Laying this letter aside, Vinegar spread open a folder to the gaze of his congregation. It contained impressive pictures of airplanes, and hydroplanes, of factories, and of work upon the big machines in their various stages of development.
“One dollar is a mighty modest sum, brudder,” Vinegar bellowed. “Eve’y man whut is got a dollar ought to git in on de ground floor of dis money-makin’ proposition an’ reap de tremendous profits which is bound to follow behind. Dar is a flyin’-school teacher in dis town now, and I considers it a religious thing to endorse his bizzness an’ to git up a lot of learners in his flyin’-school.”
It was whispered among the folks at the church that the first lesson in the art of flying would be given in the Little Moccasin prairie where the airplane was. So very early in the afternoon a long procession of negroes moved in that direction, and a very curious crowd had assembled about the machine. When the aviator, Red Cutt, made his appearance, he stood by the machine and delivered a harangue, explaining various parts of the machine, and calling them by certain names which would have been very interesting if heard in the aviation schools of this country.
Being familiar with the automobile, he could make a pretty shrewd guess at some things; but he also had that inestimable advantage which comes to the man who pretends to know when all others profess their ignorance.
A few minutes later, Hitch arrived. He carried an immense sack full of all sorts of tools. There was even an instrument for digging in the ground in that assortment, for Hitch was evidently ready, as the chief mechanic, to meet all emergencies. He carried also a large bag of cotton, with which he intended to wipe off the machinery and keep everything shining and bright just like new.
Skeeter arrived, looked at the machine, and listened to Red Cutt explaining its uses and manipulations to the crowd. He saw Hitch crawling around underneath, wiping the wheels with cotton, and pretending to be very busy, while actually afraid to touch anything he saw under there.
Skeeter decided that his place on the program was to be seated in the machine. The negroes very eagerly lifted him up, and as he took his place on the seat, he felt that he had reached the highest point of prominence in his entire career.
Vinegar Atts, who had lingered too long at his Sunday dinner, was the last to arrive, and when he rode up in his little automobile and saw Skeeter Butts seated in the airplane like a king upon the throne, he was glad, indeed, that he had been elected to the high office of observer.
He pushed his way through the crowd and bawled at Skeeter:
“Hey, Skeeter! I wants to set up dar wid you.”