“You act as if you’d remedied the break in the engine, Thad, seeing that you’re putting up your tools, and wiping your hands off,” remarked Giraffe.
“I’ve got it fixed,” Thad informed him, without any great show of enthusiasm; “but remember I’m not promising how long it’s going to stand. There’s always a toss-up with a machine of this kind as to what part will break down next.”
“Tell me about that, will you?” growled Giraffe, in disgust. “I’d like to kick the old box into the river only that it does save us some walking. It’s a lottery any way you can fix it.”
“Get aboard everybody, and let’s see how she cranks,” suggested Thad.
As usual it took several urgent efforts before the engine decided to heed the call to duty.
“There, she sings like a bird!” cried Bumpus as the loud whirr announced that once again their motor was in working order.
So they started off.
“One thing sure,” remarked Giraffe, looking back toward the place where presently they could just glimpse the top of the tall tree where they had found such queer fruit growing, “that was a remarkable little adventure, and none of us are likely to forget it in a hurry either.”
“I know for one I won’t!” declared Bumpus; “and every time I look at this bolt that I took from the broken Taube aeroplane I’ll think of how you fellows climbed right up to the top of that tree and brought the birdman down safe to the ground, and how I stood there to receive him. Yes, it’s marked with a white stone in my memory, and I can just imagine how Smithy, Step Hen, Davy Jones and Bob White’ll stare when they hear the story of the wrecked aeroplane man!”