And so it would go.  Eradicate and Boomerang, his mule, were the only ones who ate regularly, and they always insisted on stopping at exactly twelve o’clock to partake of the noonday meal.

“’Cause ef I didn’t,” explained the colored man, “dat contrary mule ob mine would lay down in de dust ob de road an’ not move a step, lessen’ he got his oats.  So dat’s why we has t’ eat, him an’ me.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s some one who’s got sense,” murmured Mrs. Baggert.  Eradicate and Boomerang were of great service in the hurried work that followed, for the colored man in his cart brought from town, or from the freight depot, many things that Tom needed.

The young inventor was very enthusiastic about his proposed trip, and at night, after a hard day’s work in the shop, he would read books on African hunting, or he would sit and listen to the stories told by Mr. Durban.  And the latter knew how to tell hunting tales, for he had been long in his dangerous calling, and had had many narrow escapes.

“And there are other dangers than from elephants and wild beasts in Africa,” he said.

“Bless my toothbrush!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.  “Do you mean cannibals, Mr. Durban?”

“Some cannibals,” was the reply. “but they’re not the worst.  I mean the red pygmies.  I hope we don’t get into their clutches.”

“Red pygmies!” repeated Tom, wonderingly.

“Yes, they’re a tribe of little creatures, about three feet high, covered with thick reddish hair, who live in the central part of Africa, near some of the best elephant-hunting ground.  They are wild, savage and ferocious, and what they lack individually in strength, they make up in numbers.  They’re like little red apes, and woe betide the unlucky hunter who falls into their merciless hands.  They treat him worse than the cannibals do.”

“Then we’ll look out for them,” said Tom.  “But I fancy my electric rifle will make them give us a wide berth.”

“It’s a great gun,” admitted the old hunter with a shake of his head, “but those red pygmies are terrible creatures.  I hope we don’t get them on our trail.  But tell me, Tom, how are you coming on with the airship? for I don’t know much about mechanics, and to me it looks as if it would never be put together.  I’s like one of those queer puzzles I’ve seen ’em selling in the streets of London.”

“Oh, it’s nearer ready than it looks to be,” said Tom.  “We’ll have it assembled, and ready for a trial in about two weeks more.”

Work on the Black Hawk was rushed more than ever in the next few days, another extra machinist being engaged.  Then the craft began to assume shape and form, and with the gas bag partly inflated and the big planes stretching out from either side, it began to look something like the ill-fated Red Cloud.

“It’s going to be a fine ship!” cried Tom enthusiastically, one day, as he went to the far side of the ship to get a perspective view of it.  “We’ll make good time in this.”