“And these things,” suggested Mrs. Marshall, her smooth brow wrinkling just a trifle, “do they require any considerable outlay of funds?”
“Well,” said Morey—hesitating a little now—“The tools won’t cost much, but I wanted to ask you about the engine. Of course,” and he put his arm affectionately about his mother’s shoulders, “I know it isn’t just as if father was with us, and I ain’t figuring on the best engine. I would like a revolving motor, that’s the newest thing, one with a gyroscopic influence, but that costs a good deal.”
“How much?” asked his mother taking the illustrated price list of engines that Morey handed her.
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
His mother gasped and the circular dropped from her hand.
“I thought myself that was too much,” quickly exclaimed Morey, puckering his lips. “But, mater, I’m not going to be extravagant. I’ve arranged for a cheap one, a second-hand one. It’s at Hammondsport. I saw it when I was visiting at Uncle’s.”
His mother sighed, looked for a moment out toward the ruined and ramshackle barn and then, with a new smile, asked indifferently:
“And the price of this—approximately?”
“This one,” answered Morey, proudly, “is a real Curtiss six-cylinder, and it’s a regular aeroplane engine. It’s cheap, because the man it was made for didn’t take it. Cousin Jack knows a boy who works in Mr. Curtiss’ shop. I saw Mr. Curtiss about it myself. It was such a bargain that I—I—well I bought it.”
Mrs. Marshall breathed a little heavily and rearranged her dress.