Mr. Elder shook his head. Then he explained to Mr. Perry what the directors had done in the matter of offering to settle with the manufacturers.
“We’ve telegraphed them that our eighteen hundred dollars is on the way, and told ’em how this expert o’ theirs fell down. We’re expectin’ an answer any time to-day callin’ him off. If it don’t come, we’ll fight ’em as best we can. But we’re all agreed we ain’t a goin’ to be held up. We won’t pay Mr. T. Glenn Dare one cent. He can break up the show to-morrow, but we won’t weaken.”
At two o’clock it looked as if another person could hardly be crowded into the fair-grounds—at least, not near the exhibition buildings and concession tents. With the first tap of the bell in the judge’s stand, like a field of snow slipping in a body down a mountain side, the heaving mass of humanity moved toward the race track. The five hundred dollar purse for the two-twenty pace marked the big feature of the speed contests and a new record was set for “grandstand” receipts.
But three men were not concerning themselves with this event. Sitting complacently together, on a knoll under the only trees within the race track, were Attorney Cyrus Stockwell, T. Glenn Dare, the aviator, and Deputy Sheriff Pusey. They were waiting to see how Bud Wilson was going to keep his word. One heat of the big race, delayed as usual, had been run, and the first heat of the next event “green trotters without a record” had been disposed of when two other men left the judges’ stand and made their way toward the empty airship shed or “aerodrome.” These were President Elder and Superintendent Perry. They were the reverse of complacent.
It was only a few minutes of three o’clock and the space about the aeroplane house was black with people. Jim Hoarr, the watchman, keeping the canvas front of the shed closed to conceal the fact that there was no aeroplane within the house, wondered what would happen when the curious crowd learned that the house about which they were crowded was empty.
As the packed spectators gave way before Superintendent Perry’s badge, Attorney Stockwell and his friends fell in the wake of the president and superintendent. The little party reached the shed together.
“Good afternoon, Josiah,” exclaimed the lawyer, touching his fellow director on the arm. “You see we’re right on time. I hope Bud makes good his promise.”
Mr. Elder scowled.
“If he don’t,” continued Attorney Stockwell, “what explanation are you going to make? I see you have quite an audience.”