“Poor Montaine! He is one of my best friends. So he is in trouble, eh? Well, I would be inhuman indeed not to respond to his appeal.” Frank sprang up and put on his hat. As he left the study he met a colored man in the hall. He was a fat, jolly little darky, and as black as the ace of spades. “Pomp,” said Frank, sharply. “What am it, sah?” “I want you to go with me.” “A’right, sah.” The darky followed Frank out of the fine mansion and down to the street. A few minutes’ walk brought them to the gates of the machine shop yard. Here they met a jolly-looking Irishman, whose twinkling eyes and broad mug stamped him a genuine son of the Green Isle. “Barney O’Shea!” said Frank, sharply, “I want you to come with me.” “All roight, sor!” exclaimed Barney, with great readiness. The negro and the Irishman were old servitors of Frank Reade, Jr. They had been in the employ of his father before him, and Frank would never have thought of going upon a trip without them. Their services were invaluable. Barney being a first-class engineer and steel workman, and Pomp was a fine cook. Passing through the yard which was filled with workmen, Frank led the way into a private office. It was here that the plans of all his wonderful machines were draughted in secret. Frank sat down at a table and threw Senor Ravello’s letter upon it. “Pomp,” he said, tersely, “get me a map of Mexico.” “A’right, sah.” Wondering much what was coming, the darky quickly obeyed. The map was spread upon the table. Frank quickly placed his finger upon Laredo. Then he traversed the interior of Mexico to the Los Pueblos Mountains. “That is it,” he said, theoretically. “It is a long trip, but it can be done.” Then he turned to Barney: “Barney,” he asked, sharply, “has that new gauge been put upon the Steam Man?” “Yis sor,” replied the Celt. “Good! Is the machine all right every other way?” “I think so, sor.” “All right. Now sit down and let me read you this letter.” The two men sank into chairs and Frank read them the letter from Ravello. They listened with the deepest interest, and when Frank finished Barney cried eagerly: “Bad cess to the omadhouns! Shure ye’ll go afther them, Misther Frank?” “Golly, I jes’ hopes yo’ will, Marse Frank. Dis chile am in it fo’ suah.” “Then you are ready and willing to go?” asked Frank. “Yo’ kin jest bet.” “Yez are roight we are.” “Of course my sympathies for Montaine are strong,” said Frank; “he is an old and very dear friend of mine.” “Shure, yez oughter go to his help,” averred Barney. “Well, I will consider the situation. Let us take a look at the Steam Man.” All three arose and went into an inner chamber of the factory. This was a large, high-roofed room. In its center stood the wonderful invention which had made the name of Frank Reade, Jr., famous the world over. Picture a giant man made of iron plates holding the shafts of a wagon in his hands.