“Fine.”
The boys were called over and informed of the tetrahedral’s name—by which they usually called her, afterwards. Hike blushed a poppy-red when he was told that the name was really in honor of him.
“Hurray for Hike’s Hustle!” shouted Poodle, and he dragged Hike and the grave Lieutenant after him in a dance about the Hustle, singing:
“Hallelujah, I’m a bum, hallelujah, bum again,
Hurray-yay-yay for old Hike’s aeroplane!”
As the three danced, Martin Priest sat down on a tool box and covered his face with his long hands.
They stopped, staring. Priest seemed to be in absolute despair. “What’s the matter, General?” shouted the irrepressible Poodle.
The inventor raised his head and looked as though he had gone blind. “I’ve—I supposed—I’ve been hoping—but I must.”
“Yes?” said Lieutenant Adeler, gently.
“I must tell you who and what I am.” The inventor was grim as an officer directing a siege. Even Poodle grew quiet. Martin Priest spoke quickly, trying to get it over: