"You seem to be looking for some one," spoke Jack. "Are you expecting your girl to come along and bid you good-by, Mark?" "Who--me? No, I--I was just looking to see if--if it was going to rain." "Rain? Well, rain won't make much difference to us soon. We will be outside of the earth's atmosphere in a jiffy after we have started, and then rain won't worry us. Is your stateroom all fixed up?" "No, I didn't think of that. Guess I'd better look after it." The two started together for the projectile. The stout one entered first, and made his way through the engine room and main cabin to the compartment off which the staterooms opened. He entered one. "Here, that's not yours," cried Jack. "That's where Professor Henderson sleeps. Yours is next to mine." "That's right; I forgot," mumbled the other. "I must be getting absent minded since my accident. But I'll be all right soon. I'll get my room to rights, and then probably we'll start." "I guess so," answered Jack, but he shook his head as he gazed after his chum. "Mark has certainly changed," he murmured. "I wish he'd take those bandages off, so I could get a look at his face." The last details were completed. The big _Annihilator_ had been run out on trucks into the yard surrounding the shed, ready to be hurled through the air. The shop, shed and house had been locked up and given in charge of a caretaker, who would remain on guard until our friends returned. "Are we all ready?" asked Professor Henderson, as he stood ready to close the main entrance door and seal it hermetically. "All ready, I guess," answered Jack. The stout one had gone to his stateroom, where he could be heard moving about. "I'm ready," announced Professor Roumann. "Say the word and I'll start the motor." He was in the engine room, looking over the machinery. At that moment there came a loud yell from the galley where Washington White was. "Heah, heah! Come back!" cried the colored man. "My Shanghai rooster is got loose!" he yelled, and, an instant later, the fowl came sailing out of the projectile, with Washington in full chase after him. "I'll help you catch him," volunteered Jack, springing to the cook's aid, while Professor Henderson laughed, and a bandaged figure, looking from a stateroom port, wondered at the delay in starting the projectile. CHAPTER XII MARK'S ESCAPE Mark Sampson was alone in the deserted house. Bound hand and foot, stripped of his clothing, and attired in some old garments that the tramps who made a hanging-out place of the old mansion had cast aside, the unfortunate lad was stretched on a pile of bagging, his heart beating partly with fear and partly with rage over a desire to escape and punish the scoundrel responsible for his plight. The man who had captured him, after taking away Mark's clothes, had chuckled, as though at some joke. "You may think this is funny," spoke the lad bitterly, "but you won't be so pleased when my friends get after you."