“Here’s comfort!” he cried, extending his hands out over what was left of the small blaze. “The next time you get me up in the air I don’t go! I’ve been freezing for an hour.”
In the meantime Ned Nestor was caring for the aeroplane, looking after the delicate machinery and covering it carefully with a huge oil-cloth. Pat stood watching the work with a grin on his face.
“Are you thinking of giving me a ride in that thing?” he asked.
“Not to-night!” laughed Ned.
“Well, when you get ready for me to ride the air,” Pat said, “just tell me the night before, and I’ll shoo myself into the hills. If I’m going to fall off anything, I’ll take the drop from something solid, like a mountain top.”
“No danger at all, when you know how to operate the machine,” Ned replied. “There’s danger in running anything if you don’t know how, even a sewing machine.”
“Where did you pick it up?” asked Frank.
“He didn’t pick it up at all,” interposed Pat. “It picked him up.”
“I found it at Missoula,” was the reply, “all packed and stored away in a freight warehouse. I had to get it out at night, and so lost time. The people would have kept me there until now giving exhibitions if I had shown up during the day.”
“But you did leave there in the daytime,” urged Jack. “You were never in the air since last night.”