[CHAPTER VII]
THE FIRM OF LEIGHTON & ANDERSON IS FORMED
When the coming night fairly forced the enthusiastic boy from the shop, which he closed and made secure by driving the lock staple into the door jam again, Andy was a curious sight. With his coat on his arm, his shirt wet with perspiration, his hat and trousers smeared with dust, oil, and rust, his hands black and his knuckles bleeding from handling iron, wood, and tools—all of which he inspected, felt of, and stowed away again—he looked more like a helper in a machine shop than a newly-arrived Florida tourist.
By the time he reached the railroad on his way home, it was dark. The sight of an approaching lantern did not reassure him. When he saw that it was Captain Anderson, he broke out at once:
“It’s all settled! I don’t care about that gas accumulator or compressor, or whatever it is—we’ve got her tail!”
“Her tail?” queried the captain. “Whose tail?”
“Why, the airship,” sang out Andy. “We’re goin’ to have the best one ever made. We’ve got a tail for it—a guider. Did you read the book?”
“Never mind about that now,” admonished the captain. “You’d better be thinkin’ of some good reason why you stayed so long. Your mother’s a good deal put out.”
“I’ve been a lookin’ over things,” explained the boy. “My uncle must ’a been a wonder. That little model is the greatest invention of the age—”