Bob looked at him and laughed.
“We’re only goin’ a little ways—just over to Tampa for the papers and mail—only twenty-five miles or so. We can be back in about an hour, if you like,” explained Bob. “I thought you might want to drop a postal to your folks.”
“Well, what do you think o’ that?” exclaimed Mac. “Fifty miles or more to spend a cent. Say, Bob,” he asked suddenly, “do you reckon everybody is a goin’ to have one o’ them things after while—jes’ like automobiles?”
“Unless they have something better,” answered Bob. “They are pretty crude now.”
In three quarters of an hour, the Anclote had landed in the rear of the cigar factory in Tampa; Mac had gone into the city and bought the morning papers—even mailing a postcard to make Bob’s joke good—and sometime before eleven o’clock, the airship was on the island beach again.
“Ain’t you goin’ to the hotel to see your mother?” asked Mac, when Bob prepared to set out on the return. Bob winked his eye.
“Not while the telegraph is working between here and Chicago,” he laughed. “My father has funny ideas sometimes.”
This was Monday. That afternoon, there was a fishing cruise, the Three Sisters having returned, and Mac remained behind to keep camp and prepare supper. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday passed in a series of new delights. Aeroplane flights were made seaward and landward—with Bob or Tom in charge, for the other boys never quite reached the point of attempting to direct the airship, and between these there were excursions by schooner to the other islands, the mainland far to sea.