"Well," thought Ben, "there is no help for it. I shall have to trust to luck to give him the slip I suppose."
Thus hoping the old sailor sallied forth with the redoubtable Don Constantio, who, for his part, was very garrulous and confided to Ben that he had sold his invention to Luther Barr for a big price, because the old millionaire needed a good dirigible in a hurry.
"But," he went on, "while I have a great ship, my main secret is in the gas. I have discovered a powder which can be easily carried and which when mixed with the proper ingredients forms the pure hydrogen gas. I make it in cylinders that will withstand a pressure of two thousand pounds. Hydrogen cylinders weigh, it is true, three hundred pounds each, they are of such enormous thickness, and are made of special steel—like a gun, but, Senor Hardtack, my powder occupies so little space that I can carry enough for several inflations in receptacles which combined do not weigh more than one hundred and fifty pounds."
Talking thus the black-browed inventor walked beside Ben, occasionally asking:
"How much further, Senor Hardtack, to your lodgings?"
"Not much further now," Ben always replied, wondering when an opportunity would present itself to escape. Suddenly one came.
As they turned a corner a small boy with a bundle of papers almost ran into them, and thrusting his papers up almost in Senor Constantio's face, shouted:
"Wuxtry, wuxtry!" with deafening lung power.
All at once he darted off, and at the same moment the inventor cried:
"My watch! he has taken my watch! While he thrust his papers in my face he stole my watch!"