MR. "L. B.'s" DIRIGIBLE
The next morning Ben Stubbs arrived in Boston, and waiting till
evening made his way to No. 46 Charlton Street. During the day he had
had his whiskers shaved off which entirely altered his appearance.
The house bearing the number he sought was a five-story structure of
gray stone, and had evidently once been a home of wealth; but the
manufacturing district had long since encroached on the region and it
now was the only residence remaining in the midst of monotonous blocks
of houses of industry. In fact, at dusk--the time at which Ben Stubbs
paid his first visit to it--the neighborhood was practically deserted,
as the factory hands who worked there during the day had all gone home
and they lived in another part of the city.
Ben "took his bearings," as he would have termed it, before he mounted
the flight of steps leading to the front door of the house. He noticed
that the windows were all shuttered, and to the casual observer it
would have seemed that the house was unoccupied. The sailor's sharp
eye, however, noticed that a cloud of smoke was proceeding from a
chimney and that numerous electric wires were strung from the street
poles into the house.
As he stood there gazing at it an old watchman, who had been sitting
in a shanty in front of one of the factories, approached him.
"A gloomy-looking place that, eh?" said the garrulous old man,
addressing Ben.
"Ay, ay, shipmate, you may well say that," was the reply, "a
melancholer looking craft I never see. Do you know anything about the
folks as lives there?"
"Very little," replied the old man in his quavering tones, "but that
little I don't like. I've seen wagons drive up there with big carboys
of acid on 'em, and sometimes in the night, when it's all still, I
hear a great noise of hammering and strange lights gleam through the
chinks of the shutters--ah, there's something queer about it I can
tell you. All's not right in that house."
"Hum," said Ben, for lack of anything better to say.
"And for the last week," went on the old man, "things has been queerer
than ever. I don't like it, I tell you, when at midnight you see a
great dark thing come flying off the roof with a gleaming eye on it
and a buzzing voice like a big fly. I leave it to you if that ain't
enough to scare any Christian, let alone an old man watching a factory
in this lonesome part of town."
Ben agreed; but to tell the truth, his attention had been distracted
by the old man's description of the night-terror he had seen. In the
old sailor's mind there was little doubt that the object that had so
scared the old watchman was the dirigible that Luther Barr had
purchased and which the crafty old millionaire was trying out by night
so as to avoid attracting any attention.
"Well," said Ben lightly, "I've got a little business in that there
house, shipmate, and if so be as I finds out anything about what kind
of folks they are, I'll let you know."
"Thank you," rejoined the old watchman earnestly, "I'm getting an old
man to have such scares thrown into me--it's really too bad."
Ben lightly ran up the steps, having nodded farewell to the old
watchman, and the next minute pressed the electric bell. Somewhere in
the far interior of the gloomy mansion he could hear the tinkle of the
answering summons. The sailor, as he waited for the door to open on he
knew not what, reached back with his weather-beaten hand to his hip
pocket. He nodded with satisfaction as his fingers encountered the
butt of a revolver of heavy caliber.
"All right, old bark-and-bite," muttered Ben to himself, "I feel
better now we've shaken hands."
At that moment there came a great clanking from inside the door, as if
heavy bolts and chains were being removed, and the next instant the
portal swung open and Ben found himself face to face with a thickset
man, who seemed, by his complexion and general appearance, to be of
Spanish origin. His heavy eyebrows and thin, cruel lips gave him a
singularly sinister appearance.
"What do you wish?" he demanded of Ben, with a foreign accent that
agreed with his general makeup.
"Is Mr. L. B. at home?" inquired Ben, "'cos if he is, I want to see
him particular. You see, I'm in need of a job and--"
"Oh" said the other, with what seemed to be relief in his tones, "you
come in answer to the advertisement. Come in. I am glad you have
called. We were sadly in need of a hand, and you seem stout and strong
enough for any work we may call on you to do."
"That's as it may be," cautiously replied Ben. "I ain't delicate
exactly, but I'd like to know just what my dooties are to be, afore I
signs on for this cruise."
By this time the man with the heavy eyebrows had ushered Ben into a
parlor furnished with what had once been great splendor; but now the
hangings were faded, the furniture warped and aged and over all hung a
musty aroma as if the place had been closed for ages.
"Sit down," ordered Ben's guide, "now then, first, where do you come
from?"
"Right here in Boston," rejoined Ben, "that is, when I'm at home; but
Hank Hardtack don't get a shore cruise very often. I follow the sea,
guv'ner, from year's end to year's end mostly; but tiring of the
foc'sle I thought I'd like a land job for a spell, and seeing your
'ad' in a New York paper, I happened to get a hold of, I made bold to
call."
"What did you say your name was?" inquired the other.
"Hardtack--Mr. Hank Hardtack, sometimes called 'Skilly,'" said the
unblushing Ben. "I'm a homely craft, but seaworthy, guv'ner."
"So I see," said the other, with a slight smile. "Well, Mr. Luther
Barr, who is L. B., is not at home now. In fact, he is in New York;
but I venture to say that you will suit him down to the ground."
Ben could scarcely suppress a grin of delight at the mention of old
Barr's name. He was then on the right track. How lucky that the crafty
old wolf was in New York, he thought.
"As for your duties," went on the other, "they will be novel to you. I
do not suppose you are at all acquainted with air-craft?"
Ben shook his head, inwardly thinking, "If you knew what I know, my
hearty."
"Well, this job is to help run a dirigible balloon," went on the
other. "We advertised for a sailor so that we would be sure of getting
a man who would not lose his head at a height and who would be an all
round handy man. We have an engineer and a pilot and Mr. Barnes and
myself at present complete the crew. If you will follow me I will show
you the vessel."
Hardly able to conceal his satisfaction, Ben, with all the
indifference he could assume, replied that he would be very glad to
see the air-ship, and followed his guide to the roof of the house. The
factories about them were mostly two- and three-story structures, so
that the roof of the deserted mansion formed a fine workshop for those
who did not want their movements spied upon or overlooked.
Housed under a protecting shed of canvas, stretched in a wooden
framework, was a large dirigible balloon, its partially filled bag of
yellow silk wrinkled and lopsided under its network of stout cord.
Suspended below the bag was a framework, in the center of which was
built a pilot house with a short "deckhouse," so to speak, extended
astern of it. A runway extended fore and aft on the platform and was
railed, clearly indicating its purpose as a sort of promenade deck, or
perhaps a navigating bridge.
Ben's guide beckoned to the amazed adventurer to follow, and led the
way through a small door, kept closed with a powerful spring, into
what seemed to be the engine-room of the craft.
"A hundred horsepower here," said the black-browed man, touching the
glittering cylinder tops of the gasolene engine. "The tanks are
carried below and have a large capacity. We have a cruising radius of
more than fifteen hundred miles on one filling."
Ben nodded and his guide, after indicating the various gauges, height
and speed indicators and other instruments in the engine-room, led the
way through another spring-closed door into a comfortably fitted up
main cabin. Touching a switch he flooded the cabin with a soft light
that glowed from a ground glass shade affixed to the engine-room
bulkhead. The place was decorated in white and gold, and divans,
covered with crimson velvet cushions, extended along each side of the
chamber. In the center was a swinging table, and above it, in neat
racks, were numerous charts and mathematical instruments, each in its
own place. Six large portholes, three on a side, admitted daylight
when the ship was out of the shed, and there was a window of plate
glass in the floor, through which occupants of the cabin could gaze
down to the landscape below if so inclined. Small staterooms opened
off it.
The next part of the ship to be visited was the pilot-house, which was
reached by a short flight of steps from the main cabin. In this part
of Luther Barr's dirigible were placed the steering wheel, engine
controls and wind and weather gauges. Large portholes, that could be
opened if required, gave a view out on every side, and through two
affixed at the rear of the pilot-house, which was raised about three
feet above the cabin roof, it was possible to command a view of the
stern of the ship. From the pilot-house, doors opened on to the
navigating deck. Ben's attention was caught by an object shrouded in
heavy tarpaulin on the deck immediately forward of the pilot-house.
"A rapid-firing gun," explained his guide, "you see we are going on a
cruise that may be dangerous and so we are going armed. In the cabin,
beneath the divans, are lockers in which ammunition and rifles are
kept."
"Well, shipmate, I don't want to go on no cruise that threatens
danger," cried Ben, hoping in this way to elicit something as to the
nature of Barr's plans, but he was unsuccessful. The other merely
shrugged his shoulders and replied:
"I did not say there WAS danger. There is none in fact--to us that is,
but--"
He paused and checked himself as if he realized he was saying too
much, nor could Ben elicit anything more from him.
"Well, you've got a good-looking ship here," was Ben's next remark,
"but are you sure she can fly?"
"Fly!" indignantly cried the other, "like a seagull, man. We have
tested her several nights from this roof. She is as safe as a street
car. This wonderful craft, senor, is my invention--mine, the child of
the brain of Alfredo Constantio."
He struck an attitude.
"Well, Mr. Constantio, you're all right," replied Ben," and now if
you'll excuse me I'll just go round to my sumptuous apartments and get
my ditty bag."
"Very well, I will come with you," rejoined Constantio, "you see, you
have seen the secrets of the ship now, and I don't want you out of my
sight till we are ready to sail on our venture."
This was an unexpected complication.
Ben had figured on getting out of the house on the excuse of packing
his things and then taking a train to New York and apprising his young
friends of his discoveries. Senor Constantio, it seemed, was too
crafty for this, however.
"Well," thought Ben, "there is no help for it. I shall have to trust
to luck to give him the slip I suppose."
Thus hoping the old sailor sallied forth with the redoubtable Don
Constantio, who, for his part, was very garrulous and confided to Ben
that he had sold his invention to Luther Barr for a big price, because
the old millionaire needed a good dirigible in a hurry.
"But," he went on, "while I have a great ship, my main secret is in
the gas. I have discovered a powder which can be easily carried and
which when mixed with the proper ingredients forms the pure hydrogen
gas. I make it in cylinders that will withstand a pressure of two
thousand pounds. Hydrogen cylinders weigh, it is true, three hundred
pounds each, they are of such enormous thickness, and are made of
special steel--like a gun, but, Senor Hardtack, my powder occupies so
little space that I can carry enough for several inflations in
receptacles which combined do not weigh more than one hundred and
fifty pounds."
Talking thus the black-browed inventor walked beside Ben, occasionally
asking:
"How much further, Senor Hardtack, to your lodgings?"
"Not much further now," Ben always replied, wondering when an
opportunity would present itself to escape. Suddenly one came.
As they turned a corner a small boy with a bundle of papers almost ran
into them, and thrusting his papers up almost in Senor Constantio's
face, shouted:
"Wuxtry, wuxtry!" with deafening lung power.
All at once he darted off, and at the same moment the inventor cried:
"My watch! he has taken my watch! While he thrust his papers in my
face he stole my watch!"
Shouting "Stop thief" at the top of his voice he raced off in the
direction the newsboy had run, and Ben lost no time in taking to his
heels in the opposite direction.
After doubling round several corners and then doubling on his own
trail round another block he felt reasonably secure he had given the
inventor the slip and, hailing a cab, was driven to the station. He
was fortunate in securing a train to New York without having to wait
more than five minutes, and late that night the Chester boys and the
others of their party were in full possession of the details of the
air-ship in which Luther Barr meant to overreach them if it lay within
his power.