“In that case my rivals know of my troubles,” he said, and then, overmastering his depression, he resumed, in a more cheerful tone, “but Pythias Peregrine will fight—yes, sir—to the last ditch—they shan’t steal my invention if I can help it.—They are rich and powerful, yes—but I’ll give them a battle.”
“That’s the way to talk, sir,” said Jack, “and if we can help you win out, we’ll do it. As soon as your machine can move you can take out a patent on it, and then you can laugh at that rascally gang.”
The inventor’s face glowed. He clasped the hands of Jack and Tom impulsively.
“Don’t know what I’d have done if it hadn’t been for you,” he exclaimed; “if only you can make my machine go I will be under obligations to you that I can never repay.”
“Never mind about thanking us till we have accomplished what we hope to do,” laughed Jack, in reply; “and now I think that we had better make arrangements to run over to Boston to-morrow. I’ll spend this afternoon making out a list of the parts I shall need. I’m afraid that they will be quite expensive.”
“I don’t mind a bit about the expense,” declared the inventor eagerly, “if only you can make my machine work.”
The remainder of that afternoon was spent by the two lads looking over Mr. Peregrine’s machine and making careful calculations. No more was seen of the inventor’s enemies, and the night passed without incident, although one of Mr. Peregrine’s employees was posted as a night watchman, and the burglar alarm connecting with the shed that housed the invention was reenforced by additional wiring.
Bright and early the next morning they set about making ready for their trip to Boston. It was a run of seventy-five miles and the roads were not over good, so that they were anxious to get as early a start as possible.
While they were going over the Flying Road Racer, “grooming” the machine, as Jack called it, Mr. Peregrine came up to them.