“BUILDING AN AIRSHIP, ARE YOU, HARDY”
It was about five o’clock when Ben, holding a skeleton frame on a curving slant while Mr. Hardy covered it with canvas, chanced to glance towards the street.
“Father, some one is coming,” he said in a significant tone.
“Who is it, Ben?”
“Mr. Saxton.”
“Indeed,” observed Mr. Hardy. He did not discontinue his work, but securing it so the canvas would not give, then looked up to greet his unexpected visitor.
The proprietor of the automobile works, portly, overdressed, and swelling with a sense of his own importance, did not look pleased or agreeable as he approached the work yard and passed in through its open gateway.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Saxton,” observed Ben, while his father bowed courteously.
“H’m,” observed Jasper Saxton in a dry non-committal tone, curiously scanning the skeleton of the monoplane, “building an airship, are you, Hardy?”