“And will they be in jail till the trial comes off?” asked Connie anxiously.
“Unless they give bonds,” answered his father. “And those’ll likely be so high that no one will give them.”
“How’ll they know, for sure, that the boys done it?” went on the agitated Connie.
“Aren’t you boys witnesses?” laughed Mr. Conyers.
“I might ’a’ been mistaken,” faltered Connie.
“Hardly,” replied Mr. Conyers. “I think the mayor’ll believe you.”
When the boys finally dispersed to their homes Mr. Trevor remained in talk with Mr. Conyers for nearly half an hour. When Art reached home he was so happy to hear that the sick boy had been making steady gains that he almost forgot the tragical ending of their two days of camping.
On Sunday morning word was passed that Bonner was to sit up for a few minutes. About nine o’clock Art was permitted to visit the invalid. From his nurse Bonner had learned all about the boys, both as young aviators and as Boy Scouts; each boy’s name, age and character; the trouble at the old sycamore, the episode of the “treasure keg” and the clash at the camp on Bluff Creek. When Art appeared, it was as if two life-long chums had come together.
The two boys naturally fell into talk of that closest to the heart of each—the wrecked aeroplane. With tears, Bonner told what it meant to him. With the wrecked aeroplane on his hands he saw no way to meet his payments for it.
“Don’t tell anybody,” whispered Art, “but I don’t think it’s ruined. I’ve been to see it! I don’t think the engine is hurt.”