"Well, well," said the owner of the bald head. "Here's another curiosity come to our island! Wait a minute, and I'll run in and make your acquaintance." So presently the bald head, which was perched upon the body of a little, dried-up looking man, entered John's room and bowed politely.
"I'm Sir Pryse Bocks," he said, "and the remarkable thing about me is that I'm an inventor, and a successful one. You, I perceive, are a delicatessen; a friend in knead; I might say, a Pan-American. Ha, ha!"
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," returned John, bowing. "But do not joke about my person, Sir Pryse. I'm proud of it."
"I respect your pride, sir," said the other. "It's bread in the bone, doubtless. Ha, ha!"
John looked at him reproachfully, and the little man at once grew grave.
"This island is full of inventors," said he; "but they're all cranks, and don't amount to anything—except me."
"What have you invented?" asked John.
"This!" said the other, taking a little tube from his pocket. "You will notice that it often rains—it's raining now, if you'll look outside. And the reason it rains is because the drops of water fall to the earth by the attraction of gravitation."
"I suppose so," said John.