“Of course, it wouldn’t be possible to make anything like as long a trip as that without coming down, but I calculated on that. We won’t try for speed, only for distance. The reason I proposed the West is that this season of the year is best for going out there: the prevailing winds are more favorable, and I think we would enjoy it immensely. Of course it is nice down South, and, as for Canada, I have heard that it is fine there in the summer, but if you left it for me to decide, I’d say let’s take the Comet and go West.”
“All right,” agreed Bob, whose usual good spirits had returned. “I’m willing. West it shall be,” and he looked inquiringly at Ned, who was not the one to hold out against his two chums.
“I’m willing,” he announced. “We’ll get the Comet ready for a long Western trip—across the Rocky Mountains if necessary. We’ll have a fine——”
Ned’s remarks were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a small lad who rushed across the lawn toward where the three chums were sitting under the tree. The newcomer was much excited. His hat had fallen off, one cuff was all awry, and his hair was tousled, while his cheeks were flushed.
“I—say!” he cried, brokenly, not pausing in his rush. “I—just—came past—the shed—where you—keep your airship. It’s terrible—door broken open—lock smashed—things scattered all about—watchman not there—airship gone!” The little lad had to pause for breath.
“The airship gone!” exclaimed Jerry, leaping to his feet, an example followed by Ned and Bob. “What do you mean, Andy Rush? Is this a joke?”
“No joke at all—airship’s gone—I saw the vacant shed,” and Andy Rush sank down on the grass, completely exhausted by his run, and his rapid talk, which latter was characteristic of him, by nature as well as by name.
“Did you see it go?” cried Bob.
“No, I didn’t see it go—but it was gone when I came past,” answered the excitable little chap.