“He’s gwine to land here!” exclaimed Bunk.
“And has picked out his spot,” added Harvey.
Such proved to be the fact. There was a broad, open space in front of the Rawlins House, where a large number of teams could find room, the area being such as to offer an ideal spot for the landing of an aeroplane. The aviator, who was now seen to be a youth not much if any older than Harvey himself, guided his machine with consummate skill, and lightly touched the ground within fifty feet of where our young friends and half a hundred others were standing. The aeroplane ran a few yards on its wheels, and then came to a halt. The young man stepped lightly to the ground and smilingly greeted the crowd. His next words were:
“I am looking for Harvey Hamilton and his colored companion.”
“Dat’s us,” whispered the startled Bohunkus.
Harvey stepped forward.
“That is my name; what do you wish with me?”
“I have orders to hand over this biplane to you.”
“To me!” repeated Harvey, who felt as if wonders would never cease; “why to me?”
“Your father, Mr. Gabriel Hamilton, ordered it by telegraph to be sent here this morning. I understand your machine has been wrecked.”