"No! No!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, starting back. "Bless my election ticket!
No! Never could I throw a bomb. Please don't give me one." Mr. Damon
started to run away.
"A bomb!" exclaimed the Nihilist, and then he drew from his pocket some
pamphlets printed in Russian. "I have no bombs. Here are some of the
tracts we distribute to convert unbelievers to our cause," he went on.
"Read them and you will understand what we are striving for. They will
convert you, I am sure."
He went on, following the rest of the party, while Mr. Damon dropped
back with Ned.
"Bless my gas meter!" gasped the odd man, as he stared at the
queerly-printed documents in his hand. "I thought he was going to give
me a bomb to throw!"
"I don't blame you," said Ned in a low voice. "They look like desperate
men, but probably they have suffered many hardships, and they think
their way of righting a wrong is the only way. I suppose you'll read
those tracts," he added with a smile.
"Hum! I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Damon. "I might just as well try to
translate a Chinese laundry check. But I'll save 'em for souvenirs," and
he carefully put them in his pocket, as if he feared they might
unexpectedly turn into a bomb and blow up the airship.
The tour of the craft was completed and the Nihilists returned to the
comfortable cabin where, much to their surprise, they were served with a
little lunch, Mr.
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