Taken all in all, that was far from a pleasant or enjoyable meal. A sense of restraint rested upon each one of that little company, and not one succeeded in fairly breaking it away, though each tried in turn. Despite the struggle made by the exile to hold all emotions well under subjection, Cooper Edgecombe failed to hide his almost childish delight at sight and taste of those canned goods, and it did not require much urging on the part of his rescuers to ensure his partaking freely. But the cap-sheaf came when uncle Phaeton, true to his habit of long years, after eating, produced pipe and pouch, the fragrant tobacco catching the exile's nostrils and drawing a low, tremulous cry from his lips. No need to ask what was the matter, for that eager gaze, those quivering fingers, were enough. And just as though this had been his express purpose, the professor passed the pipe over, quietly speaking: “Perhaps you would like a little smoke after your supper, my good friend? Oblige me by--” “May I? Oh, sir, may I--really taste--oh, oh, oh!” Bruno struck a match and steadied the pipe until the tobacco was fairly ignited, then drew back and left the exile to himself for the time being. And, as covert glances told them, never before had their eyes rested upon mortal being so intensely happy as was the long-lost aeronaut then and there. At a sign from the professor, Bruno and Waldo silently arose and left the cavern, bearing their guardian company to where the air-ship was resting. And there they busied themselves with making preparations for the night, which was just settling over that portion of the earth. Presently Cooper Edgecombe appeared, the empty pipe in hand, held as one might caress an inestimable treasure, a dreamy, almost blissful expression upon his sun-browned face. “I thank you, sir, more than tongue can tell,” he said, quietly, as he restored the pipe to its owner. “If you could only realise what I have suffered through this deprivation! I, an inveterate smoker; yet suddenly deprived of it, and so kept for ten long years! If I had had a pipe and tobacco, I believe--but enough.” “I can sympathise with you, at least in part, my friend. Will you have another smoke, by the way?” “No, no, not now; I feel blessed for the moment, and more might be worse than none, after so long deprivation. And--may I talk openly to you, dear, kind friends? May I tell you--am I selfish in wishing to trouble you thus? Ten years, remember, and not a soul to speak with!” He laughed, but it was a sorry mirth; and not caring to trust his tongue just then, uncle Phaeton nodded his head emphatically while filling his pipe for himself. But Waldo never lacked for words, and spoke out: “That's all right, sir; we can listen as long as you can chin-chin. Tell us all about--well, what's the matter with that big Injun?” “Quiet, Waldo. Say what best pleases you, my friend. You can be sure of one thing,--sympathetic listeners, if nothing better.”