Lost on the Moon by Roy Rockwood (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

CHAPTER XI

READY FOR THE MOON

 

There were busy times for the moon-voyagers the next day. They were up

early, for at the last moment many little details needed to be settled.

The Cardite motor had been thoroughly repaired, for the damage caused

by the unknown enemy had done no permanent harm.

 

When the injured one appeared the bandage on his head seemed larger

than ever, and his features were almost hidden. He still wore his arm

in a sling.

 

“Well, how do you feel?” asked Jack, looking narrowly at the figure. He

could not get rid of a suspicion that something was wrong with Mark.

 

“Oh, I’m feeling pretty fair,” was the mumbled answer. “I didn’t sleep

much, though.”

 

“Well, take care of yourself,” advised Jack. “We are about ready to

start. We’ll get off about noon, Professor Henderson says. Don’t try to

do anything and injure your broken arm. You certainly had a tough time

of it.”

 

“Yes, I guess I did. I can’t do much to help you.”

 

“You don’t need to. We’re all but finished. Just hang around and watch

me work. There isn’t much to do.”

 

But though Jack gave an invitation to remain near him, the other seemed

to prefer being off by himself. He wandered in and out of the

projectile, now and then helping Andy or Washington to carry light

objects into the Annihilator. But all the while he was careful not to

disturb the bandage on his face, and several times he stopped to

readjust it. Nor did he talk much, which Jack ascribed to his statement

that his teeth hurt him. And when the bandaged figure did speak, it was

in mumbling tones, very different from Mark’s usually cheerful ones.

 

“Well,” remarked Professor Roumann, after a final inspection of the big

Cardite motor—the one that was to be depended on to carry them to the

moon—“I think we are about ready to leave this earth. How about it,

Professor Henderson?”

 

“Yes, I think so. Have you made any calculation as to speed?”

 

“Yes, we will not have to move nearly as fast as we did when we went to

Mars. We only have to cover a quarter of a million of miles at the

most, and probably less than that. The motor will send us along at the

rate of about a mile a second, which is three thousand six hundred

miles an hour, or eighty-six thousand four hundred miles a—day. At

that rate we would be at the moon in less than three days.

 

“But I don’t want to travel as fast as that,” the German went on. “I

want time to make some scientific observations on the way, and so I

have reduced the speed of the Cardite motor by half, though should we

need to hasten our trip we can do so.”

 

“Then we’ll be about a week on the way?” asked Jack.

 

“About that, yes,” assented Mr. Roumann.

 

“And could we go farther than to the moon if we wanted to?” inquired

the bandaged figure mumblingly.

 

“Farther? What do you mean?” asked Professor Henderson quickly.

 

“I mean could we go to Mars if we wanted to?”

 

“You don’t mean to say you want to go back there, and run the chance of

being attacked by the savage Martians, do you?” asked Jack.

 

“No, I was only asking,” and the other seemed confused.

 

“Well, of course, we could go there, as we have plenty of supplies

and enough of the Cardite,” said Mr. Roumann. “But I think the moon

will be the limit of our trip this time.”

 

The work went on, the last things to be put aboard the projectile being

a number of scientific instruments. The injured one wandered in and

out, now being in the house and again in the big shed. He seemed

restless and ill at ease, and frequently he walked to the front gate

and gazed down the road.

 

“You seem to be looking for some one,” spoke Jack. “Are you expecting

your girl to come along and bid you good-by, Mark?”

 

“Who—me? No, I—I was just looking to see if—if it was going to

rain.”

 

“Rain? Well, rain won’t make much difference to us soon. We will be

outside of the earth’s atmosphere in a jiffy after we have started, and

then rain won’t worry us. Is your stateroom all fixed up?”

 

“No, I didn’t think of that. Guess I’d better look after it.”

 

The two started together for the projectile. The stout one entered

first, and made his way through the engine room and main cabin to the

compartment off which the staterooms opened. He entered one.

 

“Here, that’s not yours,” cried Jack. “That’s where Professor Henderson

sleeps. Yours is next to mine.”

 

“That’s right; I forgot,” mumbled the other. “I must be getting absent

minded since my accident. But I’ll be all right soon. I’ll get my room

to rights, and then probably we’ll start.”

 

“I guess so,” answered Jack, but he shook his head as he gazed after

his chum. “Mark has certainly changed,” he murmured. “I wish he’d take

those bandages off, so I could get a look at his face.”

 

The last details were completed. The big Annihilator had been run out

on trucks into the yard surrounding the shed, ready to be hurled

through the air. The shop, shed and house had been locked up and given

in charge of a caretaker, who would remain on guard until our friends

returned.

 

“Are we all ready?” asked Professor Henderson, as he stood ready to

close the main entrance door and seal it hermetically.

 

“All ready, I guess,” answered Jack. The stout one had gone to his

stateroom, where he could be heard moving about.

 

“I’m ready,” announced Professor Roumann. “Say the word and I’ll start

the motor.” He was in the engine room, looking over the machinery. At

that moment there came a loud yell from the galley where Washington

White was.

 

“Heah, heah! Come back!” cried the colored man. “My Shanghai rooster is

got loose!” he yelled, and, an instant later, the fowl came sailing out

of the projectile, with Washington in full chase after him.

 

“I’ll help you catch him,” volunteered Jack, springing to the cook’s

aid, while Professor Henderson laughed, and a bandaged figure, looking

from a stateroom port, wondered at the delay in starting the

projectile.