Five Weeks in a Balloon [6]
The doctor contented himself with making no reply to this. He remained absorbed in his own reflections, giving himself up to secret calculations, passing his nights among heaps of figures, and making experiments with the strangest–looking machinery, inexplicable to everybody but himself. It could readily be guessed, though, that some great thought was fermenting in his brain.
"What can he have been planning?" wondered Kennedy, when, in the month of January, his friend quitted him to return to London.
He found out one morning when he looked into the Daily Telegraph.
"Merciful Heaven!" he exclaimed, "the lunatic! the madman! Cross Africa in a balloon! Nothing but that was wanted to cap the climax! That’s what he’s been bothering his wits about these two years past!"
Now, reader, substitute for all these exclamation points, as many ringing thumps with a brawny fist upon the table, and you have some idea of the manual exercise that Dick went through while he thus spoke.
When his confidential maid–of–all–work, the aged Elspeth, tried to insinuate that the whole thing might be a hoax—
"Not a bit of it!" said he. "Don’t I know my man? Isn’t it just like him? Travel through the air! There, now, he’s jealous of the eagles, next! No! I warrant you, he’ll not do it! I’ll find a way to stop him! He! why if they’d let him alone, he’d start some day for the moon!"
On that very evening Kennedy, half alarmed, and half exasperated, took the train for London, where he arrived next morning.
Three–quarters of an hour later a cab deposited him at the door of the doctor’s modest dwelling, in Soho Square, Greek Street. Forthwith he bounded up the steps and announced his arrival with five good, hearty, sounding raps at the door.
Ferguson opened, in person.
"Dick! you here?" he exclaimed, but with no great expression of surprise, after all.
"Dick himself!" was the response.
"What, my dear boy, you at London, and this the mid–season of the winter shooting?"
"Yes! here I am, at London!"
"And what have you come to town for?"
"To prevent the greatest piece of folly that ever was conceived."
"Folly!" said the doctor.
"Is what this paper says, the truth?" rejoined Kennedy, holding out the copy of the Daily Telegraph, mentioned above.
"Ah! that’s what you mean, is it? These newspapers are great tattlers! But, sit down, my dear Dick."
"No, I won’t sit down!—Then, you really intend to attempt this journey?"
"Most certainly! all my preparations are getting along finely, and I—"
"Where are your traps? Let me have a chance at them! I’ll make them fly! I’ll put your preparations in fine order." And so saying, the gallant Scot gave way to a genuine explosion of wrath.
"Come, be calm, my dear Dick!" resumed the doctor. "You’re angry at me because I did not acquaint you with my new project."
"He calls this his new project!"
"I have been very busy," the doctor went on, without heeding the interruption; "I have had so much to look after! But rest assured that I should not have started without writing to you."
"Oh, indeed! I’m highly honored."
"Because it is my intention to take you with me."
Upon this, the Scotchman gave a leap that a wild goat would not have been ashamed of among his native crags.
"Ah! really, then, you want them to send us both to Bedlam!"
"I have counted positively upon you, my dear Dick, and I have picked you out from all the rest."
Kennedy stood speechless with amazement.
"After listening to me for ten minutes," said the doctor, "you will thank me!"
"Are you speaking