“What do you want it for, then?” asked his father in surprise.
“Well, I believe in always looking ahead, for very often it’s the unexpected that happens,” rejoined Frank. “Our engine now can turn up 1200 revolutions a minute. I believe that with the use of picric acid in the gasolene we could give her as much additional power as 1500 revolutions a minute.”
“Well?” inquired his father expectantly.
“That being so,” went on Frank, “the Golden Eagle would have just that much more lifting power, the stability of an airship depending upon the speed at which she travels through the atmosphere. So you see,” he concluded with a smile, “that some day we might want to carry an extra passenger and in that case a gallon of picric acid would come in mighty handy.”
After a little more argument Frank won his point, and that night the boys stored aboard the Golden Eagle—after first carefully seeing that it was not in a position where it was likely to prove dangerous—a stone carboy of the explosive acid. They had hardly completed the work when the sound of wheels was heard on the drive, and when they reentered the house they found that Don Pachecho and his beautiful daughter were the visitors.
Señora Ruiz showed plain evidences of her suffering over the news of her husband’s death. The boys, who had heard of the disastrous battle from their father, avoided all reference of course to the revolution, but it was Don Pachecho himself who brought the subject up.
“Have you heard the latest news of the revolution. Señor?” he asked, after the introductions were over, and Billy had whispered to Harry what a fine photograph of “an old Spanish don” Mr. Chester’s neighbor would make.
Mr. Chester shook his head. Indeed, since a couple of days before the man who carried messages and letters between the hacienda and Greytown, had reported that Zelaya’s forces had cut the telegraph wires and taken complete charge of the cables, the party at the plantation had heard nothing of the movements of either the insurgents or the troops of the government.
“I learned from a party of rubber-cutters who passed the plantation to-day,” went on Don Pachecho, “that Estrada’s troops have suffered a further defeat and that Zelaya’s men, under General Rogero, crazed with their victories are burning and destroying property and committing all sorts of outrages everywhere.”
“Where was this last defeat?” asked Mr. Chester, seriously.