The driver unloaded the barrel of gasoline, received his pay and his tip and then stood with his hands on his hips surveying the two aeroplanes critically.
“There’s one of them things lying busted on the other side of town,” he said directly.
“Some one have an accident?” asked Carl.
“I dunno,” was the reply. “Sol Stevens drove in to sell his hogs, a little while ago, and he said he saw one o’ them busted airships lyin’ busted by the road out near the Run.”
“How far is that from here?” asked Carl.
The delivery boy looked over the landscape, as if estimating distances, and at the same time establishing his own importance, and answered that it was not far from ten miles.
Ben and Jimmie, awakened by the rattle of the rickety wagon wheels, now came out of the shelter tent and joined in the conversation. They looked curiously at the boy for a moment, and then turned their attention to the driver, listening intently to his repetition of the brief story of the wrecked aeroplane.
“Well,” the driver said presently, beckoning to the boy, “we may as well be going, Kit.”
“I’m going with the machines!” answered the boy.
Ben and Jimmie looked from Kit to Carl but said nothing.