startled us wide awake, but we
were only too glad to acquiesce in anything which tended to raise his
spirits or ours. Dog tired but smiling we rose; Byram, in his
shirt-sleeves and suspenders, wearing his silk hat on the back of his
head, led the way, fanning his perspiring face with a red-and-yellow
bandanna.

"Luck," said Byram, waving his cigar toward the new moon, "is bound
to turn one way or t'other--like my camuel. Sometimes, resemblin' the
camuel, luck will turn on you. Look out it don't bite you. I once made
up a piece about luck:

"'Don't buck
Bad luck
Or you'll get stuck--'

I disremember the rest, but it went on to say a few other words to
that effec'."

The lighted door of the inn hung ajar as we crossed the star-lit
square; Byram entered and stood a moment in the doorway, stroking his
chin. "Bong joor the company!" he said, lifting his battered hat.

The few Bretons in the wine-room returned his civility; he glanced
about and his eye fell on Kelly Eyre, Speed's assistant balloonist,
seated by the window with Horan.

"Well, gents," said Byram, hopefully, "an' what aire the prospects
of smilin' fortune when rosy-fingered dawn has came again to kiss us
back to life?"

"Rotten," said Eyre, pushing a telegram across the oak table.

Byram's face fell; he picked up the telegram and fumbled in his coat
for his spectacles with unsteady hand.

"Let me read it, governor," said Speed, and took the blue paper from
Byram's unresisting, stubby fingers.

"O-ho!" he muttered, scanning the message; "well--well, it's not so
bad as all that--" He turned abruptly on Kelly Eyre--"What the devil
are you scaring the governor for?"

"Well, he's got to be told--I didn't mean to worry him," said Eyre,
stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.

"Now see here, governor," said Speed, "let's all have a drink first.
He ma belle!"--to the big Breton girl knitting in the corner--"four
little swallows of eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew
you were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever as they are
pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! There is no circus but the
circus, and Byram is it's prophet! Drink, gentlemen!"

But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely tasted the liqueur.
Byram wiped his brow and squared his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on
the table, sat musing and twirling his half-empty glass.

"Well, sir?" said