“What has he got to do with it?” demanded the Professor, in a voice that sounded like the growl of a tiger.
“He is the master of Bohunkus; if you will get his consent, the colored lad will accompany you to Africa; nobody else will object.”
“Then why did you and that fellow with you hold him back?” asked the Professor with an ominous gleam of his burning eyes.
“I have just told you the reason; we ought to have explained and I am sorry we forgot to do so. If you will sail down to Mootsport, see Mr. Hartley and persuade him to say yes, there will be no more trouble.”
“I shan’t do any such thing; I don’t care about the boy, only it made me mad to have you and the other scoundrel try to prevent my doing as I pleased.”
“We were rough,—I’ll admit it, and I beg to apologize.”
Harvey was striving his hardest to win the good-will of the lunatic. Having impressed him with the fact that he did not hold him in fear, the young aviator was striving to placate and soothe him.
“Now,” continued the caller, “every one must admit that you have made one or two of the most wonderful inventions of the century. Are you sure you can sail across the Atlantic with your machine?”
“Humph!” snorted the Professor, “you know I can; why do you ask such a question?”
“Suppose when you are well out over the ocean you run into a tempest or hurricane?”