In what was little less than complete enthusiasm, the curious guest sprang speechless from the box, and took a few quick steps as if to arrange his thoughts.
“Don’t think that’s all,” exclaimed the hardly less enthusiastic Norman as he vaulted from the novel pilot-cage. “I guess you see what we’re driving at and why we called our machine Gitchie Manitou. You know that’s Cree for—”
“I know,” broke in the stranger; “Injun for ‘Storm God’!”
“I thought it was ‘God of the Winds,’” exclaimed Roy. “But names don’t count. If they did, we should have called it ‘The Snow King,’ because that’s where it ought to shine. See these landing wheels?” he urged. “Well, they’re only put on for use around here. If this machine ever gets where it belongs it’s going to have runners like a sled, where these wheels are. And I’ve got a theory that these are all it needs to make a trip where dogs and sleds can’t travel.”
The two boys, eager to continue their half-told description, paused for a moment. The stranger, his hat in his hand, seemed to be drinking in the story he had just heard, with an interest so profound that the puzzled boys could not grasp it.
“Young men,” said the man at last, “I’m mighty glad to hear all this. I wish you’d let me do some talking myself for a few moments. Will you let me tell you something about myself? It won’t take long. I hope,” and he motioned the two boys to the seats on the box, “when I’m through, it will interest you.” That it did, the next chapter will amply prove.