"Oh!" we both ejaculated, shooting back our heads.
He stood and looked at us with an amused expression.
"Don't mind me," he said quite politely, seating himself on the stump of a tree pretty close to us.
"But I am afraid we do," Dimbie said equally politely.
"I've seen that sort of thing dozens of times," he continued in a detached sort of manner.
We sat and eyed him indignantly.
"In fact, I rather like it," he went on imperturbably.
"Oh, do you?" Dimbie's sarcasm was sharp as a knife.
"Yes, I find it refreshing after my work. I am a balloonist, and have done considerable research work in aerial flight. I built an aerodrome once, a steam-driven flying machine. It went about a quarter of a mile and killed my mother on the way."
"Oh!" I said, shocked. Dimbie was staring at the sky.