“Yes,” explained Bud, “he worked a good deal longer than the rest of us.” He didn’t say anything, however, about Pennington’s three hours’ sleep. “Of course, he feels it more.”
“Perhaps you’d better wait until to-morrow, Lafe, when you’ve had a good night’s sleep. How would it do for Bud to make the first trial? He seems fresh enough.”
“Oh, I’m all right—I guess,” answered Pennington. “You can count on me. By the way, you didn’t hear from Mr. Dare, did you?”
“Not a peep.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Before nine o’clock, two more directors appeared, almost together. They were Lafe’s father, Judge E. Pennington (in reality only a Justice of the Peace), and Bud’s foster father, Attorney Cyrus Stockwell.
“Bud,” began Attorney Stockwell angrily, “why didn’t you send us word you were going to stay out all night?”
“To tell you the truth,” answered Bud without any great alarm, “I didn’t know it when I left home, and after I got out here, I didn’t have a chance.”
“They tell me you offered to go up in this thing,” continued the attorney, jerking his thumb toward the now practically completed air craft.
“Offered!” exclaimed Bud. “I begged to. But I got left. Lafe beat me to it.”