“Not hurt a bit,” Ernest answered, turning the plane upward, “but all in!”
You don’t indulge in long conversations in an airplane. Aside from the noise of the engine, the pilot has his hands and brain busy—too busy to pay attention to his passengers.
So the boys sat watching, until Ernest, making a wide circle, headed for the Field at the cantonment, and landed with his usual skill.
They were both talking at once, telling the less fortunate ones about the affair with the eagle, when Frank came strolling across the field.
“Three more dynamitings, fellows,” he drawled, stuffing a paper into his pocket. “A corner of the New York Stock Exchange blown off, the residence of the Mayor of Charleston, West Virginia, wrecked, and the Fourth Street car barns blown to smithereens.”
“Jingo!” exclaimed Eddie. “What they goin’ to do about all this anyhow? Who do you suppose it is?”
“Well, they have a clue to the organization,” said Frank, “but it won’t do any good, because if they had not been sure of a good disguise, they would never have given them that much information. There was a placard on the wall of the Exchange this morning. It read, “The division of capital must come.” It was signed “Veritas.”
“My word!” exclaimed Bill feebly. “Gee, I am certainly glad I have no capital! That is, none to speak of.” He dug into his pocket and brought out eleven cents, which he handled fondly before replacing it.
“I have heard two or three people say that they thought these geezers who are making the infernal machines are somewhere around Louisville.”
“Mamma!” ejaculated Eddie.