tell
me where my stateroom is?" and he showed his ticket. "I'm not used
to traveling," he needlessly added for that fact was very evident.
Mr. Preston informed him how to get to his berth, and the gentleman
went on: "Are you going all the way to Buenos Ayres?"

"No, but my friend is," and the circus man nodded at Tom.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" the stranger exclaimed. "Then I shall have
someone of whom I can ask questions. I am quite lost when I travel."

"I'll help you all I can," volunteered Tom, "and I'll show you to
your stateroom now."

"Ah, thank you. Your name is--"

"Tom Swift," supplied the young inventor.

"Ah, yes, I believe I have read about your airships. I am the
Reverend Josiah Blinderpool. I am taking a little vacation. I trust
we shall become good friends."

"Humph, he's a regular infant, to be away from civilization," mused
Tom, when he had showed the clergyman to the proper stateroom.
"He'll get into trouble, he's so innocent." If he could have seen
that same "clergyman" double up with mirth when he had closed his
stateroom door after him, Tom would not have felt so sure about that
same "innocence."

"To think that I was talking face to face with Sam Preston and he
never tumbled to who I was!" exclaimed the newcomer softly. "That's
rich! Now if I play my cards right I shouldn't be surprised but what
they'd invite me to come along with them. That would just suit me. I
wouldn't have any trouble then, getting on the track of those
giants. The information Waydell got from that red-haired Foger chap
wasn't any too definite," and once more the man wearing the garb of
a minister chuckled.

"Well, I'll say good-bye," remarked Mr. Preston, a little later,
when the warning bell had rung. "I guess you'll get along all right.
I haven't seen a sign of Waydell, or any of his slick agents. You'll
have no trouble I guess."

But if the circus man could have seen the "clergyman" at that same
time looking over letters addressed to "Hank Delby," and signed
"Wayland Waydell" he would not have been so confident.

Mr. Preston bade good-bye to his friends, the gangplank was hauled
up, and a hoarse blast came from the whistle of the Calaban.

"Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're off!"

"Yep, off t' git dat big, giant orchard plant," chimed in Eradicate.

"Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who did not like the use of the word "giant"
even in that connection. "Don't tell everyone our business, Rad."

"Dat's right,