“Did it run all right?” asked the boy.
“Run?” repeated the captain. “She ran like a house afire.”
“If that motor,” said Andy slowly, “is as good as it looks, it is a better piece of machinery than anything of the kind ever made in America. Why, we send to France for engines like that, and pay $2,000 for ’em. Are you sure my uncle made it?”
“You’ll see his shop this morning,” was the captain’s only answer.
“He was two years ahead of the rest of the world,” said Andy decisively. “Why, it’s almost as light as a Fiat. Eight cylinders and water cooled,” he went on, as if talking to himself. “Did he ever say what horse power it developed?”
The captain shook his head.
“Listen to those cylinders!” exclaimed the boy, as he tapped them with a pencil. “Thin as a drumhead. Auto-lubricating alloy for bearings, too,” he added with increasing excitement. “And hollow steel tubing instead of solid rods—every atom pared away that can be spared. Captain Anderson,” concluded the young expert, springing to his feet again, “I’ll tell you what this engine is—it’s the most perfect aeroplane motor ever made!”
“Aeroplane?” repeated Captain Anderson. “Flyin’ machine engine? ’Twasn’t made for that. It was made to run a boat.”
“I don’t care what it was made for; it’s an aeroplane motor and a beauty—”