“I want my fifty dollars!” was the burden of the cry set up by the stand owner. “You’re a nice one, to go smashing people’s property, and then not pay! If it had been an automobile man he’d pay me right off, but you airship fellers ain’t no good.”
“Oh, let me alone!” cried Noddy. “If any one bothers me any more I’ll punch his head. Let me get my machine out of that stand.”
“Not until you pay me my fifty dollars,” insisted the lemonade man.
“And I ought to hold at least one wing as security until I get my hundred,” put in the fat man.
Noddy was beside himself with rage. He looked as if he wanted to fight the whole crowd. There was a movement on one edge of the throng, and a man pushed his way through.
“What’s the matter, Noddy?” he asked quietly.
“It’s Mr. Nixon, Noddy’s father,” exclaimed Jerry.
“Oh, I—I had a little accident,” explained Noddy to his parent, who had just arrived on the grounds, expecting to see his son sailing about in an airship, for Noddy had boasted much of his Firefly.
“An accident? I should say you did,” remarked Mr. Nixon, who, though he usually took the part of his bullying son, could at least see such an obvious happening as was spread all about.
“Yes, he busted my stand all to pieces, and I want damages,” said the owner, seeing a possible chance for reimbursement.