andy had fallen into the habit of strolling up the sandy road each evening about the time for the lake worth express to go south. but not once did he catch the sound of the warning whistle or the grinding brakes. even the friday night train went by without slackening speed, and the boy was almost ready to abandon hope that roy osborne might come to his rescue.

“the automobile races were ended this afternoon,” said andy when he returned to the house after a vain visit to the box-car depot friday evening. “if he don’t come to-morrow evening, i’ll give up.”

although neither andy nor captain anderson talked much about the new aeroplane this evening, the machine being practically complete, they could not resist making it the subject of some comment.

“it don’t look very strong to me,” remarked[122] mrs. anderson. “where do you hitch on the wings?”

in explaining that the wings were the two planes, andy grew verbose and was soon expatiating, for the first time, on the magnificent possibilities of the apparatus.

“then you let it up with a rope,” suggested mrs. anderson, upon whom, to tell the truth, a good part of andy’s technical talk was wasted.

both andy and captain anderson laughed.

“i wish we could,” exclaimed the captain, “but i’m afraid we’ll have to sail it without a rope. it works just like a boat—but in the air,” he explained.

“but who guides it?” persisted his wife.

“who? why, there must be an operator. i supposed you knew that—”

“i knew that much about it,” interrupted mrs. leighton, with a half patronizing smile. “i’ve just been waiting for andrew to offer to do it.”

there was an awkward silence. the captain puckered his lips, and andy grew white about the mouth. someone had to say something.

“and what if i did?” said the boy, at last, his fingers gripped and his breath partly suppressed.

[123]

“have you been counting on doing this?” asked his mother, sitting upright and leaning toward the distressed boy.

“n—no,” stammered andy. “but there is no one else.”

mrs. leighton turned toward captain anderson:

“do you want him to do this, captain?” she asked, her voice indicating that this situation had been long anticipated.

“no,” exclaimed the captain. “i don’t want him to do it. of course, it is more than dangerous.”

“you know you said you’d find someone,” continued mrs. leighton, who was visibly under a strain.

“i haven’t found anyone yet,” replied the captain, somewhat crestfallen.

mrs. leighton was silent a few moments.

“captain,” she said at last, “whenever, in your judgment, andrew can be of further use to you in this experiment, he may do as you wish. if you think he ought to attempt to operate this aeroplane, i feel that i must defer to your judgment—”

the captain was on his feet in an instant, shaking his head.

[124]

“we should have thought of all this before we began and saved all our trouble and expense,” he exclaimed. “it’s too late to mend that, but it isn’t too late to prevent the boy breaking his neck. i don’t recommend that he turn aviator—i don’t even believe i’ll consent to it.”

any hope that andy had that his mother might approve of his undertaking to operate the car, was dead. the boy arose and left the room. he choked back a sob and wiped away a few tears that he could not suppress, and then walked far out on the pier and sat in the moonlight alone and sadder than he had ever been in his life.

when he finally entered the boathouse to go to bed, he found captain anderson already asleep. the boy wondered if his friend and co-worker did not feel something of the same disappointment. in the morning andy was awakened by a noise in the shop, and he turned over to find captain anderson opening the big double doors.

“turn out, youngster, and give me a hand. i want to get the car out so i can fasten on the rudder.”

“i suppose you’re goin’ to take a photograph[125] of it,” said andy, with a sad smile, “and then knock her to pieces. it would make a fine rack to dry clothes on—”

“i’m goin’ to test her out if it’s the last thing i do alive,” said the captain in a determined voice.

“you?” exclaimed andy, rolling out of bed. “you? not if i can stop you, you won’t. you’re sure to kill yourself.”

“what about you?” replied his companion.

“oh, i—well, that’s different. i always wanted to. and you’re doin’ it just because—because you’re mad.”

“never mind why i’m doing it,” went on the captain. “you get dressed and get busy.”

without daring to make further protests, the boy complied. at the earliest moment, however, he went into the house and almost immediately mrs. anderson appeared with a skillet in her hand. rushing down the path to the boathouse, she cried:

“charles anderson, you’ll do no such thing.”

her husband, already bolting on the bird-tail rudder frame, looked up in surprise.

“do you mean to tell me you think you’re goin’ sailin’ off in the sky in that thing?”

[126]

“i haven’t told you anything of the sort,” answered the captain somewhat meekly.

“well, are you?”

“i—i—”

“you are not! that’s all there is to that. it’s bad enough to come down here and live half the year doing nothing and seeing nothing while you fritter away your time building boats you don’t want, and nobody wants, i guess. but you mark what i say, i ain’t goin’ to go mopin’ around in black the rest o’ my life pretending you weren’t crazy when you committed suicide. and if you don’t tell me this minute you’ll stay down on the ground, i’ll smash every stick in this fool killer.”

“i—i—” began the captain again.

as he hesitated, his irate wife sprang forward with her skillet in the air. the fragile varnished spruce stanchions were at her mercy.

“i promise,” capitulated her husband. “i won’t try it.”

“then you come right in to breakfast,” exclaimed mrs. anderson. “and if you want my advice, you’ll put a match to that whole contraption and try to get back to your senses again. you, too, andrew,” she said hotly as she passed the alarmed lad. “you’re both clean crazy.”

[127]

despite this domestic conflict, captain anderson and andy could not resist a surreptitious glance now and again and a covert smile. but mrs. anderson was in earnest, and the old-time silence about the new aeroplane was resumed at the breakfast table.

“othello’s occupation’s gone,” said captain anderson in a low voice as he and the boy left the house.

“he may come to-night,” almost whispered andy, referring to roy osborne. “hadn’t we better go ahead?”

captain anderson nodded his head toward the kitchen, where mrs. anderson could be heard making far more than ordinary kitchen clatter.

“nothing to-day,” he said, with a smile. “mrs. anderson is the easiest-going woman in the world. but, when she breaks out as she did to-day, i don’t want to cross her. we’ll put the car back into the shop, and—well, we might try a sail until the storm is over.”

“there’s someone out already,” remarked the almost disconsolate boy, pointing toward a speck of sail far down the river.

captain anderson looked and led the way to the boathouse. unbolting the part of the[128] rudder frame he had already attached, he and andy carried the light frame into the shop.

“something like a pallbearer,” remarked the captain. “maybe our sail will cheer us up.”

before he left the shop, he took down his binoculars, and had a squint up and down the river.

“looks like lars nilsen’s frieda from st. sebastian,” commented the captain, indicating the boat in sight.

ten minutes later the man and the boy had rowed out to the anchored valkaria, and were hoisting the sail, when captain anderson noticed that the boat in the river had come about and was making for his pier.

“it is nilsen,” said the captain, “and he’s comin’ in. hang on to the mooring till we see what he wants.”

as the frieda approached the pier, it could be seen that, besides the man sailing the boat, a young man was aboard. by his side, in the stern, lay a traveling bag. the passenger had a smooth but somewhat tanned face, and he wore a stiff-brimmed light-colored soft hat such as are common in the far west.

captain anderson sang out a greeting to the[129] skipper of the little craft and, the moment its nose touched the pier, the young man, bag in hand, sprang on the dock.

andy’s heart thumped with a sudden thought. he dropped the mooring line, and the valkaria drifted dockward.

“is this captain anderson?” called the young man.

as the captain replied, the stranger continued:

“then this is andy leighton!”

“it is,” shouted andy, “and you’re roy osborne!”

“one guess did it,” exclaimed the youth. “i’m a little late, but we had a great sail. i got your letter—came down last night, but got carried to st. sebastian and stayed all night with mr. nilsen—came up in the frieda—dandy boat—how’s the airship?”

“i hardly thought you’d come,” began andy, embarrassed.

“it was sort of accidental,” replied the new arrival, as he shook hands all around. “i was to go back to newark yesterday, but when i showed mr. atkinson your letter, he said i might come. i’m to join him at lake worth to-morrow.”

[130]

“to-morrow?” exclaimed andy. “do you have to go so soon?”

“mr. atkinson thought it wouldn’t take long. i didn’t just understand. how did you ever happen to get an aeroplane down here?”

as the party started up the pier, andy began his explanation. without going to the house, the group went at once to the boat shed. within five minutes, roy osborne, his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, was again the expert aviator. swiftly he went over the newly wrought car, examined every detail of the bird-tail rudder and then asked andy to operate it. then he did the same thing himself.

“what do you think of it?” asked andy with barely concealed anxiety.

“an adaptation of renaud’s idea,” answered the young professional.

“renaud?” repeated andy. “i don’t believe my uncle ever heard of him or his idea.”

“quite likely,” answered osborne, “but it is a most ingenious application of the frenchman’s theory. it has never before been applied,” he went on.

“will it work?” exclaimed andy.

“mechanically, it looks good to me. but there is only one way to find whether it is a practical improvement—try it!”

[131]

“will you?” urged andy.

“let me see the engine,” was the youthful aviator’s answer.

here was something andy understood. almost before roy osborne reached the delicate motor, andy had primed it, set his ignition, and, much to his relief, had the cylinders softly singing with the unbroken purr of the perfect engine.

the sight of the aeroplane had not moved the new arrival. but at the sound of the engine, he sprang forward, and then stood amazed. the next instant, his hands, big and sinewy for his age, were on the cylinders as if caressing them. his eyes glistened. then his strong hands caught one end of the throbbing mechanism and raised it partly from the floor.

“have you got the patterns for that?” he exclaimed quickly.

“there are none,” answered andy. “my uncle made it—he’s dead.”

osborne stopped and started the engine.

“i’ll give $10,000 for it and the right to make it,” he added, after another moment.

andy gasped; even captain anderson’s mouth dropped open.

“how—how about the new rudder,” andy managed to say, at last.

“i don’t know about that, yet. but i do know about this. will you sell it?”

andy was confused; he hesitated, with no definite thought.

“show andy how to operate our aeroplane, if it’ll go,” put in captain anderson, “and i reckon we can trade.”

osborne turned to the excited, trembling andy.

“is it a go?” he asked with a smile.

“if you can make our aeroplane fly,” answered andy, his face almost white with joyous emotion, “and’ll teach me how to do it, you can have anything i’ve got.”