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Mark. “There’s too much danger of

being blown up.”

 

“There won’t be, after I have it perfected. But say, won’t it be

fine when we’re shooting through space to sit here in an easy

chair and read a book and eat sandwiches?”

 

“I guess you think as much of eating as you do of reading, Jack.”

 

“Well, almost, that’s a fact. I must cut out some of my eating,

too. I’ve gained five pounds this week, because of not doing any

studying. But wait until I get to Mars. Then I’ll weigh less.”

 

“I hope Mr. Roumann lets us help run the machinery,” went on

Mark.

 

“I guess he’ll have to. He’ll need help, and I understand that

he and the professor, you and I, and Washington and Andy are the

only ones going along. He and the professor can’t run the affair

all alone, and they’ll have to have our help. Wash and Andy

won’t be much good at machinery.”

 

“That’s so. My! Think of steering a two hundred-foot projectile

through space, when we’re moving at the rate of one hundred miles

a second!”

 

“Great, isn’t it?” commented Jack.

 

“It would be a bad thing if it ever got away from us,” said Mark.

 

“Yes; or if we steered into a comet.”

 

“That’s so. We may run into one of those things—or a shooting

star.”

 

“As long as we don’t fall into the sun and get burned up we’ll be

all right,” went on Jack. “And when we get to Mars I know what

I’m going to do.”

 

“What?”

 

“Go for a sail on one of the big canals. Mars is covered with

them, astronomers say.”

 

“Maybe the Martians won’t let you.”

 

“Maybe not. I wish we could start to-morrow.”

 

“Well, we can’t. The Annihilator isn’t near done. We will be at

her for two weeks yet.”

 

The boys were busy for some time fitting up the living-room.

They were in the midst of this occupation, and were conversing

about the strange experiences in store for them, when Jack was

startled by hearing a strange voice say:

 

“Say, don’t you want some help building this airship?”

 

He looked up, to see a man standing near one of the entrances to

the projectile—an entrance that would be closed when the

Annihilator was finished. The man was a stranger, and from his

appearance Jack judged that he was a mechanic.

 

“How’d you get in here?” asked Mark, for he knew it was against

the rules for any stranger to enter the machine shop, much less

approach the projectile.

 

“I walked,” replied the man. “I saw the door open, and I heard

hammering going on in here. I knew it was a machine shop, and as

I’m a first class machinist, out of work, I thought I’d apply for

the job.”

 

“How’d you get past the doorkeeper?” inquired Jack, for he knew

that Andy Sudds was supposed to be on guard with his gun.

 

“He wasn’t at the door,” went on the man. “There was nobody

there, so I walked in. Can’t you give me a job on the airship?”

 

“How do you know it’s an airship?” asked Jack.

 

“Oh, I know. I know lots of things,” and the man winked one eye

at the lad. “I built a balloon once.”

 

“Did you?” asked Mark. He began to think perhaps the man might

be able to aid them.

 

“Sure I did. I know about airships. I’ll work for low wages,

and I’ll keep my mouth closed. Oh, I know what patents mean.

Say,” he went on in a whisper, “you’d be surprised to know where

I went in my balloon. I’ll tell you,” and he looked around as if

to make sure no one was listening.

 

“Where did you go?” asked Jack.

 

“Up to the moon,” was the surprising reply. “And, say, it’s all

a mistake about it being made of green cheese. It’s green

apples—that’s what it’s made of. I know, for I was there, and I

ate some. They gave me an awful pain in my head, too,” and the

man passed his hand across his brow. “A fearful pain,” he went

on.

 

Jack and Mark looked at each other. They did not understand the

man’s strange talk and actions.

 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” the stranger asked. “Well, if

you want a good machinist, hire me. I know all about airships

and traveling through space. Why, I once did a dance on the tail

of a comet, only the comet got mad and shook me off. I’ll show

you how I danced.”

 

He threw a somersault, lighted on his hands, and began to waltz

about in the somewhat contracted space of the living-room of the

projectile. Then he set up a loud shout as he regained his feet.

 

“That’s how!” he cried.

 

The boys were alarmed. The man was evidently crazy, or perhaps

he might be doing this for effect, in order to disarm their

suspicions, so that he could discover Mr. Roumann’s secret.

They did not know what to do.

 

“Come on, we’ll all have a dance!” cried the man. “My name is

Axtell—Fred Axtell. I used to live on the moon—tra-la-la!”

 

His loud voice attracted the attention of Mr. Henderson, who was

working at the far end of the shop. The professor ran toward the

place where the strangely acting man was, the latter having now

emerged from the ship, followed by the boys.

 

“Here we go! Off to the moon!” cried the man, and catching up a

big hammer he began to pound on the sides of the Annihilator as

if he would destroy the projectile.

CHAPTER X

WASHINGTON IS AFRAID

 

“Here! Here! Stop him! Grab that man!” cried Mr. Roumann, as

he rushed toward Axtell, who was hammering away madly.

 

Jack and Mark started for the fellow.

 

“Keep away!” cried the machinist, swinging the sledge toward the

boys. “I want to work on an airship, and I’m going to do it.

I’ll make some dents in it, and then I’ll straighten them out!

Whoop!”

 

Mr. Henderson hastened forward. He took in the situation at a

glance.

 

“That man is insane!” the professor whispered to the German

scientist. “Let me deal with him.”

 

“Do something quickly,” pleaded Mr. Roumann, “or he will damage

the projectile.”

 

“This is the way I work!” cried the insane man, and he brought

down the hammer with great force on the rounded sides of the

Annihilator. He made quite a dent in it.

 

“Stop him!” begged Mr. Ronan.

 

Mark and Jack had retreated out of reach of the big hammer, the

professor and the German were consulting together, and in the

door of the shop appeared Andy Sudds with his gun. He had gone

away for a moment, in which interval the crazy machinist had

appeared.

 

“Andy will scare him with his gun,” whispered Jack to Mark.

 

Just then Mr. Henderson called out:

 

“If you want work, I can give it to you.”

 

Axtell stopped his pounding of the projectile, laid his hammer

down, and asked in a mild voice:

 

“Can you give me work now?”

 

“Of course,” answered the professor, as if it was the most

natural thing in the world to give work to insane persons. His

calm manner and soothing words had a quieting effect on the

lunatic. The glare died out of his eyes.

 

“Come with me,” went on Mr. Henderson. “I have some work

outside.”

 

“What is it?” asked Axtell suspiciously.

 

“I want you to dig a hole so we can put this airship in it,”

whispered the professor. “Come outside.”

 

He wanted to get the man out of the machine shop, where he could

better deal with the fellow.

 

“That’s just the kind of work I want,” declared the unfortunate

person. “I love to dig holes in the ground. I once dug one

clear through to China. Get me a shovel.”

 

He seemed to have forgotten all about the projectile, and meekly

followed Mr. Henderson. The latter led him some distance from

the shop, talking soothingly to the man, and promising that he

should soon have a shovel. But there was no necessity for going

to these measures.

 

Axtell suddenly caught sight of Washington coming toward him, and

he exhibited the greatest fear.

 

“Hide me!” he exclaimed to the professor. “Hide me in the

airship! Here comes the king of the cannibal islands!” And away

he ran at top speed and disappeared in the woods behind the

Henderson place. A search was at once made, but he could not be

located.

 

Andy was rather worried lest he be blamed for not remaining on

guard, but no one thought of censuring him, as he was such a

faithful watchman and had only left the shop in answer to a call

from Washington, who thought he heard some strange animal after

his chickens.

 

“But I’ll not desert my post again,” declared the old hunter, as

he looked to the loading of his gun.

 

“If any other crazy men get inside, they’ll have to answer to

me.”

 

Work on the projectile was resumed, and for a week went on

uninterruptedly. It was nearing completion, though there were

many details yet to look after. Mr. Roumann was having more

trouble with his Etherium motor than he anticipated.

 

“The atmospheric motor is all right,” he declared, “and it works

to perfection,” which was indeed true, for in tests they made

they found that the motor, the force of which was only less

powerful and complicated than the secret power that was to hurl them

through space, would easily send the projectile through the

comparatively thin atmosphere of the earth. They did not

actually move the Annihilator, since to do so would mean they

would have to take it out of the shed. But they made tests and

experiments with heavy objects, applying the force to them, and,

by calculation, Mr. Roumann and the professor found that the

force would actually send the projectile on the start of its

journey.

 

“But there is one point about my Etherium motor that still

bothers me,” said the German.

 

“Can I help you solve it?” asked Mr. Henderson.

 

“No, thank you. I think I am on the right track. I will have it

perfected in a few days, and then we will be off for Mars. I can

scarcely wait until I get to that wonderful planet, thirty-five

millions of miles away, where I hope to get possession of a most

wonderful substance. Once we are on Mars—”

 

“‘Scuse me, Mistah Roumann,” interrupted Washington White, who

happened to be in the machine shop at that moment, and overheard

what the scientist said, “‘scuse me, but did I done heah yo’

promulgate de ostentatious fact dat yo’ is gwine to de planet

Mars?”

 

“That’s where we’re going, Wash,” replied Jack, for it had been

decided that the colored man could now be told of their

destination.

 

“Yo’ means dat red star what shines in de sky?”

 

“That’s the one, Washington.”

 

“An’ how far did yo’ say it was from heah?” was the question

directed at Mr. Henderson.

 

“Well, it’s about thirty-five millions of miles from the earth.”

 

“And is yo’ all goin’?”

 

“Yes, we expect to.”

 

“Is dis heah contraption yo’ done been buildin’?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And is I gwine, too, perfesser?”

 

“I calculated on taking you, Washington. You went north and

south with me, and down into the center of the earth. I thought

you’d like to go on this trip.”

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