“WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO A VOYAGE IN THE AIR?”
After breakfast the next morning, the professor appeared on the bridge
with Nat when the latter took his daily observation, a practice which
was, of course, in addition to the regular “shooting the sun,” which
took place at noon. The man of science had already made a deep
impression on the lad. He was eccentric to a degree; but in common with
many men of ability, this was a characteristic that in no way appeared
to affect his scientific ability. The evening before he had entertained
all hands with fascinating tales of his experiences in various parts of
the world. Already everybody felt the same respect for Professor Grigg
as was manifest in the manner of the irrepressible Tubbs.
Nat operated his instruments and then noted the result on a pad, to be
entered later in the log book. The professor peered over his shoulder
as he jotted down his figures.
“Pardon me,” he observed, “but you are a hundredth part of a degree out
of the way on that last observation.”
For an instant Nat felt nettled. He colored up and faced round on the
scientist. But Professor Grigg’s bland look disarmed him.
“Is that so, professor?” he asked. “How is that?”
“Let me test your instruments,” was the reply. “It is impossible to
tell without that.”
Nat handed the various instruments over to his learned companion. The
professor scrutinized them narrowly.
“I think,” he said finally, “that the magnetic influences of
yesterday’s storm have deflected all of them.”
“Of course,” agreed Nat. “How stupid of me not to have thought of that!
Is it possible to adjust them?”
“I will try to do so,” said Professor Grigg, and, placing a sextant to
his eye, he began twisting and adjusting a small set screw.
Several times he lowered the instrument, and, taking out a fountain pen
and a loose-leaf notebook, wrote down his readings. Nat watched him
with some fascination. There is always a pleasure to a clever lad in
watching a man doing something which he is perfectly competent to do.
The professor, the instant he laid his hands on the instruments,
impressed Nat as possessing the latter quality to a degree.
“Just as I thought,” said the professor finally, “your instruments have
been deflected. But we will set them right at noon. A few simple
adjustments, that is all. But I find that you have kept them in
wonderful shape, considering your rough and trying experiences.”
“We have always tried to,” said Nat. “We knew how much depended on
them.”
“And yet,” mused the professor, with his eyes fixed intently on Nat, as
the lad stood at the wheel, “without the ability to understand them,
those instruments would be worthless. Conradini, the Italian explorer,
learned that.”
“At the expense of his life,” put in Nat. “The lesson was lost.”
“Ah, you have heard of Conradini?” asked the professor, in seeming
surprise.
“I have read of him in that pamphlet on aerial exploration issued by
the Italian Royal Society,” was the reply.
The professor readjusted his glasses. In his astonishment, he almost
lost his latest piece of headgear—loaned him by Ding-dong. It was a not
too reputable-looking Scotch tam o’shanter.
“You have a knowledge that surprises me in one so young,” he declared
at last. “You take an interest in exploration, then?”
“That was the object of the Motor Rangers, when first we founded them,”
declared Nat. “I think,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “that
we’ve had our fair share of adventure.”
“From what you have told me of your enterprises, I agree with you,”
assented the professor warmly. “But you have not told me yet of the
future.”
“How do you mean?” asked Nat.
“I mean, what plans have you ahead of you? What do you intend to do
next?”
The question came bluntly. Nat answered it with equal frankness.
“I really don’t know,” he said. “As you are aware, though, our course
is now laid for Santa Barbara.”
“So you said last night, when you kindly offered us a passage home,”
said the professor.
He paused for an instant, and Nat swung the _Nomad’s_ bow around a
trifle more to the south.
“Have you no plans for further adventurous cruises or auto trips?”
pursued the man of science.
Nat laughed.
“I guess we’ve had our fill of adventure for a time,” he said; “that
cleft between the volcanic islands nearly proved our Waterloo.”
“Nonsense; such lads as you could not live without adventure,”
admonished the professor, making a frantic grab at his hat, as a
vagrant wind gave it a puff that set it rakishly sidewise above one
ear. “Do you mean to say that you feel like settling down to humdrum
life now, after all you have seen and endured?”
“I guess we all feel like taking a rest,” said Nat. “We have had a
fairly strenuous time of it lately.”
“Granted. But it has put you into condition to weather further times of
stress and trial. Ever since we had that talk last night about the
Motor Rangers, and what they have accomplished, it has been in my mind
to broach a proposition to you.”
“To us?” temporized Nat. “I don’t see where we could be of any use to
Professor Thaddeus Grigg, the most noted scientist of investigation of
this age.”
The professor raised a deprecatory hand.
“As if you had not been of the highest service to me and to my
companion already,” he exclaimed. “Had it not been for you, we might
have—oh, well, let us not talk about it. That coward of a captain——”
He broke off abruptly. Nat waited for him to resume speaking.
“What I wanted to approach you about was this,” resumed the professor,
after a minute. “From the moment I met you, you appeared to me to be
self-reliant, enterprising boys, who mixed coolness and common sense
with courage. Such being the case, you are just the combination I have
been seeking for, to carry out a project which awaits me on my return
to America. It is a scheme involving danger, excitement and rich
rewards.”
He paused impressively. In spite of himself, Nat’s eyes began to dance,
his pulse to beat a bit faster. Adventure was as the breath of life to
the young leader of the Motor Rangers, and, to tell the truth, he had
faced the prospect of a life of inactivity with mixed feelings.
“Well, sir?” was all he said, however.
The scientist continued, with apparent irrelevance.
“You three lads, from what you have told me, have operated motor cars,
motor boats, and endured much in both forms of transportation?” he
asked.
Nat nodded.
“I guess we’ve had our share of the rough along with the smooth,” he
said briefly, but he was listening closely.
“What would you say to trying a voyage in the air?” was the question
that the man of science suddenly launched at him without the slightest
warning.
Nat glanced up from his steering amazed. The scientist met the lad’s
gaze firmly.
“Well?” he demanded.
“I—I—upon my word, I don’t know,” stammered Nat.
For once in his life, the young leader of the Motor Rangers was fairly
taken aback.