“Gun-cotton!” echoed Ned. “Then Tom might have——”
“Blown us all to kingdom come, and the boat, too,” declared the inventor, who had now recovered his composure, though his face was still pale. It was old Tom and the boys who were shaky now.
“Good gracious!” quavered Ned, not able to repress a shudder as he realized their narrow escape. “But why don’t you put up some sign,—” he asked, “something to warn any stranger of the dangerous contents of the shed?”
For answer Lockyer swung the open door closed, and they now saw clearly enough that, emblazoned in big white letters on its outside, was the inscription:
“Gun-cotton! Danger! Persons entering this shed will wear felt-soled shoes.”
“I’m going to find out who left that door open,” said the inventor grimly; “but in any event, smoking is forbidden on these premises. It’s too dangerous.”
“A good order, too,” assented Ned. But old Tom’s face bore a lugubrious look.
“It’s all right for you who don’t smoke and can’t be persuaded to, shipmates,” he muttered so that the inventor would not hear, “but me and my old pipe’s bin messmates fer a long time, an’ I hate to lose it.”
“Cheer up. You can easily find it outside,” comforted Herc; “but you’ll have to confine your smoking to the evenings after this.”
“Reckon that’s so,” assented Tom, immensely cheered at the thought that his pipe was not irrevocably lost.