Seated on a box, his eyes closed, his face wearing an expression of supreme felicity, was Scipio. Strains of “My Old Kentucky Home” floated on the air. The musician, opening his eyes, happened to spy Andy.
“Tell you, chile,” declared the portly old cook, with a rare sigh of longing, “des yar Scip could play dat tune all night long.”
“Keep right at it, Scipio,” smiled Andy. “You go on enjoying your music, while I do up any little chores you have to attend to.”
“If it wouldn’t be a deposition on yo’,” remarked Scipio thoughtfully, “dar’s de suppah dishes I’d like brung back from Mistah Morse’s quarters.”
“Can I find them?” inquired Andy.
“Yo’ jess follow yo’ nose down through the big shed,” directed Scipio. “Mistah Morse nevah notice yo’. He’s dat substracted he work all night.”
Andy proceeded on his mission. Passing through one shed, he saw a light at the end of one adjoining. In the second shed he came to a halt with sparkling eyes and bated breath.
Across a light platform lay the skeleton of an airship. Its airy elegance and fine mechanism appealed to Andy intensely. He went clear around it, wishing he had the inventive faculty to construct some like masterpiece in its line.
Just beyond the machine was a small apartment where a light was burning. Near its doorway was a table upon which Andy observed a tray of dishes and the remnants of a meal.
He moved forward carefully to remove them, for seated at a work-bench and deeply engrossed in some work at a small lathe, was a man wearing great goggles on his eyes.