“When you wrote that letter to Harv and told him you were in this part of the country, you could have asked Mr. Hartley’s consent.”
“What’s dat?” demanded Bunk; “I didn’t tell yo’ nuffin; what yo’ talkin’ ’bout?”
Harvey interposed just then and showed the thick-witted lad how his second letter gave the clue they needed, as proof of which the young man was here on the ground, with his aeroplane but a few miles away. When the absurd truth penetrated Bunk’s head his self-disgust was amusing.
“Gee! I neber thunk ob dat; warn’t I a big fool?”
“You have never been anything else,” replied Dick; “when you get back home I shall advise Mr. Hartley to tie a rope round your leg and fasten the other end to a fence post; you are not fit to be trusted alone.”
Bunk did not resent these disrespectful allusions, but it galled him sorely to see his life ambition snatched from him.
“I doan’ see why yo’ try to stop me.”
“We’re not trying, Bohunkus,—we’re doing it,” replied Dick with a meaning grin; “if you have any doubt remaining I shall be glad to remove it.”
Bunk was in a torturing dilemma. He saw the one enrapturing dream of his life, just on the verge of fulfillment, about to be dissipated like a wreath of vapor. If Professor Morgan had kept his promise and come to this meeting place at the usual hour, they would now be on their way to the “land of hope.” And, as we know, he would have arrived on time but for his change of plan which led him to stock up at the little hotel in Dawson instead of doing so at another stage of the trip.
On the other hand a lion stood in the path in the person of Dick Hamilton, who left no doubt of his purpose of checking the mad scheme before the first real step could be taken. Bunk was well enough acquainted with the young man to know he was in earnest and would carry out every threat he had made. The lad began to wheedle. In a whimpering voice he asked: