CHAPTER XXIII.
MILO MORGAN’S WATERLOO.
THE three caught sight of the helicopter in the same instant. The strange machine was rushing through the air like a colossal eagle. Professor Morgan had seen the group while some distance away and headed for it, sailing at a height of less than two hundred feet and rapidly descending. Instead of approaching in a direct line, he made a sweeping circle and came down in the ordinary way by volplaning instead of making use of his uplifter.
While these manœuvres were going on Dick Hamilton stepped across to his brother and reached out his hand.
“Let me have the rifle, Harv; it looks as if we’re going to have lively times.”
“Gee!” gasped the terrified Bunk; “yo’ ain’t gwine to shoot him!”
“That depends; if you try any tantrums I may have to plug you first. Understand, Bunk, that you are to stand back and not open your mouth or do a thing till I give you permission.”
“Yas, sir.”
Harvey would have made protest, for he was filled with shuddering dread, but he realized that for the present he stood in the same situation as Bunk. The big brother had stepped to the front and taken charge of affairs. Moreover, he never forgot the truth that in dealing with an insane person you must first impress him with the fact that you do not hold him in the slightest fear. While as a rule it is not wise to dispute or argue or try to turn him aside from his purpose by force, occasions may arise like the present when no other course is possible.
Professor Morgan must have read the meaning of the sight that brought him to the spot. He recognized Harvey before he stepped out of his machine and his rage flamed up against him. Ignoring the other two, he strode toward the young aviator with clenched fists and with murder in his blazing eyes. In a thunderous bass he demanded:
“What business have you here? I’ll teach you—”