“Phil,” whispered Frank, “I wish you’d give me a good swift kick.”
“That’s not necessary,” answered Phil, his face as scarlet as Frank’s. “It’s a stand off.”
“Well, anyway,” mumbled Frank, wiping his perspiring face, “if ever you hear me get smart about any man’s clothes again before I’ve seen him in action, don’t you wait. Just let ’er come.”
At Mr. Graham’s suggestion the watchman’s shanty was broken open and a telephone call made for the automobile. Waiting for the car, the plans for the coming week were taken up and Mr. Mackworth ordered the boys to begin the crating of the monoplane the following morning.
“Is she goin’ by express?” Frank asked.
Mr. Mackworth shook his head, looking longingly at another cigar which he dared not light.
“I think we’ll have to wait quite awhile if she goes by freight,” suggested Phil.
“Of course,” answered Mr. Mackworth. “It’ll be best to take it with us. There’ll be room, I think.”
“With us?” echoed Phil.
“In our private car,” explained Mr. Mackworth. “It has a baggage compartment. It’ll be here to-morrow or next day.”