"But I'll not desert my post again," declared the old hunter, as he looked to the loading of his gun.
"If any other crazy men get inside, they'll have to answer to me."
Work on the projectile was resumed, and for a week went on uninterruptedly. It was nearing completion, though there were many details yet to look after. Mr. Roumann was having more trouble with his Etherium motor than he anticipated.
"The atmospheric motor is all right," he declared, "and it works to perfection," which was indeed true, for in tests they made they found that the motor, the force of which was only less powerful and complicated than the secret power that was to hurl them through space, would easily send the projectile through the comparatively thin atmosphere of the earth. They did not actually move the Annihilator, since to do so would mean they would have to take it out of the shed. But they made tests and experiments with heavy objects, applying the force to them, and, by calculation, Mr. Roumann and the professor found that the force would actually send the projectile on the start of its journey.
"But there is one point about my Etherium motor that still bothers me," said the German.
"Can I help you solve it?" asked Mr. Henderson.
"No, thank you. I think I am on the right track. I will have it perfected in a few days, and then we will be off for Mars. I can scarcely wait until I get to that wonderful planet, thirty–five millions of miles away, where I hope to get possession of a most wonderful substance. Once we are on Mars—"
"'Scuse me, Mistah Roumann," interrupted Washington White, who happened to be in the machine shop at that moment, and overheard what the scientist said, "'scuse me, but did I done heah yo' promulgate de ostentatious fact dat yo' is gwine to de planet Mars?"
"That's where we're going, Wash," replied Jack, for it had been decided that the colored man could now be told of their destination.
"Yo' means dat red star what shines in de sky?"