“What’s he after in there?” asked the inventor in a sharp tone, staring back toward the shed into which Tom had dived.
“He’s lighting his pipe,” exclaimed Ned, craning his neck. “He——”
“WHAT!” roared the inventor in a shrill voice. His eyes seemed to distend and a look of alarm came over his face.
Before the Dreadnought Boys knew what was the matter he was off like a bullet from a rifle, crossing the yard in long jumps. In a few bounds he gained the shed, and, rushing into it, made straight for old Tom.
“Look! Look out there!” he exclaimed, pointing through the door in the boys’ direction.
Old Tom, somewhat astonished at the other’s vehemence, obediently glanced in the direction indicated. As he did so, Lockyer’s long fingers closed over the mariner’s and he seized the match from them and vigorously stamped it out. Then, with a quick movement, he caught the astonished tar by the scruff of the neck and the slack of his trousers, and, with a strength that the boys had never guessed he possessed, propelled that astounded mariner through the door and halfway across the yard. Arrived at a panting standstill, Mr. Lockyer seized Tom’s pipe from his mouth, and without a word of explanation chucked it clear over the high board fence and out of the place.
“Well! What the——” began old Tom; but the habit of discipline was strong upon him, and, muffling his resentment, he turned upon Mr. Lockyer. “Well, sir,” he began, “I don’t take that very kindly. You might hev warned me and——”
“Warned you!” shouted the inventor. “Great heaven, man, it might have been too late. Do you know what is stored inside that place where you lit the match?”
Tom shook his head, while the boys leaned eagerly forward.
“Gun-cotton!” was the startling rejoinder.