up to ten years ago, but since then—I am a fool to even dream of such a thing, and yet,—only for that faint hope I would have gone mad long ago!”
Indeed, he looked little less than insane as it was.
CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE.
This was the idea that occurred to both uncle and nephews, but they had seen and heard enough to excuse all that, and Professor Featherwit spoke again, in mildly curious tones:
“Sorry I am unable to give you better tidings, my good friend, but, so far as my knowledge extends, nothing has come to light of recent years. And—if not a leading question—were those passengers friends of your own?”