On top of a box, the manufacturer’s drawings and directions were spread out. One thing only seemed to have been accomplished; everything was uncrated.
“Put the stuff down, and don’t bother us,” exclaimed Lafe at once. “There are too many in here now. I won’t need you any more.”
Before he took his departure, Bud made a hasty examination. Apparently everything was being done backward. Pennington’s eagerness to unpack and to knock boxes apart had made a chaos out of the shed interior. There were no signs of work on the ascending track and weight derrick.
“Sure you don’t want me to get that track started?” Bud asked.
“See here, Bud, you seem to have that track on the brain. I’ll set it up in a couple of hours when I get around to it.”
“Oh,” answered Bud, with a smile, “I thought it might take longer.” The dismissed boy re-entered the buggy, and drove to the ticket office at the gate. Mr. Elder appeared in a short time with the Superintendent of the Grounds. The possibility of keeping faith with the public by flying the aeroplane the next afternoon was under discussion.
“There’s a powerful lot to be done, even if Mr. Dare gets here to-night,” commented Superintendent Perry.
“How does it look to you, Bud?” asked President Elder, turning to the boy—they were all standing by the buggy. Bud said nothing.
“That’s what I think, too,” spoke up the superintendent. “I’ve been over to the shed twice this afternoon. Mr. Pennington may be a fine bank clerk—and I guess he’s all right at that—but he don’t strike me as no aeroplaner. I’m afeared we’ve bit off more’n we can chew in this deal.”