The aerial voyage to the southern Adirondacks was so similar in most respects to what has been described that we need not dwell upon it. The Professor did not stop on the way, and when he reached his workshop the fluid in the tank would have taken him back without halt to his starting point. He believed he could keep aloft with undiminished speed for twenty hours if not longer, but it would not answer to head eastward over the Atlantic until able to do better than that. He had set the limit at two days, for he was wise enough to give himself a fair margin. It might become necessary to reduce his speed when over mid-ocean, or some slight disarrangement of his machinery was possible, though of the latter he felt little fear.
Upon the arrival of the couple at the workshop, Bunk was pleased to do his first work for his master. He was told to run the monoplane into the hangar which stood to one side and slightly to the rear of the more important structure. He performed the task so deftly that the Professor complimented him.
“I see that you may become quite valuable to me,” said he in his sepulchral voice, after he had opened the door of the cabin and peeped in. “Sit down on those steps while I have a few words with you.”
“Yas, sir,” responded Bunk as he obeyed him.
“How much wages do you think you ought to receive, Bohunkus?”
“Bress yo’ heart, Perfesser, I doan’ want no wages for what I does for yo’; ain’t yo’ gwine to take me ’cross de Pacific Ocean?”
“Not the Pacific,—the Atlantic.”
“Dat’s what I meant; yo’s gwine to do a good deal moah fur me dan I am fur yo’.”
“I don’t wish anyone to work for me without pay; suppose I give you ten dollars a week and your keep.”