"A thunderstorm might burst just above your head, and you would never hear it," added Donald, who saw that his bait was beginning to take.
"Prodigious!" cried the Londoner. "How shall I know the stone? Do tell me."
"Not easily," insinuated Donald slyly; "it is scarcely known except to guides. However, I will try to describe its position to you."
Here the Scot entered into explanations which threw the Cockney's brain into a complete muddle.
"I had better take you, after all, I think," said the bewildered tourist. "Come along."
I need not tell you that they were soon at the wonderful stone.
The Londoner took up his position on it, and begged the guide to stand a few steps off and to shout at the top of his voice.
Out Scot fell to making all sorts of contortions, placing his hands to his mouth as if to carry the sound; but not a murmur reached the ears of the tourist.
"Take a rest," he said to Donald; "you will make yourself hoarse.... It is a fact that I have not heard a sound. It is prodigious! Now you go and stand on the stone, and I will shout."
They changed places.