“Simply that we do a little investigating on our own account.”
“If you intend to propose that we go nosing around the Brownell place, trying to spy and snoop, I vote against it,” declared Bob. “I ran away yesterday, after discovering that radio plant, because I felt danger in the air. With a wire fence built to keep out intruders and with New York gunmen posted in the woods, I have a feeling it wouldn’t be healthy to do any investigating. If I were tiny as Frank here”—reaching over to rumple his chum’s hair—“it might do. They couldn’t hit me. But, as it is, I’d make a fine target.”
Jack smiled and nodded agreement.
“Agreed on that,” he said. “Dad always tells me it is only a foolhardy idiot who puts his head into danger unnecessarily. But that isn’t the kind of investigating I had in mind.”
“Then what?” asked Frank.
“Well, first of all, this is a fine day for flying,” answered Jack, pointing out the open window, to where warm sunshine lay over the country and the sparkling sea in the distance. “You fellows lie abed so long. You haven’t had a chance yet to see what an ideal day it is; warm, cloudless, and with hardly a trace of wind.”
“What’s flying got to do with it?” asked Bob. 34 “We saw yesterday about all we can see from the air. Any more flying over there will make somebody suspicious.”
“I was thinking of a little trip to Mineola,” said Jack. “Then we can leave the old bus on the flying field there and motor into the city in an hour. Once in the city we might ask Mr. McKay, your father’s real estate friend, who the fellow is who has bought the old Brownell house.”
“Then what, Hawkshaw?”
“Oh, Bob, don’t be such a grouch,” protested Jack. “What if nothing comes of it? We’ll have had a good trip, anyhow.”