“What did he do?” asked one of several men, who had approached the group of lads.
“He tried to puncture the balloon bag with his airgun, that’s what he did,” declared Andy. “I saw him. He’s mad because this airship works, and his tin fly didn’t.”
“He ought to be sent to jail,” declared one of the men, a long-time resident of Cresville. “It’s a disgrace to the community to have such a fellow in it. Instead of feeling jealous that this ship worked he ought to be proud of the distinction that has come to our town. Where’s a constable? We’ll have him arrested!”
“Don’t any of you try to arrest me!” cried Noddy savagely. “I’ll shoot any one who touches me,” and he caught up his air-rifle.
His threat was mere bravado, for he was too great a coward to attempt any such thing as that. But no one liked to run the risk of the gun going off, perhaps accidentally, in the hands of the now thoroughly frightened youth. So they made no move to molest him as he sneaked away.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” cried the man who had championed the cause of the motor boys. “If I see you around here when any more tests are going on I’ll take you to the lockup myself.”
“I wanted to get him arrested when I first saw what he was up to,” went on Andy, “but when I yelled to the crowd about what he was doing, every one was so excited about you sailing along in the air that I couldn’t make myself understood.”
“I guess the crowd wasn’t to blame, for if you talked as fast as you usually do when you’re excited they couldn’t make head or tail of what you said. But you’re all right, Andy, even if you do use a little too much gasolene once in a while. We’re much obliged to you. You can take a trip with us next time.”
“Can I, really? That’s the stuff—up in the air—among the clouds—beat the birds—sail with the wind—down again—up once more—over the hills——”
“Cut it out!” cried Ned. “You’ve done enough for one day, Andy. Now, boys, let’s go back and see how Mr. Glassford is making out.”