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dreamed of.”

 

“That’ll be just the stuff for you, Andy,” cried Jack.

 

“Well, bring on your monsters,” said the old hunter, as he walked

toward the little lake, where wild ducks abounded. “I’ll try and

shoot some for you.”

 

“Andy takes everything as a matter of course,” went on Jack. “No

sort of animal seems to frighten him. If he should happen to

meet a dinotherium, such as used to live ages ago, he’d shoot it

first, and wonder about it afterward.”

 

“And we, are likely to meet with stranger beasts than

dinotheriums on Mars,” said Mr. Roumann.

 

“What am dat dinotherium?” asked Washington, entering the room at

that moment and catching the word.

 

“Washington wants to work that into his conversation!” exclaimed

Jack with a laugh. “But you want to be careful, Wash.”

 

“Why so, Massa Jack?”

 

“Because the dinotheriurn was a fearful beast. It was about

twenty feet long, lived in the water, and ate all sorts of

weeds.”

 

“How long you say he was?”

 

“About twenty feet.”

 

“He must eat a pow’ful sight ob weeds, den. Wish I had one.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Cause mah garden am jest oberrun wid weeds. If I had one ob dem

dinnasorriouses—”

 

“Dinotheriums,” corrected Jack.

 

“Dat’s what I said,” observed Washington with dignity. “If I had

one ob dem, I wouldn’t hab t’ weed mah garden. Where am one to

be possessed ob, Massa Jack?”

 

“I guess you were born a few million years too late,” was the

lad’s answer. “They lived a few centuries before the flood.”

 

“Good land!” exclaimed Washington, his eyes opening wide.

“Before Noah built de ark?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Landy gracious! Dat animai’d be so old by dis time dat he

couldn’t chew de weeds after he pulled’em. Guess I’ll hab t’do

mah own weedin’.”

 

“I reckon you will,” added Mark.

 

They went back to the machine shop, and for the next week were

very busy over the Annihilator. It was beginning to assume

shape, and some of the machinery was installed.

 

One evening, after a hard day’s work, when they ‘were all seated

in the big living-room of Professor Henderson’s home, discussing

the progress they were making, Jack suddenly held up his hand for

silence.

 

“What’s the matter?”’ asked Mark.

 

“I thought I heard somebody walking around the house,” was the

stout lad’s answer.

 

“Maybe it’s Washington,” suggested the professor. “He generally

goes out to see if his chickens are shut up. He is very proud of

his flock of hens, and seems to hate to kill any for pot-pie.”

 

They all listened. Plainly there was some one or some animal

moving about under the windows of the living-room.

 

“That doesn’t sound like Washington,” said Mr. Roumann.

 

Just then the colored man, who had been upstairs, attending to

some of the housework (for he was the only servant the professor

kept), came down.

 

“Were you just outside, Washington?” asked Mr. Henderson.

 

“No, sah. I’se been upstairs, makin’ beds.”

 

“There it is again!” cried Jack suddenly.

 

The footsteps sounded more plainly, and one of the window

shutters rattled.

 

“Dat’s somebody after mah chickens!” exclaimed the colored man.

“I’se gwine t’ git him, too!”

 

He started for the door, but the professor held him back.

 

“Let Andy go,” he said. “He will make less noise than any of

us.”

 

He looked at the old hunter and nodded. Andy understood, and,

taking his gun from a corner, slipped out of a side door, making

no more noise than a cat.

 

The others, left in the living-room, waited in silence. They

could hear the stealthy footsteps, which, however, seemed now to

be moving away.

 

“I wonder who or what it can be?” murmured the professor. “This

is the second time some one has been sneaking around here. I

don’t like it.”

 

“It does look suspicious,” admitted Jack. “Do you suppose the

man you spoke of, Mr. Roumann, who you thought might try to

discover your secret, has traced you here, and is endeavoring to

steal it?”

 

“No, I hardly think so. I took good care to conceal my

movements, and not even my closest friends know that I am here

with Professor Henderson, making a projectile, the trip of which

will astonish the world. No, I think this must be some other

person.”

 

“It’s a pusson after mah chickens!” insisted Washington. “If

yo’ll allow me, perfesser, t’ project mahself inter de promixity

of his inner consciousness—”

 

“No, you just stay here,” decided Mr. Henderson. “You might get

into trouble if you went out and tried conclusions with a thicken

thief, which I suppose is what you are trying to say you want to

do.”

 

“Dat’s what I did say, perfesser.”

 

They could no longer hear the footsteps, but the silence of the

night was suddenly broken by the report of Andy’s gun.

 

“There! He’s shot at him!” cried Jack.

 

“I hope he disabled dat chicken stealer!” yelled the colored man.

“Anybody what’ll steal chickens—”

 

“Hush!” commanded Mr. Henderson.

 

Another shot rang out, and then the sound of footsteps could be

heard.

 

“He’s running past here,” called Jack, hurrying to the door.

 

He caught sight of a dark figure rushing past, and was about to

follow, but the outline was immediately lost in the darkness, and

Jack that it would be a useless move. Andy came up.

 

“Did you hit him?” cried Jack

 

“No. I only fired over his head,” replied the old hunter.

 

“Who was it?”

 

“I don’t know, but it was some man prowling around, and for no

good purpose, I take it.”

 

“Did he steal any ob my chickens?” asked Washington.

 

“No; he wasn’t near the coop.”

 

“I guess it was only a tramp,” said Mr. Henderson.

 

“I hope he doesn’t go near the machine shop,” added Mr. Roumann.

“Still, if he did, the two machinists sleeping there would hear

him.”

 

They returned to the room, and Andy stood his gun in a corner.

The weapon was seldom far from him.

 

“What was he doing when you saw him?” asked Mr. Henderson.

 

“Just sneaking along the window here as if listening.”

 

“Maybe he was trying to hear what we were talking about,”

suggested Jack.

 

“Or trying to discover my secret,” added Mr. Roumann quickly.

“Fortunately I never talk about the secret of the power. But I

shall be anxious about the machine shop.”

 

“Suppose we go out and take a look around it,” proposed Mark.

“Ned and Sam will know if any intruder has been sneaking around

there.”

 

They all went out where the Annihilator was in process of

building, but the machinists said they had not been disturbed,

and they were sure no one had stolen anything.

 

There was no further disturbance that night, but when Mr. Roumann

paid an early visit to the machine shop the next morning, he

uttered a cry of surprise.

 

“What is it?” asked Jack, who accompanied him.

 

“The plates—the plates of the Etherium motor!” cried the

scientist. “They have been stolen!”

CHAPTER IX

A CRAZY MACHINIST

 

For a moment Jack stared at Mr. Roumann. He did not appreciate

the seriousness of the announcement. The scientist was hurrying

here and there, looking under benches and on tables for missing

plates.

 

“Do you mean the plates that make the motor go?” asked Jack.

 

“No, not those, but the plates from which the mysterious force is

projected into space—the plates that give the forward motion to

the projectile. They have been stolen. They were taken last

night, and the man Andy fired at stole them!”

 

“Will that prevent us from making the trip?”

 

“No. I have duplicate plates.”

 

“Then little harm is done.”

 

“No particular harm is done to the projectile, but I am afraid

that, with the plates in his possession, the man may discover the

secret of the power that I use. Oh, I should have locked them

up, but I thought they would be safe.”

 

“What has happened?” asked Mr. Henderson, entering the machine

shop at that moment. The scientist told him, and expressed his

fear.

 

“Do you really think there is any danger that the man, whoever he

was, will learn how to use the plates?” inquired the professor.

 

“Perhaps, and then, again, perhaps not. I think it will be very

difficult for him to work out the secret of the power from the

plates, for they are only a small part of the mechanism. Still,

he may do so. I am convinced now that this man is either the

same one of whom I stand in fear, or he is some one hired by him

to steal my secret.”

 

“Then we had better notify the police,” suggested Mark.

 

“No, that would never do,” answered Mr. Roumann. “I would have

to describe the plates, in order to have the authorities identify

them in the possession of the thief, and I do not care to do

that. No; the best plan will be to hasten work or the Annihilator,

and start for Mars before the thief can gain any advantage from the

plates. If he should succeed in discovering from the plate how to

make the power that is discharged in wireless currents, it will take

him a long time, and we can be away before then. Let us hasten our

work and start for Mars.”

 

“You say you have duplicates of the plates?” asked Jack.

 

“Yes. I was afraid lest something happen to one set, so I made

three. Well, it will do no good to worry, but I wish I had the

plates back.”

 

“I don’t see how he got them,” observed Mark. “There doesn’t

seem to be anything broken, to indicate how the thief got in, and

he certainly didn’t touch Professor Henderson’s live wire.”

 

Not a window or a door had been forced, and the two machinists,

who slept in the shop, declared they had heard no suspicious

sounds during the night. It was a mysterious theft, and there

seemed to be no means of solving it.

 

At Mr. Roumann’s suggestion they all increased their hours of

work on the Annihilator. They wanted to have it finished ahead

of the time set, and it seemed that this would be done.

 

Day after day, and far into the night, they labored. Bit by bit

the machinery was installed, the supplies were gathered together,

the great water tanks were built, to provide a supply of the

fluid in case of any accident to the distilling apparatus. The

Etherium motor was almost finished, and the other, motor, which

was to drive the Annihilator through the earth’s atmosphere, was

nearly ready to install. The steering apparatus necessitated

considerable labor, and when it was finished Amos Henderson

declared they had made a mistake, and would have to build it all

over again.

 

This lost them a week, and time was precious, as there was no

telling what the thief would do with the stolen plates.

 

“I tell you what, but we’re going to have a better ship than any

of the others we built,” remarked Jack one day, as he and Mark

were putting the finishing touches to the living-room.

 

“This isn’t a ship,” said Mark. “It’s a projectile.”

 

“I guess I can call it a ship if I want to,” was the retort.

“It’s going to sail through the air, and it’s an airship, of

course. Wait until you see the one I’m going to build when I get

that new gas invented.”

 

“I’ll not go with you,” said

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