By half past eight, he was again on the fair-grounds. He had had a half hour’s walk in which to think over the thing he had heard. Out of all the projects that flashed into his busy brain, one only remained. It was a daring idea, but the more he thought it over, the more determined he was to execute it. Before going to the “aerodrome,” he went to the tent of the Gypsy Queen. When he left it, Jack Stanley was with him.
Bud and Madame Zecatacas’ son-in-law made a quick tour among some of Stanley’s friends, all of whom, after a brief talk, seemed highly amused. And when Bud at last made his way across the dark enclosure within the race-track, Jack and four of his husky friends were gathered in a knot in the shadow of the judges’ stand.
Approaching the aeroplane shed, Bud broke into a run and arrived, apparently, out of breath.
“Jim,” he panted, “there’s trouble. Go right over to the ticket office and get Mr. Elder on the telephone. When you get him read him this message. Got to get busy.”
Finding a piece of paper, Bud laboriously wrote a few lines. Then, taking the vigilant watchman out into the dark where he could not see the message until he reached the office nearly a half mile away, Bud folded the scrap of paper, shoved it into the waiting watchman’s hand and pushed him forward.
“You’ll watch things while I’m gone?” called the hurrying messenger over his shoulder.
“You bet I will, Jim. I’ll not leave her. You can trust me.”
As the flying watchman passed the judges’ stand, Jack Stanley and his pals slipped around the little structure to keep out of his sight, and then the highly amused group rushed toward the airship shed.
The perspiring Jim had some trouble in getting President Elder on the wire, but when he did so, he read the fair official this note:
“Mr. Eldur