“If I’m going to act in that fool way,” he said to himself, “there’s no telling where I’ll land. It’s as bad as the things Tom Sawyer did,--worse, because he didn’t trust an important piece of business to black art. It’s just the kind of thing that the lowest order of a negro would be capable of. But no one knows it,” he added with emphasis, “nor ever shall. ‘Despair’ and I can keep the secret. That name won’t do--it might hoodoo the scheme.” He turned and reflectively surveyed the mule. “You’ve got to have a name that’s a winner. A cheerful, humming, booming sort of a name,” he said. As if in reply, the animal raised his long ears and pointed them at his interlocutor. When they reached Montgomery Avenue, where Mr. Hodges’ shop was situated, Ben pulled his hat over his eyes. He endeavored to hasten the pace of the mule. In this he was unsuccessful, but, fortunately, there was no one in sight whom he knew. “If I were sure of success I wouldn’t mind the whole town’s seeing every move I make,” the boy reflected. “But it makes a heap of difference in people’s opinions whether you succeed or not. If you don’t, then, you’re looked upon as a fool, and everything you’ve done is fool-business; but if you do, then, you’re called wise, and everything you’ve done is smart as lightning.” They reached the slight rise and began to descend toward the bay. Outlined against the vista of the blue water washing the base of the Sausalito hills, rose the massive pillar of the chimney. Ben paused an instant in amazement. Mundon had been true to his word; for reaching from the top to the bottom was a cable that looked the thickness of a thread against the solid round bulk of the chimney. Ben could hardly believe his eyes. How had it been accomplished? He was obliged to control his impatience until the mule’s deliberate gait brought them at length to the Works. “Mundon, where are you!” Ben called as he dashed into the building. “Ahoy there!” A voice replied from the flue. Peering up the mouth, Ben saw Mundon on a cross-piece which was fastened by two lines to the main rope, after the manner of a trapeze. “I’ll do the chippin’,” Mundon remarked from his perch, about twenty feet from the ground. “Take your head away a minute and we’ll drive the first blow.” Ben retreated and Mundon struck the chisel he held a blow that sent down a shower of soot, broken brick, and mortar. “We’ll soon know now,” Ben said to himself, and his heart beat rapidly, when he thought of all it meant to him. CHAPTER VII BUILDING THE ARASTRA “We’ve got to find a place to keep the mule. It’s too cold to leave him outside,” said Ben. “That’s easy,” Mundon replied. “One of the sheds’ll do first-rate. He’ll have a box-stall,--same as a racer.” “I’ll fix it up for him right now. He looks sort of forlorn, tied out there in the fog,” said Ben. “There’s two other animals we ought to find quarters for, too.” “Two others? O, you mean ourselves.”