liquid. Joy pervaded him that, for once at least, the iron rule of the
Master was to be broken, and that the journey was to begin with proper
libations. The Master's curt syllables, however, instantly dispelled
any illusions he might have entertained on that score.

"Drop them all out that open window, there," commanded the Master.

"What, sir? Good Pommery? Veuve?"

"No argument, Bohannan! Out they go!"

Dismayed, the Celt did the other's bidding, while Alden smiled grimly.
Far below, glass crashed and jangled.

"What's the idea?" demanded the major ruefully.

"You know very well, Major, my ruling on alcohol. It doesn't mix with
any motive power on this trip. Moreover, it's customary to christen
every launching with champagne. We've done it!"

"Well, that's not so bad an idea, at that," Bohannan admitted,
scratching his fiery head. "What name have you given this bus?"

"_Nissr Arrib ela Sema._"

"Come again, sir?"

"Eagle of the Sky, in Arabic. I suppose we'll have to cut that down to
_Nissr_, for everyday use. But at any rate, our craft is christened.
Well, now--"