e Johnny was known to have gone to Vladivostok, it will not seem
strange that Pant was wondering if he would be able to locate him there.

You will observe that the "clan is gathering." The little band for a time
so widely and strangely separated are moving toward a common center,
Vladivostok. Pant and Johnny are at the city gates. But Dave and Jarvis,
far in the north, are only hoping. If they can get the balloon afloat and
can manage the engine, Vladivostok is to be the air-port of their dreams.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CITY OF GOLD

The head lettuce, strawberries, and the cream which Dave Tower and Jarvis
saw before them on the wooden tray in the cabin of the mysterious Russian
were part of no dream, but a glorious reality. Their palates testified to
that fact in prompt order.

"But where'd they come from?" inquired Dave, smacking his lips.

"Don't ask," grumbled Jarvis. "It's enough they're 'ere."

Dave did ask and he did receive a reply. They had hardly finished their
meal, when the friendly stranger was at hand, ready to show them the
village.

The cabins they had seen were ordinary affairs, built of driftwood. But as
they rounded a corner of rock, they were confronted by a very different
scene. Beyond them stretched the broad, low roof of what appeared to be a
vast greenhouse. And indeed that was exactly what it was. That another
such greenhouse did not exist anywhere in the world, they were soon to
learn.

"The Golden City," murmured Jarvis.

"But the glass?" exclaimed Dave. "Where did you get it?"

"Not a square inch of glass in it," smiled their host. "Come inside."

Soon they breathed the peculiar, tropical dampness that fills every
greenhouse. All about them were green things growing. To the right of
them, prodigious potato plants thrived in beds of rich earth; to the left
were beds of radishes, head lettuce and onions. Over their heads,
suspended in cleverly woven baskets of leather, huge cucumbers swung
aloft, their vines casting a greenish light over all. Far down the narrow
aisle, numerous varieties of plants and small fruits were growing. Close
beside them ran a wall of stone, which, strangely enough, gave off a
mellow heat. Along the wall to the right ran a stone trough, and, in this,
a murmuring stream of water went glittering by.

"Tell us the answer to this fable," whispered Dave. "We are all ears, oh
Wise One!"

"There's not much story to tell," said the host. "A political exile in