utes a newly bathed infant had not been less conscious of original sin.
"But look here, you know"—it was Byfield at my elbow—"I'm a public character, by George; and this puts me in a devilish awkward position."
"So it does," I agreed. "You proclaimed yourself a solitary voyager; and here, to the naked eye, are four of us."
"And pray how can I help that? If, at the last moment, a couple of lunatics come rushing in"
"They still leave Sheepshanks to be accounted for." Byfield began to irritate me. I turned to the stowaway, "Perhaps," said I, "Mr. Sheepshanks will explain."
"I paid in advance," Mr. Sheepshanks began, eager to seize the opening presented. "The fact is, I'm a married man."
"Already at two points you have the advantage of us. Proceed, sir!"
"You were good enough just now to give me your name, Mr."
"The Vicomte Anne de Kéroual de St. Yves."
"It is a somewhat difficult name to remember."
"If that be all, sir, within two minutes you shall have a memoria technica prepared for use during the voyage."
Mr, Sheepshanks harked back. "I am a married man, and—d'ye see?—Mrs. Sheepshanks, as you might say, has no sympathy with ballooning. She was a Guthrie of Dumfries."
"Which accounts for it, to be sure," said I.
"To me, sir, on the contrary, aërostatics have long been an alluring study. I might even, Mr., I might even, I say, term it the passion of my life." His mild eyes shone behind their glasses. "I remember Vincent Lunardi, sir. I was present in Heriot's Gardens when he made an ascension there in October '85. He came down
