“And I’d like the hundred dollars I won from him,” added the stout man.
“That’s right,” chorused the crowd, as Mr. Nixon looked at his son for confirmation of these charges. “He made the bet and he smashed the stand.”
“Hum!” murmured Mr. Nixon. “Very well, I will settle for him. Where is your tent, Noddy?”
The owner of the wrecked Firefly pointed to the canvas structure.
“Come over there,” went on Mr. Nixon to the fat man and the stand owner, “and I will pay you. Come, Noddy.”
“But—but my airship?”
“Let it go. It’s only junk now. You can take the engine out later, and throw the rest on the scrap pile.”
Mr. Nixon led his son away, and the crowd dispersed, for it wanted to see the other sights. Thus ended Noddy’s first attempt to navigate the air. The accident was destined to have an effect on the future of the motor boys, as you shall see.