“Can I?” asked Art eagerly.
“You kin fur a dollar.”
“Where do I pay the money?” asked the boy with a new glance of admiration at the airship of which he had long dreamed.
“The best way to be sure o’ gettin’ a seat next to where she starts,” explained the man, “is to pay it to me. I’m the gen’ral sup’intendent o’ aviation.”
“I only got eighty cents,” confessed Art regretfully. Fifty cents of this was to get into the circus, ten cents was for the sideshow, ten cents for lemonade and peanuts, and ten cents for the concert, all carefully saved for some days.
“Well, they’s only a few good front seats, and fur adults the price is two dollars,” explained the man. “But fur boys ’at understands aeroplanes, fur educatin’ purposes we make a reduction to one dollar.”
“Will it be too late to get a seat in half an hour?” asked Art anxiously. “I got to go home and get twenty cents more.”
“You give me the eighty cents an’ I’ll trust you for the rest,” conceded the canvasman. “You look honest.”
Art handed him his money.
“Where’s my ticket?” asked the boy anxiously.