“Oh, quit joking, Cran Beaumont. It’s a perfect whopper. An air-skimmer wouldn’t look much bigger’n a mosquito, alongside of it. And say, what do you think?”
“Well?”
“Major What’s-his-name asked me if I’d like to go up some time; and I said, ‘You bet! This thing is most large enough to take a chap to the moon, isn’t it?’ You told me to ask—remember, Cran? Then he made this remark: ‘On my next visit to the satellite I’ll take you along.’”
“Huh!” said Tom.
“Say, Cran, isn’t it awful odd we didn’t see in the papers that he’d been up to the moon?”
“Humph!” came from Tom.
“What’s a satellite, Cran?”
“Get a book, and find out.”
“Ginger, but your ignorance is becoming monotonous.”
“I declare, I’ve got to get a look at that balloon, myself,” exclaimed Cranny, with a great deal of emphasis. “To-morrow I’ll take a business trip to Border City and look over the field.”