They called him a
giant," spoke Ned.
"A giant! He was a baby compared to the kind of giants I mean," said
Mr. Damon quickly. "Tom, we are going after a race of giants, the
smallest one of which is probably eight feet high, and from that
they go on up to nearly ten feet, and they're not slim fellows
either, but big in proportion. Now in giant land--"
"Here's Mrs. Baggert with a quieting cup of tea," interrupted Tom.
"I spoke to her as we came in, and asked her to have some ready. If
you'll drink this, Mr. Damon, I'm sure--"
"Bless my sugar bowl, Tom! You make a man nervous, with your cups of
tea. I'm more quiet than you, but I'll drink it to please you. Now
listen to me."
"All right, go ahead."
"A friend of mine has asked me if I knew any one who could undertake
to go to giant land, and get him one or two specimens of the big men
there. I at once thought of you, and I said I believed you would go.
And I'll go with you, Tom! Think of that! I've got faith enough in
the proposition to go myself!"
There was no mistaking Mr. Damon's manner. He was very much in
earnest, and Tom and Ned looked at each other with a different light
in their eyes.
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