Stevens, meanwhile, recovered nerve enough to sit upright and peer once or twice over the edge of the car; but each time he sank back with a shudder.
"I always was giddy in high places," he muttered, resuming his former abject attitude.
Larkin glanced at the pallid face, and felt a touch of pity for the miserable fellow.
"No wonder the navy didn't suit you," he said. "You look half sick, Stevens. Anything special the matter with you? Hungry?"
"No," said the other, his teeth chattering again. "I don't want anything to eat. I haven't been well lately. Those men who were after me—" He stopped abruptly and turned so white that Fred thought he was going to faint. Recovering himself with an effort, Stevens continued: "This balloon business is getting on to my nerves, I guess. Isn't it about time to think of landing?"
"Landing!" exclaimed the other. "Not by any means. We must put a little more real estate between us and Oyama's front before we get down to terra firma. But we're going like an express train now, unless I am mistaken. It's hard to judge our speed, because we're just drifting with the current. I can't say I like so much southing, either. As near as I can tell, we're just about following the line of the railway. See—there it is—that long straight line!"
But Stevens did not care to look.
"Why were those fellows chasing you, if I may ask?" demanded the reporter, settling himself to a comfortable position in the car.
"They—I don't know—well," said Stevens desperately, "if you must know, they were Boxers."
Larkin started. "What, the society that started the trouble with the missionaries two or three years ago, and pretty nearly did up the foreign embassies in Pekin?"