“Here, you,” exclaimed the busy boat builder, “you can’t work and play, too—”
“You can’t?” laughed Andy. “What are you doin’?”
“I guess you’re right,” snickered Captain Anderson. “The whole thing is play to me.”
A part of nearly every evening of the ten days already consumed in making the aeroplane frame had been devoted to theories and sketches and plans for attaching the bird-tail rudder, the engine and propeller shafts, the wires to flex the free extensions of the upper plane and, most important of all, a universal lever to flex the planes and operate the tail rudder simultaneously.
Pieces and braces were now attached to the frame to hold the engine and propellers similar to those on the Wright machine. The seat for the operator also followed the Wright plan. The universal operating lever was an ingenious adaptation of the Wright control.
“It looks good to me,” approved Andy, when the resourceful captain suggested the contrivance.
“It’s about as flimsy as everything else,” grunted Captain Anderson. “I’d hate to trust my safety to this, or any other part of the spidery thing—”
“Hush!” interrupted the boy, with a warning finger. “Not a word o’ that kind where mother can hear it. Now, when I get up in that thing—”
“You?” broke in the captain, looking very sober, as he did when much amused. “Who said you were going up in it?”
“Pshaw!” retorted the boy, “you know you ain’t. And Ba ain’t—”