"But whereabouts?" interrupted Mr. Marvel.
"Here! Six yards in front of you."
"Oh, come! I ain't blind. You'll be telling me next you're just thin air. I'm not one of your ignorant tramps———"
"Yes, I am—thin air. You're looking through me."
"What! Ain't there any stuff to you? Vox et—what is it?—jabber. Is it that?"
"I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too— But I'm invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible."
"What, real like?"
"Yes, real."
"Let's have a hand of you," said Marvel, "if you are real. It won't be so darn out-of-the-way like, then— Lord!" he said, "how you made me jump!—gripping me like that!"
He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his touch went timorously up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel's face was astonishment.
"I'm dashed!" he said. "If this don't beat cockfighting! Most remarkable!— And there I can see a rabbit clean through you, 'arf a mile away! Not a bit of you visible—except———"
He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. "You 'aven't been eatin' bread and cheese?" he asked, holding the invisible arm.
"You're quite right, and it's not quite assimilated into the system."
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