HARVEY HAMILTON walked out to where his aeroplane was waiting, and under the eyes of Ann Harbor and her aunt set the propeller revolving, mounted his seat, called a cheery good-bye and sped away in the direction of Dawson. He had become so familiar with the section that there was no uncertainty in his course. He was not heading for the town, but veered slightly to one side, and when he caught sight of the workshop of Professor Milo Morgan, he aimed as straight for it as an arrow driven from a bow.

He was yet some distance off when he observed the man in front of his building, bending over his helicopter as if attending to some repair of the machinery. When the noise of the approaching biplane fell upon his ear, he straightened up, turned around and stared in amazement. He stood as rigid as a statue, never once removing his gaze from the biplane, which lightly touched the ground, scooted a few rods and came to a standstill less than fifty feet from where he was scrutinizing it, and the young aviator.Harvey knew the critical moment had come. While stepping to the ground, he drew his revolver from his hip pocket, examined it for a moment and then shoved it back in place. This was a little by-play meant to warn the Professor that his visitor owned a deadly weapon and held it at instant command. It is to be noted that the man carried nothing of the kind. His skill as a chemist gave him more frightful agents, though he could not have called them into play, as the circumstances stood, before the youth would anticipate him.

Harvey faced him with a smile and walked forward.

“Good morning, Professor; may I have a little talk with you?”

“Have you come to shoot me?” asked the man, with a terrible glare. He could not forget his recent experience at the cavern, when he must have believed he stood on the very edge of death.

“That depends upon yourself,” was the reply in the same pleasant voice; “I call upon you as a friend, but if you wish me to be an enemy I am prepared.”

“What do you want?”

Throughout the remarkable interview which followed, neither sat down, and Harvey held his place a dozen paces away. This was prudent, for it was uncertain what the crank might attempt. So long as he was held off he could do no harm, for Harvey would forestall his slightest movement. The venomous hatred shown by him toward the youth because of his interference warned the latter to be on the alert, especially during the opening moments of their talk.

“I have a few words to say to you, Professor; are you willing to listen?”

“Say what you please, but if you had a grain of sense you would know better than to place yourself in my power.”

“I haven’t placed myself in your power and don’t intend to do so; don’t forget that. I wish to speak about your trip across the Atlantic.”

“Well?”

“It is too bad that Bohunkus was prevented from going with you, but you will admit that he has no right to leave home without the permission of Mr. Hartley, with whom he lives.”

“What has he got to do with it?” demanded the Professor, in a voice that sounded like the growl of a tiger.

“He is the master of Bohunkus; if you will get his consent, the colored lad will accompany you to Africa; nobody else will object.”

“Then why did you and that fellow with you hold him back?” asked the Professor with an ominous gleam of his burning eyes.

“I have just told you the reason; we ought to have explained and I am sorry we forgot to do so. If you will sail down to Mootsport, see Mr. Hartley and persuade him to say yes, there will be no more trouble.”

“I shan’t do any such thing; I don’t care about the boy, only it made me mad to have you and the other scoundrel try to prevent my doing as I pleased.”

“We were rough,—I’ll admit it, and I beg to apologize.”

Harvey was striving his hardest to win the good-will of the lunatic. Having impressed him with the fact that he did not hold him in fear, the young aviator was striving to placate and soothe him.

“Now,” continued the caller, “every one must admit that you have made one or two of the most wonderful inventions of the century. Are you sure you can sail across the Atlantic with your machine?”

“Humph!” snorted the Professor, “you know I can; why do you ask such a question?”

“Suppose when you are well out over the ocean you run into a tempest or hurricane?”“It will take me less than two days to cross and I can read the weather for that long; I know better than to run such a risk.”

“Good! but you know the weather probabilities sent out by the government are not reliable far out at sea.”

“I’m not depending on the government; I shall read the signs myself.”

“Good again! But suppose some part of your machinery breaks down.”

“It won’t break down; it is made too well and has been tested too often.”

“Or that that new kind of petrol or fluid should run short, owing to unexpected delays?”

“It won’t run short; I shall take enough to carry me to the other side and half way back without renewal. You talk like an idiot.”

“It is hard, Professor, to grasp your ideas, which stamp you as the equal of Edison in some respects. But may I offer a suggestion?”

This was said with so much deference that the inventor would have had to be a much more pronounced crank not to have been pleased. He growled:

“I’m listening; sometimes a fool can say something that a wise man should heed.”

“I think you have hit it. What I wish to suggest is that before you start eastward you give your machine a decisive test.”

“I have done so.”

“But only for short distances; you have traveled two or three hundred miles and stayed in the air for ten or twelve hours. You know you must do a good deal better than that in order to reach the other side of the Atlantic.”

“Don’t you suppose I know all that and am prepared for it?”

“You will pardon me, Professor, but after you left us this morning I thought a good deal about you and your purpose. I became worried and could not help feeling that you were running too much risk when you headed for Europe.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about it.”

“I want to be certain that you will be safe; you are too valuable a man to throw away your life as so many aviators have done within the last year.”

“Haven’t I told you I shall not throw away my life?”

While this seemingly pointless conversation was going on, Harvey Hamilton studied his man. He noted the tones of his voice and the expression of his face, so far as the heavy, grizzled beard would permit. The heart of the youth was filled with a kindling hope at the evidence that the Professor was mellowing. Harvey had made a favorable impression and he followed it up with rare skill.

“You say you are absolutely certain that when you start you will reach the other side of the Atlantic without mishap?”

“There is not the slightest doubt. I understand my machine better than you do.”

“Not only that but a good many other facts better than I. I am so interested in you that I am going to ask a great favor.”

“What’s that?”

“That before you start to sail almost three thousand miles eastward, you travel the same distance westward.”

The piercing eyes opened so wide that it was clear the Professor did not catch the full meaning of the remark.

“Travel westward,” he repeated, as if to himself; “what are you saying?”

“It is about three thousand miles from where we stand to the Pacific Ocean; why not sail to that coast and return? If you succeed—as of course you must—no one can doubt that you will make the ocean voyage in safety.”The Professor still stared and Harvey elaborated his scheme.

“All the way from here to San Francisco, or any part of the Pacific coast, you will travel over land. Of course there will be some rivers, perhaps lakes and the Rocky Mountains to cross, but if any slip occurs you can come down without difficulty. On your return you will have the same thing over again. Don’t you see what an admirable training it will be?”

The response to this question fairly took away Harvey’s breath.

“Will you go with me?”

The young aviator cleverly parried the stroke. Assuming a coy expression he laughed:

“This is so sudden, Professor.”

Then he removed his eyes from the face of the man and looked down to the ground as if considering the question.

“Wouldn’t that be glorious? Will you really let me go with you?”

“I’ll start this minute if you will be my companion.”

“Confound it!” exclaimed Harvey impatiently, as if angered at the thought; “that brother of mine—the fellow with the Winchester who treated you so mean—will be sure to put in his oar. He is very fond of using that rifle of his and he shoots mighty straight.”

“What of that? We can rise far beyond range of his weapon.”

“And then, there are my father and mother; I don’t want the governor to have an excuse for bringing out that hickory gad in the woodshed.”

“Why will he object?”

“You know how a good many fathers are; they seem to enjoy butting in and stopping the fun of their boys. I shall have to skip down home and get father’s consent before I dare start. I’m awfully obliged to you, Professor, but fear I shall have to wait till you come back from the Pacific coast. How easy it will be for me then to go to the governor and remind him that since you have made the six thousand mile journey safely, he can’t refuse to let me go with you across the Atlantic. That’s the scheme, Professor; what do you say to it?”

Professor Morgan stood for a moment in deep thought. Suddenly he raised his head and said with startling earnestness:

“I’ll do it!”