Mr. Peregrine, having alighted from his Red Hawk, removed his helmet and
goggles and mopped his forehead vigorously—for the day was warm, it
being about the middle of August. The removal of his headpiece revealed
him as a round-faced, good-natured looking man, with a rosy complexion
and deep-set, twinkling blue eyes. Having taken off his goggles, he
replaced them by a pair of big horn-rimmed spectacles, which, somehow,
gave him an odd resemblance to an amiable bull-frog. Indeed, his
explosive way of talking was very much at variance with his rotund
figure and appearance of “easy-goingness.”
“Naturally want to know what I came to see you about? Of course. Father
at home?—No. Recollect you said in your telegram he was in Washington.
Very warm, isn’t it?—It is.”
“I got on the long-distance telephone as soon as I received your
message,” rejoined Jack, finding it rather hard to keep a straight face
as Mr. Peregrine rapidly “popped” out the above sentences. “He said he
recalled you very well as an old scientific friend, and that anything
that we could do to aid you we were to do. Both my Cousin Tom and myself
will be very glad to help in any way you may require. By the way,” as
Mr. Jesson came up, “this is my uncle, and Tom’s father, Mr. Jasper
Jesson.”
“Jasper Jesson, eh? Noted explorer?—Yes. Lost in Yucatan?—You were. Did
I read about it in the papers?—I did. Columns of it. Was it
interesting?—Very. Glad to meet you, sir. Glad to meet you.”
He and Mr. Jesson shook hands cordially. Mr. Jesson expressed his
surprise at the manner in which Mr. Peregrine had been able to handle
his Red Hawk when the corn patch was threatened.
The inventor from Pokeville waved his hand airily.
“Was there ever any need for you to be alarmed?—None at all, my dear
sir, none at all. Very simple—Red Hawk, fine little air craft.—
Fast?—Very.—Your corn in danger?—Never for a moment.—Sorry I alarmed
you, though.”
The somewhat eccentric man went on to tell how he had set out from
Pokeville an hour before, and had winged his way to High Towers in fast
time. He had used the lake, which lay at the foot of the hill on which
they stood talking, as his guide. From above it was visible at a
distance of several miles.
“You spoke in your telegram of wishing to see us in regard ito some
invention?” hinted Jack, at this juncture.
“Did I?—Of course I did,” sputtered out Mr. Peregrine, using his
customary way of expressing himself. “A most interesting thing, too.
Well, the fact is, that I’m at a standstill.—Invention won’t work—heard
a lot of you boys—thought I’d get you to help me out.—Pay well—very
grateful.”
“So far as the last feature is concerned, don’t mention it,” said Jack,
“if we can help you out at all, Mr. Peregrine, it will give us great
pleasure. But what is this invention of yours?”
Mr. Peregrine cocked his head on one side and paused a short time before
answering. At length he spoke.
“It’s a vanishing gun,” he said, forgetting for once to add another
explosive sentence.
“A vanishing gun!” gasped the boys, while Mr. Jesson looked astonished
and Jupe muttered: “Wha’ de matter wid dis yar Jerry Green and his
perishing gun?”
“Yes, a vanishing motor gun,” repeated the inventor—“working on it for
the government. Big thing—designed for defense against aëroplanes—having
lot of trouble, though—need help—will you come?”
“Why—why,” said Jack, in some perplexity, “I think we might; but, Mr.
Peregrine, can’t you explain a little more in detail?”
“Impossible now—hard to tell about gun intelligently till you can see
and examine it. Why not come over to-morrow?—Not long trip—soon show you
gun—like to have your opinion on it, anyway.—Lot depends on
it—government offers big prize for successful one.”
“I think you can quite well go. Jack,” said Mr. Jesson, “Jupe, here, and
I can look after the place till you get back. I know your father would
like you to help Mr. Peregrine.”
“Then it’s settled,” declared Jack, who was equally anxious to see Mr.
Peregrine’s invention, “we’ll be over as early as possible.”
“Many thanks,” said the inventor warmly, looking really relieved, “with
you to help, I’m sure we can get it to work all right. One thing
more—your Flying Road Racer—may I look at it?”
“Surely,” rejoined Jack, “it’s in this shed. Come in, Mr. Peregrine.
Mind that step. There, that’s the Flying Road Racer!”
Jack’s face flushed proudly as he indicated what looked like an ordinary
automobile, with a silvery aluminum body shaped like a cigar and a
propeller at one end. A framework rose above the body, which was fitted
with comfortably padded seats. On this framework was a neatly folded
mass of material of a lightish yellow shade.
“But how can it fly?—Don’t see any wings—planes—anything,” asked Mr.
Peregrine, much puzzled. He had expected to see, from the newspaper
accounts he had read of the wonderful craft, a sort of monstrous flying
machine. Instead, he beheld only an odd-shaped automobile of great size,
with some fabric folded on the top of the framework like a giant bolt of
cloth.
“You see that folded mass on the top,” explained Jack, smiling at the
inventor’s perplexity; “well, that’s the gas envelope by which we fly.
When we wish to make an ascent we put water in the gas tank and the
moisture causes the radolite crystals to expand into vapor. When this is
done we turn the gas into the bag by twisting this valve.”
He indicated a brass tap on the dashboard, which bore, also, a number of
instruments and lubricating devices, besides this and other valves.
“Well, the bag is so folded that it expands without trouble as the gas
rushes in. When ready to fly, we connect the engines with that propeller
instead of with the ordinary auto transmission. And then we——”
“But—but—but——” exclaimed the inventor eagerly, “how do you keep your
machine on the ground while the bag is filling?”
“Easily,” smiled Jack. “I invented a form of anchor like a mushroom
type. One of these is cast out on each side. The harder the Flying Road
Racer tugs the deeper the edge of these anchors is embedded in the
earth. When we wish to rise we pull ‘trip-lines’ attached to each anchor
and—up we go!”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Peregrine. “Wouldn’t I like a ride in your
machine some day?—I would.”
“You shall certainly have one,” rejoined Jack, “both on the road and in
the air.”
Mr. Peregrine was pressed to remain to the noon-day meal, but he
refused, saying that he must return to his home in time to put the
vanishing gun in shape for the boys’ visit the next day.
“Can I promise you a surprise?” were his last words, as he started the
Red Hawk skyward, “I think I can.—Good-bye.”
Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! The Red Hawk leaped skyward, bearing its lone
navigator swiftly aloft. In ten minutes it was a dot, and finally was
obliterated altogether.
“Well, what do you think of him?” asked Tom, as they turned away and
began to walk toward the house.
“That he is an eccentric man, but very clever,” rejoined Jack. “I’m
quite anxious to see this wonderful gun of his.”
“So am I,” said Tom, with equal eagerness, “if he has invented one that
will shoot straight upward on an absolutely vertical line, he has a
marvelous invention. Several inventors have been at work on the problem
of getting out a gun that will really be effective against aëroplanes,
but none has yet been found.”
“Well, I hope we can give Mr. Peregrine some good suggestions,” said
Jack, as they reached the house and Mrs. Jarley announced that lunch was
ready.