“We shall have a famous balloon!” he exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t it be as good as any you ever made?” Will asked mildly.
“Why, yes, of course; why shouldn’t it. I don’t see,” Henry answered, not at all disconcerted.
“Will, would you like to go with me to the Demon’s Cave some day?” he asked abruptly.
“I never heard of the ‘Demon’s Cave.’ Where is it, and what is the Demon?”
“Then I can tell you all about it while we work. The ‘demon,’ Will, isn’t a ‘what’ but a ‘who;’ and a terrible sort of a fellow he is. Everybody around these parts knows all about him; some foolish people are afraid of him, some even pretend that he is a ghost! Some people that ought to know better say he’s an escaped criminal; but,” in a positive tone, “my father always knows what he is talking about, and he says the poor fellow is more or less crazy. He lives in a queer sort of a cave, or hovel, or hole, in a bank of earth. I’ve heard lots of the boys say that there are several rooms inside; but they don’t know; how should they?”
“Did you ever see him?” Will asked eagerly.
“I never got a good look at him, because he stays denned up like a bear in winter; but one night, a long time ago, some of us boys went howling and yelling around his cave, and he came out at us and chased us like a hungry wolf. The boys ran away like velocipedes, and I—I ran too. The demon was as fierce as a humbugged pirate [Henry was fond of comparison], and he caught one boy, and mauled him like a Spanish blood-hound. That was the only time I ever saw the demon; but that was enough for me.”
Will became interested in the man, and he inquired: “What did he look like?”
“Look! How can I tell? I was only a little boy then, or I shouldn’t have ran away. Well, let me think. Will,” suddenly, “did you ever see a correct picture of Satan?”