CHAPTER II
Andrew Provost's Resolution

Andrew Provost was not the man to shirk his liabilities, or to shrink from an undertaking however difficult it might appear, and however impetuous he may have been in his decision.

"No, siree," he exclaimed, sipping his after-dinner coffee, and then pulling at a big cigar. "No, my boy, I ain't the one to back out, you bet. That fellow Reitberg got my monkey up with his sneers and his crows about those German Zeppelins. Boy and man I've lived under the Union Jack, and what folks can do elsewhere, why, they can do 'em as well where I've lived. Fire in at that agreement, Joe."

For the moment he had allowed a decided Yankee drawl to betray the country from which he had so recently come, for in Canada they speak much as they do in America, though the drawl and the accent are not so accentuated. It showed that Andrew was stirred. In moments of excitement he always developed a drawl; but if excited, he was also practical.

"Read that document, Joe?" he asked again. "Mind you, I admit that there are many of my old friends who would call me a fool over this business."

"Impossible, Uncle!" his nephew interrupted.

"Fiddlesticks, my boy! No offence, mind; but look at this matter squarely. How do we stand? It's like this. We're aboard a Hamburg-Amerika liner. We see a Zeppelin, and get a fine display, all free and for nothing. We run up against a fat little fellow named Reitberg, who's neither German nor English, nor anything in particular. Anyway, he's made his money like me under the Union Jack. Well, now, he crows about that ship, says there's not another nation could build one. Gets riled too, when you say that England could, that you yourself could. Shows plainly, though with some amount of politeness, that he don't believe you, and then gets to crowing again. Isn't that enough to put up a Britisher's back? Eh?"

"Well, it wasn't very pleasant certainly, rather riling. Made one wince."

"Wince! Squirm! Look here, Joe, I never liked being beaten. If I did I'd never have got to the position I have. I'd have been still running that small store away outside Toronto, with its tin roof and its walls tintacked together. It's because I didn't like being beaten that I'm not there. And I don't like to think that Britishers are beaten. When you said that you could build an airship better than a Zeppelin I believed you."

"Awfully kind of you, too, Uncle," Joe declared, gratitude lending unusual warmth to his tones.

"It was mighty kind," came the half-smiling answer. "Then and there I let myself into an expenditure of a hundred thousand pounds, and all because I couldn't stand that fellow Reitberg's crowing, and, from a mighty long experience, had confidence in my own countrymen. You'd said that you could do it – that was enough for me. But it's very small reason for such an expenditure when you come to look plainly at it. No offence, Joe, mind that. You're my nephew; I've heard big things about you, and if you've said you can succeed, why you shall. Your Uncle Andrew'll help you."

They shook hands on it, exchanging a firm grip. But it must be allowed that Andrew was really only putting the true facts before his nephew. After all, what hard-headed business man – and Andrew was that if anything – would promise such a huge sum simply because a nephew had declared that he could build a ship of similar class to a Zeppelin, that is, one lighter than air, but more powerful, more perfect, in every way more desirable? Why, the fat, comfortable-looking Mr. Reitberg was even then detailing the incident to a few of his cronies who were seated in the smoking-room of his luxurious town house. There were five of them present, none of whom would again see a fiftieth birthday, comfortable-looking gentlemen, robustly built, running to fat if we were asked for a concise description. They discussed the matter in English, though all betrayed some accent. In fact, they had without exception been foreigners, only three at least were naturalized Englishmen.

"It made me laugh afterwards," declared Mr. Reitberg, sitting up, and withdrawing his cigar from between a pair of short, stumpy, fat fingers. "You've met Andrew Provost?"

They had: all nodded. "From Canada – stores," said Mr. Julius Veldtheim laconically. "Rich man – very."

"Said to be one of the wealthiest," added Mr. Herman Schloss, puffing a cloud of smoke in the direction of the table bearing decanters and glasses.

"Has a reputation for sagacity. Buys heavily from us," ventured a third, whose name is of no consequence.

"And yet laid himself open to an expenditure of a hundred thousand pounds – one hundred thousand pounds, gentlemen, on the word of a young nephew who, whatever his merits, won't languish for want of self-confidence."

"Ah! How? Why? He had a reason. Provost always has a reason. He's sharp."

The questioner looked languidly across at Mr. Reitberg, and smiled as that complacent gentleman smiled. He chuckled even. "I'll tell you," he said, turning to them all. "There was a Zeppelin overheard as we crossed from Hamburg. Well, its manœuvring was wonderful. Provost was amazed. He began to think that he would feel queer in this country if one were to sail overhead. You see, this one dropped bombs, so we were able to watch the actual thing that will occur in war. It frightened Provost. He wondered why they hadn't any here. I told him."

"Ah! Why?"

"Because they can't build 'em. No one can."

"You are sure?" asked Mr. Veldtheim.

"Positive; I said so plainly. Provost got quite hot at the news. But his nephew declared he could build one, that he had done so. Well, you know, I could see what it was. I smiled; the young fellow's confidence was really too pronounced. But Provost was too riled to notice. 'He says he can build one. Then he can and will,' he sings out. 'I'll pay.'"

"Ah! One hundred thousand pounds," lisped Mr. Veldtheim.

"Yes, one hundred thousand pounds. 'You'll lose it all,' I told him, or rather, I intimated that as politely as was possible. 'You'll never succeed. I'm so positive, that if you do, and build a ship which can sail round the world, all within nine months of this, why, I'll pay the bill.'"

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Veldtheim. "Your money's safe. Zeppelins aren't built in nine months, even by those who know all about 'em."

That seemed to be the general opinion of the company present. In fact, one and all looking at the matter from their own point of view considered that Andrew Provost had been guilty of a species of madness.

"Better by far hand his nephew a handsome cheque and have done with the matter," observed Mr. Veldtheim. "It'd be easier and cheaper."

But, as we have intimated already, Andrew Provost was made of stubborn material. Also, he had seen sufficient of Joe during their travels on the Continent since his coming from Canada to assure him that he was not overstocked with confidence. Or rather, to assure him that he was a clever, painstaking fellow, who seldom declared his powers, but who, when induced to do so, never overshot the mark. Consequently, when he said that Mr. Reitberg was misinformed, Andrew Provost believed him. But a statement was one thing; hard facts another.

"Just get to and read that agreement between Reitberg and myself," he said again. "Then tell me all about this ship of yours. Recollect, I've never seen it, nor heard of it either."

"Pardon, you've heard of it," said Joe shortly.

"Eh, heard of it? Come!"

"A year ago. There was a scare in England," Joe reminded him. "There was even an airship scare in Germany. The papers were full of reports. Brilliant lights had been seen in the sky. The noise of aerial motors was heard. It was feared in England that a foreign spy was manœuvring over our magazines and arsenals."

Andrew looked sharply at his nephew over the rim of his cup. "Airship scare? Yes, I remember; the papers in Canada were full of it – well?"

"That was my ship. People said that a mistake had been made; that folks had imagined the ship. They said the same in Germany. But it wasn't imagination: it was a real ship, the one I had built."

"And – and what became of it?" gasped Andrew – for this was news – "Why didn't you sell it to the War Office authorities?"

Joe smiled. "War Office authorities! Know 'em?" he asked.

"Never met them – why?"

"They're too slow for words," declared Joe, laughing. "I'll tell you about them. I went there, to the War Office. I got lost in the place, it's so vast and has such huge lengths of corridor. And I'm inclined to believe that the folks who work there get lost. Anyway, they couldn't for an hour or more direct me to the department likely to have some knowledge of airships. But I reached it at last and told my tale."

"Ah! You got home. Then, what happened! They sent right off to investigate."

"The official who interviewed me, and who had, I imagine, as much knowledge of airships as I have of turnips, informed me that he was vastly interested and would put the matter before the authorities and communicate with me. I left my address; I waited; I got tired of waiting."

"What! How many days?"

"Six weeks. I wrote reminding them of my visit."

"Gosh! Six weeks! Then, what happened?"

"They sent a formal acknowledgment – the matter was having their consideration."

Andrew Provost leaped from his chair and stood facing Joe, biting his cigar fiercely. "You mean to tell me that that's the treatment you received? That I might expect the same to-morrow if I went to the War Office with a brilliant invention?" he demanded hotly. "Do you mean to say that I'd as likely as not be interviewed by a fellow who knew next to nothing about the matter, and that weeks would elapse before I heard from 'em again, and then only after sending 'em a reminder?"

Joe laughed. "That was my experience," he said. "I dare say others meet with the same. Tantalizing, eh, Uncle?"

"Tantalizing be hanged! If that's the sort of thing that happens, then the sooner the crowd inside that office is hauled out and booted the better. Guess live men are wanted – folks who can earn their pay – not dolls and dullards. But let's leave 'em. Tell me about the ship – go on."

"She was wrecked; a violent gale sprang up."

"Ah! Usual thing. That's the weak part about those Zeppelins," said Andrew. "They're unmanageable in a wind. A half-dozen and more of them have been wrecked; so you suffered in the same way."

"No! The gale wrecked my hangar; it was flimsily put together. That was the fault of having small funds. As to Zeppelins, I know that they have that particular weakness. Wait till you see my designs. I'm not afraid of a gale, and can manœuvre into my hangar when gusts are blowing at fifty miles an hour. Fact, Uncle! You'll see when we've finished."

Andrew Provost strode backwards and forwards before the wide-open window of the hotel. He was thinking deeply, and more than once he cast a shrewd, sharp glance at his nephew. This long-headed man was a little uneasy. And who can blame him? For, in the first place, solely on the strength of Joe's assertion, and because Mr. Reitberg had riled him, he had taken up a challenge. And now he heard his nephew declare that a fifty-mile gale was of no consequence, though to a Zeppelin airship it would prove easily disastrous. Was Joe romancing? Or was he so carried away by this work of his that his imagination made successes where they did not exist?

"No; certainly not. He looks and is clever. If he says gusts don't matter, they don't," thought Andrew, after another sharp look at his nephew. "What appears difficult to believe may very well be simple when one has seen his designs. Here, Joe," he cried. "We get drifting on; do read that document, then show me your plans. I'll pay a cheque for ten thousand pounds into your account to-morrow, and then you'll be able to go ahead. Now, the document."