A single pound sufficient to bring the nations of the world to my feet in awed homage.

And I can make a hundred pounds a day of it! Oh, that I could reach other worlds, to make them feel my mastery!" "If his stuff is as good as he thinks it is, I certainly hope he won't shoot off any of it accidentally," thought Prescott, with an odd little shiver.
"Oh, that I dared trust my secret to one or two others!" murmured Garwood, as he delved with one hand into one of the boxes that supported his simple bench.

"And now for the great finishing touch!" Amos Garwood placed on the board a fairsized wide-mouthed bottle.
From where he stood, Dick could read the label on the bottle--- "Potassium Chlorate---crystals." "Chlorate of potash ?" thought Dick.

"That's what Dr.Bentley gave me once for sore throat." Dick, however, was soon to get an inkling of a suspicion that chlorate of potash might be used to serve other purposes.
As the mentally queer inventor reached into the box for that bottle, the three silent, observing "Injuns" saw that Garwood had on the crude table before him a glass mortar and pestle, the former of about two quarts' capacity.
In this mortar lay a quantity of powdered stuff, which Garwood had evidently been grinding before their arrival.

Now he poured out a heaping handful of the chlorate crystals, dropping them on top of the mixture in the mortar.
"A few turns---a little more fatigue of the wrist---and I am the world's master---its owner!" cried Garwood exultantly.
"Ker-choo!" sneezed Tom Reade at the worst possible moment.
Amos Garwood turned like a flash, tottering to his feet.
"Spies! Traitors! Ingrates!" he gasped in hoarse terror.
"Nothing at all like it," Dick replied, with a pleasant smile.
"Mr.Garwood, we boys are playing in these woods.