"Oh, so do I. And we'll have to have a good many lessons in running the engine, and in steering, and all that. I begin to think running a flying machine is a good deal harder than running an auto, or a motor boat."
"Yes, I guess it is. Come on down and let us see how the engine works. We can do that easily enough, for it's a good deal like the engine of an auto, or a motor boat," went on Tom.
"Where is Sam?"
"He took the auto and went down to the Corners on an errand for Aunt Martha. He said he'd be back as soon as possible. He's as crazy to get at the biplane as either of us."
The two boys walked to where the biplane had been put together, in a large open wagon shed attached to the rear of the big barn. The biplane has a stretch from side to side of over thirty feet, and the shed had been cleaned out from end to end to make room for it. There was a rudder in front and another behind, and in the centre was a broad cane seat, with a steering wheel, and several levers for controlling the craft. Back of the seat was the engine, lightly built but powerful, and above was a good-sized tank of gasoline. The framework of the biplane was of bamboo, held together by stays of piano wire, and the planes themselves were of canvas, especially prepared so as to be almost if not quite air proof. All told, the machine was a fine one, thoroughly up-to-date, and had cost considerable money.
"We'll have to get a name for this machine," remarked Tom. "Have you any in mind?"
"Well, I—er—thought we might call her the—er——" And then his big brother stopped short and grew slightly red in the face.
"I'll bet an apple you were going to say Dora," cried Tom quickly.
"Humph," murmured Dick. "Maybe you were going to suggest Nellie."
"No, I wasn't," returned Tom, and now he got a little red also. "If I did that, Sam might come along and want to name it the Grace. We had better give the girls' names a rest. Let's call her the Dartaway, that is, if she really does dart away when she flies."