e kick, and said with sad severity, "I shall never make a
real bloodhound of Blazer. Bloodhounds leap at a man's throat; they
don't collar him by the leg."

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE STOLEN FLYING-MACHINE

"You vas a vonder-child!" said Herr Schlugst. "You know dat machine as
good as me!" And his goggle eyes stared out of his round, good-natured
face at Hildebrand Anne in a wondering admiration.

"Yes; I think I have got the hang of her," said Hildebrand Anne with
some pride, looking up at the great cigar-shaped balloon which hung
motionless in the still air.

"Vat for do dey call thee Tinkar? You vas not look like a tinkar; and
you vas not haf--do not haf de tinkar brain."

"Well, I've been called Tinker ever since I can remember; and one
name's as good as another," said Hildebrand Anne indifferently. "But
you'll let me cross over to Paris with you to-morrow, won't you?"

"I vill not! I vill not! Dere is de danger! De great danger! We
must vant de calm dat ees dead! I take no von vith me but mine own
self! And I vas not vould go, not for nodings; but I vas vant de
tousand pounds. Dere is my leetle girl to be lived and educate."

"But I do so want to be one of the first to cross the Channel in a
flying-machine," said Tinker plaintively.

"Ach, to be vurst! to be vurst! Dat is you English top and toe! Do I
vas hunt de orchid to be vurst discoverer? Not mooch. I hunt him for
money. Do I cross de Channel in my machine to be vurst? Nein, nein.
I cross him for de tousand pounds. And you I vould not take, no, not
for de oder tousand pound. Bah! You vas not at all von vonder-child;
you vas von foolish! Good-night, mine young friend, good-night." And
Herr Schlugst went into the galvanised iron hut where for the time
being he lived, watching over his precious machine.

The Tinker came out of the palisade which surrounded it, and walked
down the cliff into Brighton quite disconsolate; he could not see how
to get his way. He came into the Paragon Hotel and dressed for dinner
as sulky as a naturally cheerful soul could be. He showed no readiness
to talk, and his father presently condoled with him on his lowness of
spirits. Tinker said briefly that he had had a disappointment.

"Ah, they are terrible things, disappointments, when one is eleven
years old," said Sir Tancred. "Later in life they lose their edge."

On his words there came into the dining room a rotund, middle-aged
Jewish gentleman