“I guess I didn’t mean that,” said Andy in confusion. “I don’t know what I meant.”
His companion saw tears of chagrin and disappointment almost showing.
“Don’t you bother, Andy. We’ll finish the airship in the best manner we can. I hardly think we can employ a professional aviator, but something may happen—something usually happens when you’re young enough and eager enough.”
“If mother lets me, I’ll do it anyway,” broke out the boy.
“And smash our beautiful machine?” laughed the captain.
Andy winced.
“Come,” went on the captain. “I always worry to-morrow. Run into the house, get something to read, and forget aeroplanes to-day. I think it’s gotten on your nerves a little.”
But the day was too fine for reading, and, as a good sailing breeze came up, Captain Anderson soon followed Andy, with a proposal that all, including Ba, should sail to Melbourne.
The plunge of the swift Valkaria through the water and the savor of the semi-salt spray were enough to revive all the lad’s old enthusiasm. [He took the tiller at times], helped with the sheets, and, long before Melbourne was reached, the joy of sailing had pushed the aeroplane temporarily into the background.
While waiting in the parlor of the little hotel, his elders busy with new acquaintances, Andy stumbled upon something that set him thinking. In a few minutes, with almost a gasp—as if some idea was too much for him—he left the house and curled up on a seat on the gallery. His forehead was wrinkled. He had come to a sudden and bold decision, and he was trying to persuade himself that it was not ridiculous.