“I have already given my opinion as to that,” said Lawrence, “but here comes one who will give us an opinion of value.—He is in capital time.”
“Good morning, Antoine.”
Their guide for the day, Antoine Grennon, a fine stalwart specimen of his class, returned the salutation, and added that it was a very fine morning.
“Capital, isn’t it?” cried Lewis, cheerfully, for he had got over the irritation caused by the buttons. “Couldn’t be better; could it?”
The guide did not admit that the weather could not be better.
“You look doubtful, Antoine,” said Lawrence. “Don’t you think the day will keep up?”
“Keep up!” exclaimed Lewis; “why, the sky is perfectly clear. Of course it will. I never saw a finer day, even in England. Why do you doubt it, Antoine?”
The guide pointed to a small cloud that hung over the brow of one of the higher peaks.
“Appearances are sometimes deceitful in this country,” he said. “I don’t doubt the fineness of the day at present, but—”
He was interrupted here by the sudden and noisy entrance of Captain Wopper and the Professor, followed by the mad artist, whose name, by the way, was Slingsby.