"
"Gum!" said the young airman, as Lavender paused, "you're getting it
fine, sir! Where will it appear?"
"Those great fleecy beings the clouds," went on Mr. Lavender, without
taking on the interruption, "seemed to await our coming in the morning
glory of their piled-up snows; and we, with the rarefied air in our
lungs, felt that we must shout to them." And so carried away was Mr.
Lavender by his own style that he really did begin to address the
clouds: "Ghosts of the sky, who creep cold about this wide blue air, we
small adventuring mortals great-hearted salute you. Humbly proud of our
daring have we come to sport with you and the winds of Ouranos, and, in
the rapturous corridors between you, play hide-and seek, avoiding your
glorious moisture with the dips and curves and skimming of our swallow
flights--we, the little unconquerable Spirits of the Squirth!"
The surprise which Mr. Lavender felt at having uttered so peculiar
a word, in the middle of such a flow of poetry reduced him to sudden
silence.
"Golly!" said the airman with sudden alarm in his voice. "Hold tight!"
And they began to shoot towards earth faster than they had risen. They
came down, by what seemed a miracle to Mr. Lavender, who was still
contemplative, precisely where they had gone up.
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