"Talk about a fog," he cried; "this is a wunner. I say, Mr Dale."
"Yes."
"Sounds like something good being cooked, don't it? I s'pose there'll
be a bit o' something to eat soon. I'm growing streaky, and could eat
anything, from biscuit up to bull-beef. Well, what's the matter?" he
cried, as a fiercer shrieking came along with clouds of vapour. "That
go in the wrong place? Well, will that do?"
He shifted the direction of the nozzle, but the noise was as bad as
ever.
"Well, you are hard to please, and you'll have to take it now as I like
to give it you, so off you go, my lad."
"All right, Bob," I replied; "I'm going," and saturated with the
moisture of my strange vapour-bath, I went along the narrow passage by
the bulwarks, to find to my astonishment that I had walked out of a
dense fog into the clear sunshine; and when I looked back, it was to see
the white vapour towering up as if to reach the skies.