Surrounded by a wilderness of odds and ends, the youthful rivals stood and faced each other. Finally, Bud reached out his hand.
“What’s the use of scrappin’ Lafe? I guess we don’t like each other any too well, but we ought not let our grouch interfere with our chance.”
“What chance have you?” asked the bank clerk.
“Just a chance to get my hands on a real aeroplane. And that’s all I want. But I won’t have that if we don’t stop quarrelin’ and get to work.”
“Looks to me as if you thought I’d back out.”
“That’s up to you,” went on Bud. “I didn’t say so.”
“Are you willing to take orders and do as I say?”
“Sure,” answered Bud. “All I want is to see the thing fly. And, since you are the aviator, I say ‘Good luck to you.’”
Lafe had ignored the proffered hand, but he now relented a little.
“I want to be fair,” he said half-heartedly, “and I’ll meet you half way. But I don’t intend to work all night to give you a chance to show off to-morrow.”