Brent said nothing, he merely watched until the last film of earth had settled down into the hole where Stubby had placed the bomb.
Silently the four went back into the hangar. Brent pressed a switch and the whole hangar was flooded with light.
Gale and Bruce saw two low winged monoplanes standing side by side. On one the motor stood revealed, signs of Stubby’s work upon it still evident. Brent limped to the latter plane, a black and silver work of art, and laboriously climbed up to look at the motor.
“Has the other one got your motor, too?” Bruce asked, indicating the yellow plane standing to one side.
“No. I use that one to run about in while I work on this. I used to experiment with the one I cracked up, too,” Brent said.
“With all these things happening aren’t you afraid to put everything into that one motor?” Bruce pursued.
“What do you mean?” Brent turned to look down at him.
“Well, if the race means so much you should have a—duplicate of that motor,” Bruce said. “I’d put one in that plane, too, so if someone throws a monkey wrench into the works in that motor you still can fly with the other one.”
“It would take too long to perfect another one now,” Brent said.
“The one you cracked up had the new motor, didn’t it?” Gale asked.