“Great, isn’t it? Well, Mudd—when he left the hospital, had three ribs broken and lost a piece of his solar plexus—he experimented on the ‘cheesite,’ found the gas, and is now worth a million. Great, isn’t it?”
Clif’s companion was an Englishman of about twenty-three. He had a full, round red face with a pair of pronounced “mutton-chop” whiskers. A single glass, or monocle, was screwed tightly in one eye; and he was dressed in tweeds of the loudest patterns.
There was a vacant, open-mouthed expression on his face that seemed peculiarly appropriate to his general appearance.
The young naval cadet finished his remarkable description of the discovery of “cheesite” without the slightest indication of mirth.
“Haw! Most extraordinary invention!” exclaimed the Englishman. “But you Americans, don’t ye know, are extraordinary creatures, anyway. Haw! I had a cousin who went across the pond a few years ago. Landed in Ohio or some other town, I believe, and started the most peculiar business. Haw! it was really remarkable.”
He stopped to give his glass another twist, and continued, with a yawn:
“Haw! the cousin was a queer fellow. He ran away to—aw!—Africa or Iceland when he was a youngster, and had a wild time of it. Then he settled down in Lun’nun, and——”
“What was the queer business he was in?”
“Yas. He settled in the town of Ohio and started a shop, don’t you know. Haw! haw! It was deuced comical. I split me sides every time I think of it, don’t ye know.”
“But the business?”