"Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!" cried Tom to the man, motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the governor if he could help it.
Now it was a curious thing, but the more that wagoner and his helpers seemed to try to hurry, and pour the oil from the cans into the tank-opening of the airship, the slower they worked. They got in each others' way, dropped some cans, spilled others, and in general made such poor work at it that Tom saw there was something in the wind.
"Ned!" he exclaimed, "they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France. It's the same sort of a delay game."
"Right, Tom! I'm with you."
"And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up any minute!" added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a moment later.
Backward leaped the throng, as though a bomb bad been thrown into their midst, even the supposed officers joining in the retreat. The oil wagon was now easy of access, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon to aid them, hastened toward it. Then the work of filling the tanks went on in something like good old, United States fashion.
The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who had requested the delay, came riding up furiously.
"Hold! Hold! If you please!" he cried. "The governor has come. He wants to see you."
"Too late!" answered Tom. "Give him our best regards and ask him to come to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll behave on the kerosene."
"You must remain!" angrily cried the officer.