“I told him about New York, and about the machines,” was the hesitating reply. “He didn’t seem to care much about details.”
“What sort of a looking man is he?” asked Ben.
“Oh, he looks all right,” Kit replied. “I couldn’t describe him. When he lifted his left hand I saw that the little finger was off at the first joint. That’s all I know about him.”
“That’s enough!” Ben exclaimed. “We don’t have to know any more about him! Phillips has a frank, pleasant manner, and his little finger on the left hand is off at the first joint, too, but perhaps that is only a coincidence!” he added with a scornful smile.
Kit actually turned pale under all his freckles.
“Is that one of the men you boys have been telling me about?” he asked.
“I haven’t a doubt of it!” replied Ben.
Kit, very much ashamed of himself, crawled under the shelter-tent where the boys had been sleeping and refused to be comforted.
“It’s just this way, boys,” Ben said as they stood looking into each other’s faces, questioningly. “It looks like we’ll have to get out of this cosy little valley right away.”
“Phillips doesn’t know what we’re here for yet, because he was inquiring for the third flying machine,” Jimmie replied. “If he wants to come to the camp to-night, let him trot right along. If he isn’t warned in time we may be able to tie him up like a pig for market.”