They spent an interesting hour over in the main enclosure where prospective exhibitors were located. There was quite a crowd of visitors. Some of the aviators were explaining the make-up of their machines, and others were making try-out flights. Parks and Andy were passing to the outfield where the test ascensions were in progress, when the former suddenly left the side of his companion.
Andy was surprised to see him hasten up behind a sinister-looking man, who was apparently explaining to an old farmer about the machines. Parks seized the man rudely by the arm and faced him around squarely. The latter scowled, and then a strange, wilted expression came into his dark face.
“Excuse this gentleman, if you will,” said Parks to the farmer.
“Why, suttinly,” bobbed the ruralite. “Much obleeged to him for being so perlite in showing me ’round.”
Parks drew the shrinking man he had halted to the side of a tent.
“Now, then, Gib Duske,” he said sternly, “what were you up to with that greenhorn?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” growled the other; “showing him the sights.”
“You’re given to doing such things for nothing!” rejoined Parks sarcastically. “I recall some of your exploits in that line in the rural districts when you were with the circus.”
“See here,” broke out the other angrily, “what is it your business?”
“Just this,” retorted Parks steadily; “we’re trying to run a decent enterprise here, and such persons as you have got to give an account of themselves or vacate. What’s your game, anyhow?”