em a little high, at fust
mention, but--'

"'Very good,' says the professor, 'very good. I'm sure you'll be
satisfactory. Now please see to the unloading of that car. And be
careful, VERY careful.'

"Nate broke the news to Augustus that afternoon. He had his nose stuck
in a book, as usual, and never heard, so Nate yelled at him like a mate
on a tramp steamer, just to keep in trainin'.

"'Who? Who? Who? What? What?' squeals Augustus, jumpin' out of the
chair as if there was pins in it. 'What is it? Who did it? Oh, my poor
nerves!'

"'Drat your poor nerves!' Nate says. 'I've got a good promisin' job for
you. Listen to this.'

"Then he told about the professor's wantin' Gus to be assistant and help
do what the old man called 'experiments.'

"'Dixland?' says Gus, 'Ansel Hobart Dixland, the great scientist! And
I'm to be HIS assistant? Assistant to the man who discovered DIXIUM and
invented--'

"'Oh, belay there!' snorts Nate, impatient. Tell me this--he's awful
rich, ain't he?'

"'Why, I believe--yes, Harmon said he was. But to think of MY bein'--'

"'Now, nephew,' Nate cut in, 'let me talk to you a minute. Me and your
Aunt Huldy Ann have been mighty kind to you sence you've been here, and
here's your chance to do us a good turn. You stick close to science and
the professor and let me attend to the finances. If this family ain't
well off pretty soon it won't be your Uncle Nate's fault. Only don't you
put your oar in where 'tain't needed.'

"Lord love you, Gus didn't care about finances. He was so full of joy at
bein' made assistant to the great Ansel Whiskers Dixland that he forgot
everything else, nerves and all.

"So in another day the four of 'em was landed on Ozone Island and so was
the freight-car load of crates and boxes. Grub and necessaries was to be
provided by Scudder--for salary as stated and commission understood.

"It took Nate less than a week to find out what old Dixland was up to.
When he learned it, he set down in the sand and fairly snorted disgust.
The old idiot was cal'latin' to FLY. Seems that for years he'd been
experimentin' with what he called 'aeroplanes,' and now he'd reached the
stage where he b'lieved he could flap his wings and soar. 'Thinks I,'
says Nate, 'your life work's cut out for you, Nate Scudder. You'll spend
the rest of your days as gen'ral provider for the Ozone private asylum.'
Well, Scudder wa'n't complainin' none at the outlook. He couldn't make a
good livin' no easi