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Each of the big men carried a club and a spear. "Bless my eye glasses!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Something is wrong. What can it be?" He had his answer a moment later. With a firm but gentle motion the chief giant shoved our four friends back into the hut, and then pulled the grass mat over the opening.
"Well, for instance, if one ounce of powder raises the weight three feet, and gives a muzzle pressure of, say, five hundred pounds, I can easily compute what a thousand pounds of powder, acting on a projectile weighing two tons and a half, would do, and how far it would shoot it." "Bless my differential gear!" cried Mr. Damon. "A projectile weighing two and a half, tons! Tom, it's impossible!"
In the case of Boylan, who seemed to be Peters's right-hand man, when it came to criminal work, Tom made a charge of unlawfully taking the airship. This would be enough to hold the man on until other evidence could be obtained against him. As for Peters, he was accused of taking certain valuable bonds and stocks belonging to Mr. Damon. Mrs.
"The sight of his face, to any one not knowing him, Tom, would be enough to cause fright." "It wasn't Koku who looked in the window," said Tom, decidedly. "It was some stranger. Come on." The young inventor and Mr. Damon hurried out after the tunnel contractor, who was running down the road that led in front of the Swift homestead. "He's chasing some one, Tom," called Mr. Damon.
But they did not gather together at least just then. They ran about excitedly, and it could be seen that they were bringing from the huts the rude household utensils in which they did their primitive cooking. The women had their babies, and some, not so encumbered, carried rolls of grass matting. The men had all their weapons. "Bless my wagon wheel!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's going on?"
Damon's house, and, walking up the path, kept a lookout for his friend. "I wonder why he didn't come out to meet me?" mused Tom, for usually when the eccentric man heard the throbbing of Tom's motor, he was out waiting for the young inventor. But this time it was not the case. "Is Mr. Damon in?" Tom asked of the maid who answered his ring. "Yes, Mr. Swift.
"Yes, they might better be dead, from all the accounts we can hear," went on Mr. Anderson. "Bless my Sunday hat! Don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Maybe we can save them, Mr. Anderson." "That is what I am going to try to do, though it may be too late. As soon as definite news was received, our church held a meeting, raised a fund, and decided to send me off to find Mr. and Mrs.
Then, as Tom and the others could see by looking from a crack, he and several others took their position in front, while other giants went to the various windows, stationing themselves outside like sentries around a guard house. "Bless my " began Mr. Damon, but words failed him. "We're prisoners!" gasped Ned. "It looks like it," admitted Tom grimly.
Higher words might have ensued, but at this moment Henderson, still pursued by Whalley, came running up, and seeing that something had gone wrong, he said to Kenrick "Hallo, Damon! what has Pythias been saying to you?" Kenrick vouchsafed no answer, but turning his back on them, went off abruptly.
I'm going to have the electric rifles handy the minute we start for the interior." The voyage continued, and was fast drawing to a close. "Mr. Blinderpool" made several more attempts to strike up a friendship with Tom, or his chum, but they were on their guard now, and, failing to get into much of a conversation with the two young men, the pretended clergyman turned his attentions to Mr. Damon.