“I’ll try to remember,” said Hal, miserably, thinking of what a complicated world this was.
It was still raining outside. The boys and the Captain, seated in the library, or rather, sprawled in the library, could see the streams of rain splash against the windows and run down in little rivers until they splashed off again at the bottom of the pane.
Captain Bill yawned and stretched. “Not much to do on a day like this. I’m mighty anxious to get out to the airport as soon as it clears up. What’ll we do?”
Bob had an idea. “Couldn’t we sort of sneak one over on Pat?” he said. “Couldn’t we have a story, one not in the contest, now? It wouldn’t count, really, and it would give us a little rehearsal before Pat gets here.”
“Who’s going to tell this story?” asked Captain Bill, looking just a bit suspiciously at his nephew.
Bob grinned. “Well, I thought that maybe you would. Seeing that you’re the best story-teller anyway.”
“Go long with your blarney. But I guess I will tell you one. It will be a sort of prologue to the rest of our stories. It’s about the very first flyers and the very first famous flight.”
“The Wrights?” asked Hal.
“The Wrights,” said the Captain. “Wilbur and Orville, and their first flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.”