The day was so pleasant—the prophecy of the weather prophet having been fulfilled to the letter—that they sat down on the long bench which ran along the front of the hotel, and waited for whatever might turn up.
“If any one is to meet me, he would come here,” reflected Harvey; “I can’t imagine who he is or what news he will bring, but I shall learn in due time.”
A half hour later, while the two were seated side by side, occasionally making a guess as to what it all meant, which guess both knew was wide of the mark, Bohunkus said:
“Seems to me dem folks out dere am looking at something.”
Excitement was fast spreading through the town. Groups stood on the corners, halted in the middle of the street and at every coign of advantage. All were peering into the sky, where some object attracted their attention. Naturally Harvey and Bohunkus rose from their seats and passed out to the front where their view was clear.
“Gee! it am anoder airyplane!” exclaimed the negro.
“You are right; they seem to be growing plentiful in this part of the world.”
“Wonder if it am de Perfesser.”
Harvey whipped his binoculars around and leveled them at the object, whose outstretched wings identified it as one of the most modern ships of the air. A brief scrutiny showed that it was not the extraordinary invention of that extraordinary man who had crossed their path more than once. It was a biplane, and though still a considerable distance away the noise of its motor was audible. It was traveling fast and heading for the little town of Groveton.
It was evident that whoever was guiding the aerial craft was an expert. Harvey saw that it carried only the operator, who described a large circle over the town at a height of nearly a thousand feet and then began descending.