“Thank you,” sneered the lawyer. “All I can say is, you’re goin’ to have your hands full. An’ you can begin your meddlin’ just the minute this young thief lands on these grounds to-morrow. He’ll be arrested and charged with larceny. If you interfere, I’ll give you all the fight you want.”
Mr. Elder turned to the silent expert.
“I ought to tell you, Mr. Dare,” he said, ignoring the lawyer’s threat, “that I telegraphed to your company to-day all the facts concerning your conduct. I also sent them a draft for the cost of the aeroplane, minus your fee. If they won’t settle on that basis, you are welcome to the property.” Then he laughed, “The next time you have a job like this and think you can come a confidence game on the country jakes, you’d better select some town that hasn’t a Bud Wilson in it.”
“Come on, Mr. Dare,” said Attorney Stockwell pompously, “this fight’s just began. We’ll have our innings to-morrow. There’ll be no exhibition of our property on Saturday, at least. And that’s the big day.”
“If there isn’t,” replied Mr. Elder, good naturedly, “it’ll be the first day your foster son has fallen down. He seems a little swift for you, Cyrus.”
Before Mr. Elder could say more, the lawyer and his two companions stalked out of the shed.
It was always a question in Scottsville, whether Friday or Saturday would be the banner day at the fair. From the looks of the grounds at ten o’clock the next morning, it was apparent that either the fine weather, good crops, or the aeroplane was working wonders. The enclosure was packed. Men, women and children swayed back and forth; ice cream, candy, “hoky poky,” peanuts, toy balloons, whips, “tin-types,” photographs, dusty shoes all told that the fair was in full swing. The “Wheel of Fortune” operators; the barkers at the “side shows;” the cries of the hatted Wild West young men who besought onlookers to “hit a baby and get a seegar,” or informed others vociferously that “the cane you ring is the cane you get,” made a hubbub the endless keynote of which was the shrill organ at the “merry-go-round.”
“She’ll run twelve thousand people to-day,” suggested Superintendent Perry to President Josiah Elder as the two came out of the ticket office.
“And half of ’em are here to see our flyin’-machine,” answered Mr. Elder. “What do you ’spose that kid’s expectin’ to do?”
“What are you expectin’ to do?” answered the superintendent, with a half smile. “Ye don’t need to fear but he’ll be here. But after his show—what then? Ye kin be sure Stockwell’ll be ready to grab the outfit. An’ then—how about to-morrow?”