“Hello, Mister!”
“Hello, yourself!” answered Carl.
The boy, a mite of a fellow not more than ten years of age, fully as freckled-faced and as red-headed as Jimmie, now approached the aeroplanes cautiously, his wide mouth breaking into a grin as he advanced.
“Them your machines?” he asked, pointing with a dirty finger.
“Sure they are!” answered Carl. “Ever see one before?”
The boy shook his head while his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Give me a ride!” he demanded.
“Not yet,” replied Carl with a laugh. “We’re going to remain here for some little time.”
“If I stay, can I go with you?” the boy asked.
“I should say not!” replied Carl. “What would your folks say if we should take you away in a flying machine?”