“The only wine for the conquerors,” the other declared, pouring it out into the thick tumblers. “Drink, all of you, to the Franklin Flying Machine, to the millions she will earn—to to-morrow night!”
The youth drained his glass, watched it replenished, and drained it again. Then they went out to the car.
“There is one thing yet to be done,” he said. “Wait here for me.”
They waited whilst he climbed up toward the shed. The two men watched him. A little group of rustics stood open-mouthed around the great car. Then there was a little shout. From above their heads came the sound of a great explosion—red flames were leaping up from that black barn to the sky. The two men looked at one another. They rushed to the hill and met the youth descending.
“What the—”
He stopped them.
“I dared not leave it here,” he explained. “It would have been madness. I am perfectly certain that I have been watched during the last few days. I can build another in a week. I have the plans in my pocket for every part.”
The older man wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“You are sure—that you have the plans?” he asked.
The youth struck himself on the chest.