"We must get you ashore at once and to a doctor," said Mr. Swift.
"You must be badly burned."
"Not much. Only my hands, where some burning pieces of canvas
fell on' em. If I had a little oil to put on I'd be all right."
"I can fix you up better than that," put in Tom. "I have some
Vaseline."
"Good! Just the thing. Pass it over," and the man, though he
spoke shortly, seemed grateful for the offer. "My name's Sharp,"
he went on, "John Sharp, of no place in particular, for I travel
all over. I'm a professional balloonist. Ha! That's the stuff!"
This last was in reference to a bottle of Vaseline, which Tom
produced. Mr. Sharp spread some over the backs of his hands and
went on:
"That's better. Much obliged. I can't begin to thank you for
what you did for me--saved my life. I thought it was all up with
me--would have been but for you. Mustn't mind my manner--it's a
way I have--have to talk quick when you're balloonin'--no time--
but I'm grateful all the same. Who might you people be?"
Tom told him their names and Mr. Swift asked the aeronaut if he
was sure he didn't need the services of a physician.
"No doctor for me," answered the balloonist. "I've been in lots
of tight places, but this was the worst squeeze.
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