“Oh, Mr. Parks! what is the matter?” asked Andy in alarm.
“Everything off, lad,” replied his employer, with a wince and a groan. “I’ve had a bad fall, arm broken in two places, and we can’t make the airship race.”
CHAPTER XII—TRACED DOWN
“Be careful, Mr. Parks!”
“Foh goodness sake, sah! Yo want to break dat arm ober again?”
Mr. Morse, the inventor, and Scipio, the cook, made a frantic rush for the aeronaut. They were grouped together in the center of the space occupied by their camp. The eyes of each had been fixed on an object floating about in the air over-head. All had been pleased and excited, but particularly Parks. Now as the object aloft made a skim that seemed to beat a mile a minute dash, John Parks lost all control of himself.
He forgot the fractured arm he had carried in a sling for three days, and actually tried to wave it, as he burst forth:
“Morse, you’re a genius, and that boy, Andy Nelson, is the birdman of the century!”
Andy deserved the praise fully that was being bestowed upon him. That morning Mr. Morse had completed the Racing Star, his new airship. At the present moment it was making its initial flight.
The relieved, contented face of Morse showed his satisfaction over the fact that his work was done and done well. Scipio stared goggle-eyed. As to John Parks, expert sky sailor that he was, his practiced eye in one moment had discerned the fact that the Racing Star was the latest and best thing out in aviation, and he went fairly wild over the masterly way in which Andy handled the machine.