"Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great
deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how much you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in
Africa, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or
some such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get many
letters. But that one looks as if it had come quite a distance."
"So it does," agreed Tom, looking closely at the stamp and postmark.
"What do you make out of it, Mr. Wilson?" and then, just as many
other persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of opening
it to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking at
the handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "What
does that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp.
"Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and
Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help.
"I made it out a 'G'," said Tom.
"So it is. A 'G'--you're right. Gumbo--Twamba--that's what it is--
Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right."
"Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?"
asked the lad with a laugh.