"Regular custom," the fat little gentleman told him. "Travelled a lot, don't you know, and have learned how to keep healthy. Come, tell me all about the vessel."
Yes, it tickled the vanity of the magnate immensely to find himself so popular. The guineas which he had distributed amongst the crew caused him to be saluted constantly, a fact on which he preened himself. And now even the youngsters had taken a fancy to him. If Dick were not at his elbow, Alec was there, listening respectfully to his words, pointing out details, laughing uproariously at his stories. But Carl Reitberg did not know that one and all were watching. He never suspected that, never suspected that there were those on board by whom he himself was suspected.
"Fine," he told himself in the privacy of his cabin. "Fine—couldn't be better. I'm getting bosom pal all round. Wait till I open that box and show the contents to 'em."
He went across to it and inspected the seals. Yes, they were intact, a huge blob of wax at both ends indented deeply with the vulgar seal which hung upon his own massive frame, from a chain capable almost of holding the airship.
Meanwhile the great airship ploughed her easy path through the limitless leagues of the atmosphere, hardly even trembling as her powerful screw pushed her forward, never wavering in her course, save when the master hand of her inventor or the hand of the watchful steersman willed that she should swerve to one side or the other. There were times, too, when Dick or Alec would take post in the engine-room, and there stand at the levers which controlled the movements of this giant vessel. Never once did the gallant midshipman lose his admiration for this work of art, this massive ship, so huge, so stable, and so strong, and yet so extremely frail in appearance. Never did he cease to wonder at that magnificent vista of almost transparent girders and beams and rods ranging overhead, whenever he cared to crane his neck and stare upward. Nor yet had he ceased to grin and find abundant amusement in the figures of his fellow passengers.
"It's like a peepshow all the time," he told Alec one day with an expansive grin. "One looks upward, as if through a window, and there are the people we know, walking overhead, strutting backwards and forwards for all the world as if they were flies. And one gets to know 'em by the size of their boots, and—er—by other signs. For instance——"
"There's Mr. Andrew," said Alec.
"Sure enough—number one size boots, dapper, very."
"Military walk, smart and alert. White moustache to be seen also, but coloured yellow by the celludine through which one sees him. Then there's the Major."