"I should say so," agreed Ned.
"Bless my pillow sham!" cried Mr. Damon. "I think I can get a good night's sleep now. So they have formally accepted your giant cannon, Tom?"
"Yes. The last tests I gave them, showing how easily it could be manipulated, convinced them. It will be one of the official defense guns of the Panama Canal."
"Good! I congratulate you, my boy!" cried the odd man. "And now, bless my postage stamp, let's get back to the United States."
"Before we go," suggested Ned, "let's go take a look at that island from which Tom blew the top. It must be quite a sight—and thirty-three miles away! We can get a launch and go out."
But there was no need. That same day Alec Peterson came to Colon inquiring for Tom. His face showed a new delight.
"Why," cried Tom, "you look as though you had found your opal mine."
"I have!" exclaimed the fortune-hunter. "Or, rather, Tom, I think I have you to thank for finding it for me."
"Me find it?"
"Yes. Did you hear about the top of the island-mountain you blew to pieces?"