“Practice makes perfect, you know,” suggested Mr. Morse.
Andy felt that he had about reached the acme of his mechanical ambition. When he went to bed that night the thought of the coming race kept him awake till midnight. When he finally went to sleep, it was to dream of aerial flights that resolved themselves into a series of the most exciting nightmares.
No developments came from Andy’s experience with the Duske crowd. Once in a while he worried some over the reference of Duske’s companions to seeing his name in the newspapers.
“Either it was about my trouble at Princeville, or some of these reporters writing up the race got my name incidentally,” decided Andy.
“Anyhow, I can’t afford to trouble about it.”
Andy rarely ventured away from the camp after dark. In fact, ever since entering the employment of Mr. Parks he had not mixed much with outsiders. He had his Princeville friends and the Duske crowd constantly in mind. But one hot evening he went forth for some ice cream for the crowd.
The distance to a town restaurant was not great. Andy hurried across the freight tracks. Just as he passed a switchman’s shanty, he fancied he heard some one utter a slight cry of surprise. Two persons dodged back out of the light of a switch lantern. Andy, however, paid little attention to the episode. He reached the restaurant, got the ice cream in a pasteboard box, and started back for the camp without any mishap or adventure.
Just as Andy crossed a patch of ground covered with high rank weeds, he became aware that somebody was following him. A swift backward glance revealed two slouching figures. They pressed forward as Andy momentarily halted.
“Now then!” spoke one of them suddenly.
Andy dodged as something was thrown towards him, but not in time to avoid a looped rope. It was handled deftly, for before he knew it his hands were bound tightly to his side.