flame wrapped round the hopper, and in the middle of it there was one o' my mules straight on end. Nothing out of the way in a mule on end, but this mule hadn't any head. I remember it struck me as incongruous at the time, and when I'd ciphered it out I was doing the Santos-Dumont act without any balloon and my motor out of gear. Then I got to thinking about Santos-Dumont and how much better my new way was. Then I thought about Professor Langley and the Smithsonian, and wishing I hadn't lied so extravagantly in some of my specifications at Washington. Then I quit thinking for quite a while, and when I resumed my train of thought I was nude, Sir, in a very stale stretcher, and my mouth was full of fine dirt all flavoured with Laughtite.
' I coughed up that dirt.
' "Hullo!" says a man walking beside me. "You've spoke almost in time. Have a drink? "
' I don't use rum as a rule, but I did then, because I needed it.
' "What hit us?" I said.
' "Me," he said. "I got you fair on the hopper as you pulled out of that donga; but I'm sorry to say every last round in the hopper's exploded and your gun's in a shocking state. I'm real sorry," he says. "I admire your gun, Sir."
' "Are you Captain Mankeltow?" I says.
' "Yes," he says. "I presoom you're Mister Zigler. Your commanding officer told me about you."
' "Have you gathered in old man Van Zyl?" I said.
