“I prefer that it should not be known for the present that you are with me; I’ll walk to the hotel and I promise you not to keep you waiting long.”
A few minutes later the Professor took his departure and did as he had agreed.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE WORKSHOP.
THAT night the Professor forgot the existence of Bohunkus Johnson and indeed of everything in the world except the absorbing task before him. He threw his workshop into one dazzling, overwhelming blaze and began labor at once. The structure of his machine was perfected: all that remained was to force nature to yield her secret by which the fuel of the aeroplane could be held effective for two days of twenty-four hours each. He was sure he was on the verge of the marvelous discovery.
Before delving into his fascinating work he instructed Bunk as to how he should dispose of himself. The boy had eaten a bountiful meal and though the hour was early was drowsy.
“You can hear the ripple of the small stream at the rear of the hangar; there you can drink or bathe night or morning; here are your sleeping quarters.”
He pointed to the rear of the shop where lay a plank covered with a single blanket. It was the custom of the Professor to stretch himself upon this when he felt the need of rest, which it may be said was infrequently. He did not expect to sleep on this night, but if compelled to do so, would snatch brief repose by half reclining in a rustic chair which stood back of the door at the front. By and by, Bunk’s head began to nod, and bidding the Professor good night he made his way uncertainly to his couch. Just then the man’s foot was on the treadle and he was pressing some kind of instrument against the whizzing face of a tiny stone wheel. He made no response to the salutation of his assistant and probably did not hear him.
Bunk lay on his side so as to watch the aviator at his work. He saw him flit from one side of the shop to the other and mix several kinds of liquid, one of which gave out so pungent an odor that the youth sneezed, but without attracting the attention of the experimenter. Then followed a series of vivid flashes in which all the colors of the spectrum blinded the awed spectator. The man filed, cut, scraped, compounded, and did no end of things until Bunk grew weary and glided into dreamland.