“Oh, just like you, I don’t know why. But there was something about both of them that gave me the idea that they are not all that they seemed to be.”
“Same here. They must have had some object, too, in making all those inquiries about Mr. Peregrine. I wonder what it could be?”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that a man like him, the possessor of a valuable invention, might have some rivals who would like to find out just along what lines he has been working?”
“It certainly has,” rejoined Jack, as he ran the Flying Road Racer into its shed. “I won’t forget to tell Mr. Peregrine about our encounter when we see him to-morrow.”
It rained in torrents all that night; but by dawn the sky had cleared, and a bright sun shone warmly. But everywhere about High Towers were plentiful evidences of the abundance of the downpour. The brook that fed the lake was swollen to a torrent, the lake itself had risen some feet, and its waters, usually clear, were muddy and discolored.
The boys were astir early, making ready for their trip to Pokeville. Jupe was set to work with the hose cleaning the body of the Flying Road Racer, while the boys made some adjustments to the machinery. So fast did they work that by the time breakfast was announced they were ready to start.
“I think I will come with you,” announced Mr. Jesson at the last moment. “I’d like to see Mr. Peregrine’s workshops and laboratories, and although he appears to be a trifle eccentric he is a very likable man.”
“I wonder what you’d have said if he’d lighted in your corn patch,” said Tom, with a grin.
This reminded Mr. Jesson that he ought to see how his corn had withstood the rainstorm, and he hastened off to do this, while the boys got the car out of its shed. Among other adjustments the boys had made that morning, was one involving a change of the gas envelope for a new type which they had invented. Mr. Jesson, on his return from his corn, which he announced was unharmed, noticed the change, the former gas bag having been of a yellow hue. The one the boys had folded on top of the framework that morning was quite black in color.
“Another invention?” inquired Tom’s father, indicating the bag.
“Well, not exactly an invention,” replied Jack, “more of an adaptation. You know that the difficulty in making sustained flights in a dirigible has always been evaporation or the condensation of the gas. This bag is made of a rubber cloth which is interwoven with steel wires and coated with a peculiar air-tight varnish. It makes a very strong fabric, and almost does away with the danger of the bag bursting under the expansion of radolite gas at high altitudes.