"Professor Edgecombe!" he again exclaimed, grasping those roughened hands to press them cordially. "I ought to have recognised you at sight, no doubt, since I have watched your ascents time and time again."The exile smiled faintly, shaking his head and giving another sigh.
"Ah, me! 'twas vastly different, then. I only marvel that you should give me credit when I lay claim to that name, so long--it has long faded from the public's memory, sir."But uncle Phaeton shook his head, decidedly.
"No, no, I assure you, my friend; far from it. Whenever the topic is brought to the front; whenever aerostatics are discussed, your name and fame are sure to play a prominent part.
And yet,--you disappeared so long ago, never being heard of after--""After sailing away upon the storm for which I had waited and prayed, for so many weary, heart-sick months!""So the rumour ran, but we all believed that must be an exaggeration, and not for a long time was all hope abandoned.
Then, more hearts than one felt sore and sad at thoughts of your untimely fate.""A fate infinitely worse than ordinary death such as was credited me," huskily muttered the exile. "Ten years,--and ever since Ihave been here, helpless to extricate myself, doomed to a living death, which none other can ever fully realise! Doomed to--to--"His voice choked, and he turned away to hide his emotions.
Professor Featherwit thoroughly appreciated the interruption which came through Waldo's lips just at that moment.
"Oh, I say,--uncle Phaeton!"
"What is it, lad? Don't meddle with what doesn't--""Looking can't hurt, can it? And to think people ever got along with such things as these!"Waldo was squared before sundry articles depending from the side wall, and as the professor drew closer, he, too, displayed a degree of interest which was really remarkable.
A gaily colored tunic of thickly quilted cotton was hanging beside an oddly shaped war club, the heavier end of which was armed with blades of stone which gleamed and sparkled even in that dim light. And attached to this weapon was another, hardly less curious: a knife formed of copper, with heft and blade all from one piece of metal.
"Here is the rest of the outfit," said Edgecombe, holding forth a bow and several feathered arrows with obsidian heads.
Professor Featherwit gave a low, eager cry as he handled the various articles, both face and manner betraying intense delight, which found partial vent in words a little later.
"Wonderful! Marvellous! Superb! I envy you, sir; I can't help but envy your possession of so magnificent--and so well-preserved, too! That is the marvel of marvels!""Well, to be sure, I haven't used them very much. The bow and arrows I could manage fairly well, after busy practice. They have saved me from more than one hungry night. But as for the rest--""You might have worn the--Is it a ghost-dance shirt, though?"hesitatingly asked Waldo, gingerly fingering the wadded tunic.
"Waldo, I'm ashamed of you, boy!" almost harshly reproved the professor. "Ghost-dance shirt, indeed! And this one of the most complete--the only perfectly preserved specimen of the ancient Aztec--pray, my good friend, where did you discover them? Surely there can be no burial mounds so far above the latitude where that unfortunate race lived and died?"Mr. Edgecombe shook his head, with a puzzled look, then made reply:
"No, sir. I took these all from an Indian I was forced to kill in order to save my own life. I never thought--You are ill, sir?""Bless my soul!" ejaculated the professor, falling back a pace or two, then sitting down with greater force than grace, all the while gazing upon those weapons like one in a daze. "Found them--Indian--killed him in order to--bless my soul!"Then, with marvellous activity for one of his age, the professor recovered his footing, mumbling something about tripping a heel, then resumed his examination of the curiosities as though he had care for naught beside.
Cooper Edgecombe turned away, and the professor improved the opportunity by muttering to the brothers:
"Careful, lads. Give the poor fellow his own way in all things, for he is--he surely must be--eh?"Forefinger covertly tapped forehead, for there was no time granted for further explanations. Edgecombe turned again, speaking in hard, even strained tones:
"Fifteen years ago this month, on the 27th, to be exact, a balloon with two passengers was carried away on a terrific gale of wind which blew from the southeast. This happened in Washington Territory. Can you tell me--has anything ever been heard of either balloon or its inmates?"Professor Featherwit shook his head in negation before saying:
"Not to my knowledge, though doubtless the prints of the day--"Cooper Edgecombe shook both head and hand with strange impatience.
"No, no. I know they were never heard from up to ten years ago, but since then--I am a fool to even dream of such a thing, and yet,--only for that faint hope I would have gone mad long ago!"Indeed, he looked little less than insane as it was.