“May we leave our plane here, and get lodgings for the night?” was the next query.
“Pop’s coming.” Sure enough, a tall weather-beaten man came leisurely to greet them, and the boy shouted eagerly, “They want to stay the night.”
“They kin set in the shed,” the man answered.
“Thank you. We’ll be glad to pay,” Mr. Austin explained.
“Doesn’t cost me anything,” the man shrugged indifferently.
“It is worth something to us.”
“Satisfy yourself. You can get something to eat in the house, but we can’t sleep you. There’s grass in the shed.” With that cordial reception, he strolled off, his son at his heels, and Jim taxied the plane into the long open shed, which might have been built for cows, but had apparently stood unused for months or years. The Flying Buddies surveyed the place while Mr. Austin made his way to the house to arrange for food. He found a woman with a sick child in her arms, so instead of asking her to prepare a meal, he bought a few supplies which he carried back to the Buddies.
“I didn’t get much,” he announced.
“We can fix a bunk with the grass,” Jim told him. “There’s plenty of it and it’s clean. We thought we’d sleep down here by the plane, but there’s a more comfortable—”
“Let’s stay together,” the man proposed. “How about gas?”