Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline crouched in the farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, whined. "Poor thing," said Lady Caroline, "it's hungry."
"Do you wish to save the dog?" said Little.
"Yes."
"Give me your parasol."
She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk and whalebone. (None of your "sunshades.") Little examined its ribs carefully.
"Give me the dog."
Lady Caroline hurriedly slipped a note under the dog's collar, and passed over her pet.
Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and launched them both into space. The next moment they were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to the earth.
"A parasol and a parachute are distinct, but not different. Be not alarmed, he will get his dinner at some farm-house."
"Where are we now?"
"That opaque spot you see is London fog. Those twin clouds are North and South America. Jerusalem and Madagascar are those specks to the right."
Lady Caroline moved nearer; she was becoming interested. Then she recalled herself and said freezingly, "How are we going to descend?"
"By opening the valve."
"Why don't you open it then?"
"BECAUSE THE VALVE-STRING IS BROKEN!"
