“Sucked in by Jonah's whale, for ducats!” screamed Waldo, excitedly. “Fetch on your blessed 'sour-us' of both the male and female sect! Trot 'em to the fore, and if my little old suck don't take the starch out of their backbones,--they DID have backbones, didn't they, uncle Phaeton?” Professor Featherwit frowned, and shook his head in silent reproof. More nearly, perhaps, than either of the boys, he realised what an awful peril this stranger had so narrowly escaped. It was far too early to turn that escape into jest, even for one naturally light of heart. He leaned over the hand-rail, peering downward. He could see the rescued man sitting firmly in the bend of the grapnel, one hand tightly gripping the rope, its mate shading his eyes, as he stared fixedly towards the whirling death-pool, from whose jaws he had so miraculously been plucked. There was naught of debility, either of body or of mind, to be read in that figure, and with his fears on that particular point set at rest, for the time being, Professor Featherwit called out, distinctly: “Is it all well with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast until the shore is reached, think?” “Heaven bless you,--yes!” came the reply, in half-choked tones. “If I fail in giving thanks--” “Never mention it, friend; it cost us nothing,” cheerily interrupted the professor, then adding, “Hold fast, please, and we'll put on a wee bit more steam.” The flying-machine was now fairly headed for a strip of shore which offered an excellent opportunity for making a safe landing, and as that accelerated motion did not appear to materially affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake. “Stand ready to let go when we come low enough, please,” warned the professor, deftly managing his pet machine for that purpose. The stranger easily landed, then watched the flying-machine with painfully eager gaze, hands clasped almost as though in prayer. A more remarkable sight than this half-naked shape, burned brown by the sun, poorly protected by light skins, with sinew fastenings, could scarcely be imagined; and there was something close akin to tears in more eyes than one when he came running in chase, arms outstretched, and voice wildly appealing: “Oh, come back! Take me,--don't leave me,--for love of God and humanity, don't leave me to this living death!” Professor Featherwit called back a hasty assurance, and brought the air-ship to a landing with greater haste than was exactly prudent, all things considered; but who could keep cool blood and unmoved heart, with yonder piteous object before their eyes? When he saw that the flying-machine had fairly landed, and beheld its inmates stepping forth upon the sands with friendly salutations, the rescued stranger staggered, hands clasping his temples for a moment of drunken reeling, then he fell forward like one smitten by the hand of sudden death.