“Yas, sir,” responded the negro lad, taking a step in the direction of the monoplane, only to find that Dick Hamilton was as alert as before.
“Back with you! If you want to save what little brains you have don’t take another step in that direction.”
Poor Bunk halted and stared in wretched perplexity at the young man. Could Professor Morgan at that moment have caught his eye, he would have controlled him absolutely through that mysterious hypnotic power with which nature had endowed him. But it was Dick who now held him enchained.
“Bunk, start for the lake and start a-running. When you get there, wait for us. GO!”
The lad broke into a headlong dash, shouting at the top of his voice:
“Murder! fire! robbers! thieves! sabe me!”
And he kept it up until he crashed out of sight of the three who remained behind. By a tremendous effort, Dick Hamilton maintained his sternness of expression. As for Harvey, he did not try to restrain his silent laughter. It was the most comical incident he had seen in many a day. Professor Morgan glared and was mute. He seemed utterly at a loss and unable to grasp the situation.
“My dear Professor,” said Dick addressing him, “don’t you think it is about time you ended this call? We are growing a little weary of you.”
“Are you my master?” asked the lunatic in his sepulchral voice.
“It looks that way just now; if you have any doubt let’s test it.”