From the rafters, suspended on big wooden hooks, hung spars, oars, and strips of many kinds of wood. In the midst of these, resting on two special racks, were what appeared to be two racing shells, each about twenty feet long.
“They’re part of it,” volunteered Captain Anderson, as he saw Andy gazing in admiration at the fragile boats. “They’re the part of the aero-catamaran we made.”
“And the engine?” asked Andy.
“Over here,” replied the captain. “A little rusty, but protected as well as I know how. She hasn’t turned a wheel in over two years.”
As he withdrew a tarpaulin cover the boy could not restrain himself. He burst out:
“Did my uncle make that?”
“You didn’t suspect I did it, did you?” laughed Captain Anderson.
The boy was already on his knees. He didn’t understand boats, but gas engines he did understand. For several minutes the excited boy hung over the motor; his fingers moved over its perfect parts. Then he sprang to his feet.
“Do you know what that is, Captain Anderson?” he exclaimed with all his former fervor.
“Your uncle called it a gas engine. But it always struck me as pretty light weight for an engine.”