“Could you,” I indignantly flared up. “Not so fast, Spruce. Did you see those tubes in their white fingers?”
“Yes, I saw them?” Hopkins rejoined interrogatively. “Looked like lead pipe.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s devilment enough in them. They raised them this way and that, and guided their flight by them.”
“What’s the harm?” Hopkins continued. “Perhaps they’ve a thing or two worth patenting in ballooning; very likely. They’re funny enough, but—Pshaw!—we can run ’em in any time with these guns.”
“How many balloons were attached to each person?” asked the Professor.
“Three,” we all said together.
“I thought so,” he continued, “one from each armpit, and one from the belt. They spoke distinguishable words. Could you make anything out of them Erickson?”
“Why,” I muttered laconically, quite as a matter of course, “It sounded like corrupted or archaic Hebrew.”
“By the Great Horn Spoon,” shouted Hopkins, “pawnbrokers. Levitation would be worth while to some I’ve known.”
After this explosion we were silent for a few moments. Our thoughts were running wild over the inscrutable occurrence which portended strange developments ahead of us. Hopkins was elated at the prospect of adventure, Goritz, I really believe, was consumed with a passionate curiosity to see more of the gold, the Professor was burning up with scientific wonder and excitement, and I alone was overcome by a repulsion which I could not explain, and which, on the face of it, was unreasonable.