Sudden rage convulsed Meigs. He crouched downward, his eyes ablaze and his fingers working convulsively.
"Scoundrel!" he screamed, and launched himself at the professor's throat like a tiger.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PLUTOCRATS RECONCILED.
Looking back now at that dreadful hour when the realization of our awful predicament burst upon us, I wonder that I preserved my own equilibrium.
The first shock came near to throwing me off my poise, but after that I gained the whip hand of my wits by swift and sure degrees.
I verily believe the professor would have been strangled by Meigs, aided and abetted by Popham and Markham, had I not rushed to his rescue. I had muscles of iron, and after I had caught Meigs by the nape of the neck and thrown him backward, I planted myself between Quinn and his foes.
"Leave the professor alone," said I. "You men show mighty poor judgment, it strikes me, in trying to lay violent hands on him."
"He deserves death," babbled Meigs. "He had no business shooting us into space in this summary manner."
Fear and anger had made Meigs childish. He measured our dilemma in terms so common a smile came to my lips.