“You mean the aeroplane?” interrupted Mrs. Osborne.
“No,” replied her husband slowly. “Of course, there are safer things than manipulating a flying machine, but I guess the kid could manage that.”
“What other risk do you mean?” persisted Roy’s mother.
“Do you want him to go into the wildest country in America? Why, this man Cook told Mr. Atkinson that there are canyons a mile deep, alkali deserts that’d turn water into steam, only no water ever touches ’em, and Indians that haven’t even seen a white man. Do you think that’s the place to send a child?”
Roy drew himself up. His mother patted his brown muscular hand as it rested on the arm of her chair, and looked up at the boy and smiled.
“Are you afraid?” she asked with a laugh.
“It’s father,” answered Roy. “He’s the one that’s scared.”
Mrs. Osborne’s face turned sober.
“I suppose you’ll think it strange, George, but those things don’t alarm me—as much as some other risks.”