As the distinguished appearing soldier spoke he removed his hat and bowed as if saluting royalty. While both boys mumbled their thanks, red in face and embarrassed, each had the same idea. Frank expressed it later. “And it wouldn’t have sounded half as fine and good,” he explained to Phil, “if he hadn’t been all ‘dolled’ up. I guess maybe there’s a time to wear those togs.”
As soon as all had had a view of the natty machine, Frank and Phil threw off their coats. The windows were dropped and each of the visitors was assisted into the car to acquaint him with the cabin. The instruments were explained and finally, the propellers disconnected, the beautiful sixteen-cylinder engine was put in operation. Without a break or a jar the sound of its opposed, balanced pistons blended into each other until only the whirr of throttled power hummed its one monotonous note through the long shed.
“Hook up the wheels,” exclaimed Mr. Mackworth enthusiastically.
“Not in here,” explained Phil. “They’re made for pushing and they do it. If the machine can’t respond something’s goin’ to give way.”
“You mean she’s got to be able to fly?” continued Mr. Mackworth. “Well, why not? Haul her out and give us a flight.”
It was Sunday, a day on which the boys had never made flights.
“We haven’t been flying on Sunday—” began Frank.
Captain Ludington at once nodded in approval.
“I think Sunday should be play day for those who have no other,” he commented. “As we are soon to have none but play days perhaps it would be well to wait.”
“You’re right,” replied Mr. Mackworth. “In camp, I’ve always found it a good thing to make Sunday a day of rest.”