Lavender by his own style that he really did begin to address the clouds:
"Ghosts of the sky, who creep cold about this wide blue air, we small adventuring mortals great-hearted salute you.Humbly proud of our daring have we come to sport with you and the winds of Ouranos, and, in the rapturous corridors between you, play hide-and seek, avoiding your glorious moisture with the dips and curves and skimming of our swallow flights--we, the little unconquerable Spirits of the Squirth!"The surprise which Mr.Lavender felt at having uttered so peculiar a word, in the middle of such a flow of poetry reduced him to sudden silence.
"Golly!" said the airman with sudden alarm in his voice."Hold tight!"And they began to shoot towards earth faster than they had risen.They came down, by what seemed a miracle to Mr.Lavender, who was still contemplative, precisely where they had gone up.A little group was collected there, and as they stepped out a voice said, "I beg your pardon," in a tone so dry that it pierced even the fogged condition in which Mr.Lavender alighted.The gentleman who spoke had a dark moustache and thick white hair, and, except that he wore a monocle, and was perhaps three inches taller, bore a striking resemblance to himself.