that night the professor forgot the existence of bohunkus johnson and indeed of everything in the world except the absorbing task before him. he threw his workshop into one dazzling, overwhelming blaze and began labor at once. the structure of his machine was perfected: all that remained was to force nature to yield her secret by which the fuel of the aeroplane could be held effective for two days of twenty-four hours each. he was sure he was on the verge of the marvelous discovery.

before delving into his fascinating work he instructed bunk as to how he should dispose of himself. the boy had eaten a bountiful meal and though the hour was early was drowsy.

“you can hear the ripple of the small stream at the rear of the hangar; there you can drink or bathe night or morning; here are your sleeping quarters.”

he pointed to the rear of the shop where lay a plank covered with a single blanket. it was the custom of the professor to stretch himself upon[215] this when he felt the need of rest, which it may be said was infrequently. he did not expect to sleep on this night, but if compelled to do so, would snatch brief repose by half reclining in a rustic chair which stood back of the door at the front. by and by, bunk’s head began to nod, and bidding the professor good night he made his way uncertainly to his couch. just then the man’s foot was on the treadle and he was pressing some kind of instrument against the whizzing face of a tiny stone wheel. he made no response to the salutation of his assistant and probably did not hear him.

bunk lay on his side so as to watch the aviator at his work. he saw him flit from one side of the shop to the other and mix several kinds of liquid, one of which gave out so pungent an odor that the youth sneezed, but without attracting the attention of the experimenter. then followed a series of vivid flashes in which all the colors of the spectrum blinded the awed spectator. the man filed, cut, scraped, compounded, and did no end of things until bunk grew weary and glided into dreamland.

he must have slept well beyond midnight, when apparently without cause he awoke. for a few minutes he was too confused to locate himself.[216] gradually his recollection came back, and he realized that he was in blank darkness. his immediate surroundings were so still that he heard the soft ripple of the brook near the hangar.

“i ’spose de perfesser hab retired,” concluded bunk, “and i shan’t see anything ob him till morning.”

it was so easy, as a rule, for the colored youth to sleep at all times that he could not understand why he not only awoke from sound slumber but could not woo it back. the longer he lay the wider awake he became. finally he sat up.

“dis am mighty qu’ar,” he muttered; “it looks as if morning hab come afore de night am frough; i wonder if tings doan’ got mixed dat way sometimes in dis part ob de world.”

the question was beyond his solving. his next feeling was of curiosity as to the whereabouts of the professor. when bunk last saw him he was working in the vividly lighted shop. by and by the lad made out a faint illumination through the windows that was caused by the partially obscured moonlight. the door was shut, since nothing of the kind showed in that direction.

“i’ll bet dat he’s goned off,” was bunk’s decision; “i wonder if he means to gib me de slip and sail to afriky without me. i’ll find out.”

[217]he recalled the interior of the building well enough to remember that a wide passage led from his couch to the opening at the front. the workbenches were along the sides, so as to give the inventor elbowroom. bunk began groping his way with hands extended to avoid falling over any obstacle that might have been placed there while he was asleep. his wakefulness was probably due to the effect of the fumes of chemicals, for he had noted them the moment he roused from slumber.

“i’ll go outside and if i doan’ see de perfesser i’ll yell for him—”

bunk did not wait until he got outside before yelling. at that moment, one of his extended hands came in contact with a live, or rather partly live wire, and with a wild shout he bounded several feet in air, tumbled over on his back, kicked and rolled in an agony more of mind than of body. in the same instant, the interior of the building was illuminated as if from the burst of a hundred suns. as his bewildered senses straggled back he rose to a sitting posture and saw the towering form of professor morgan looking down upon him with the most terrible expression he had ever witnessed on his countenance. like the youth, he had not removed his garments and the long duster still[218] wrapped his towering figure. the eyes glowed with piercing intensity and bunk even fancied that the long grizzled beard was in flames.

“what is the matter with you?” sternly demanded the crank, in the voice which sounded like the rolling of thunder.

“i guess i’m killed,” replied the bewildered bunk, slowly climbing to his feet, “or mebbe it were a mule dat kicked me. hab yo’ got a mule round here?”

“fool!” exclaimed the professor angrily, “didn’t you know better than to go groping round the shop in the darkness? it is a miracle that you were not killed by a thousand volts; why didn’t you call me?”

“i didn’t see yo’ nowhere ’bout; ’scuse me.”

“if you had called i should have heard you. i was asleep like yourself.”

“i didn’t hear yo’ breeving; i say, perfesser,” added bunk with more boldness than he had yet dared to show, “ain’t yo’ keerless in leaving dem blue blazes layin’ ’round where dey am likely to swipe a feller in de face when he ain’t doing nuffin?”

“you surely will be killed if you go nosing round the shop when i’m not with you.”

“yo’ war wid me but i didn’t know it. i say,[219] perfesser, wouldn’t yo’ as lieb move to some oder place?”

the inventor in front of the trembling bunk still looked keenly at him, as if a new thought had flashed into his brain. he spoke with more kindness than he had shown since they had been together:

“bohunkus, i’m satisfied that this isn’t the place for you, though i shall have to stay myself until we are ready to start. to-morrow i shall take you to new quarters.”

“dat am de best news i’ve heerd in sebenteen years; dere’s only one thing dat would soot me better.”

“what is that?”

“to hear yo’ say dat we’s gwine to start to afriky.”

“be patient for a day or two. now, wouldn’t you like to go back to your home at mootsport and stay there?”

bunk did not suspect this was a test question and was honest in his answer:

“no, sah; not till we’ve been to afriky and spent a few weeks wid chief foozleum.”

“you wouldn’t leave me if i gave you the chance?”

“not fur de world; do yo’ think i wanter to go[220] home and hear harv and dick hamilton and dere folks laugh at me? not much.”

“suppose they come after you?”

“dat’s nuffin; i’m my own boss; dey wouldn’t git me by a jugful.”

“i shall see that they don’t while i am present,” said the professor with a glint of his fiery eyes; “i’ll attend to that, but i shall have to leave you alone at times and they may come when i am beyond call.”

“as i obsarbed dat wouldn’t make no diff’rence, ’cause dey doan’ hab nuffin to do wid me. it mought be anoder thing if mr. hartley lit on me wid a cartwhip, but he’ll neber come way up here fur me, ’cause he doan’ know i’m here,—likewise harv and his folks doan’ know nuffin ’bout it neither. no matter where yo’ stow me away perfesser, i’ll stay dere till yo’ am ready to come fur me.”

the man looked at bunk with a prolonged, penetrating stare that chilled him through. then in his cavernous voice he slowly said:

“when-you-disobey-me, you-will-die!”

“yas, sir;” whispered the terrified youth.

the professor stepped to the bench at his side, reached up and took a bottle of colorless liquid from a shelf. withdrawing the glass stopper he handed it to the lad:

[221]“smell of that!” he commanded in the same awful tones.

bunk’s hand trembled so much that he came near dropping it.

“it won’t blow me up?” he asked timidly.

“it won’t hurt you! do what you are told!”

the lad dared not hesitate. he held the compound to his nostrils and took several deep inhalations. it was a powerful soporific and in a minute or so he showed its effects. the professor watched him, and at the proper moment took the bottle from his limp grasp.

“now go back and sleep.”

“yas, sir,” replied bunk, who staggered to his couch, tumbled upon it and almost immediately sank into a heavy, dreamless slumber. it must have lasted a long time, for when he awoke the morning sun was shining through the open door. the professor was not in the room, and after recalling his confused senses, bunk rose from his bed. he was slightly dizzy from the effects of the drug and waited until he could steady himself before picking his way along the passage to the outside. he expected to see the aviator, but he was not in sight and a glance at the hangar showed it was empty. professor morgan and his helicopter were gone. bunk was alarmed.

[222]“i wonder if he’s started for afriky and furgot me! if he has he’s played a low down trick.”

reflection removed this fear and he decided that his friend or enemy, as the case might be, had only gone to the village for his morning meal. against that theory was the fact that he had taken his machine with him, or more properly the machine had taken him. with the distance so short, it was not reasonable that he would bother to make the trip by aerial sea.

bunk sat down outdoors and tried to decide upon the best thing to do. suddenly the thought came to him that it would not only help to pass away the dismal minutes of waiting, but would be the proper thing to write a letter to mootsport. he entered the building again, stepping very gingerly, for he had a mortal terror of the wires and contraptions that were all around him. at the farther end of the room was a small desk, with paper, envelopes and pencils, but no ink. first peeping out of the door to make sure the professor was not near, bunk sat down on the bench provided and with pencil wrote a letter to harvey. he paused with every labored word and listened. he knew he would detect the returning aviator in time to play the part of innocence. we remember the substance of that missive, which was the means[223] of giving harvey hamilton his first tangible clue to the whereabouts of his colored friend.

the letter being finished, the problem of mailing it remained. it required a stamp and must be carried to the post office. now there were fully a dozen stamps lying on a corner of the desk, but it was to bunk’s credit that he did not use one of them. those little red rectangles were each worth two cents, while the value of the paper and envelope was so vague as to amount to nothing. it would be dishonest to appropriate a postage stamp, but not dishonest to use the other material. bunk was always supplied with a moderate amount of funds and it occurred to him that it would be right to take a stamp provided he left a nickel in its place, thereby making generous payment for the accommodation.

“de perfesser will notice it,” was the belief that stayed his hand; “he told me not to send any letter home and if he finds out i’ve done it he’ll blow me all to pieces.”

he thrust the missive into his coat pocket and once more passed outside of the workshop. the location of the cabin as we know was in a lonely spot, and not a person was in sight. the village of dawson lay within easy reach and he believed he could run thither and back before the return of the professor. but he hesitated after passing[224] down the path to where it met the highway. he felt that if seen by the aviator he could make the excuse that he was merely stretching his legs and had no thought of going farther.

while he stood debating whether to make a dash for it, good fortune favored him. around a bend in the road, and approaching him, strode a man dressed as a farmer. he carried a rough staff in one hand and his trousers were tucked in the tops of his boots. he responded with a nod to bunk’s cheery “good morning.”

“am yo’ gwine to dawson?” asked the african, though the course of the pedestrian made the question superfluous.

“that’s what i’ve started to do, if i don’t run off the track or bust my b’iler,” was the characteristic reply.

“will yo’ please mail dis lub letter fur me?”

the man accepted the envelope and squinted at it.

“i don’t see any stamp onto it.”

bunk handed him a quarter of a dollar.

“if yo’ will put a stamp on it yo’ may keep de change.”

“all right, sonny, i’ll act as mail carrier all day at them rates.”

“and yo’ mustn’t say nuffin ’bout it to nobody.”

the man promised and went on his way.