Frank switched on the lights and there stood revealed in the rear of the place a shadowy framework that glistened in places where the light caught it. It towered huge, and yet light and airy-looking, like the skeleton of a strange bird.
“It wasn’t shipped that way?” asked Billy.
“Not much,” was Frank’s reply. “They took it down in Florida and boxed it.”
“And a nice mess they made of it,” said Harry; “but, thank goodness, they didn’t harm the engine.”
He pointed to the motor which was out of the machine and lay in a corner.
“Doesn’t look very big for the work it’s done, does it?” laughed Frank, gazing lovingly at the eight-cylindered, hundred horse-power engine that had performed such good service since the boys installed it.
“There’s certainly a lot of cleaning to be done about the ’plane,” remarked Billy, as he handled the rusted frames and tarnished bronze parts.
“Oh, that won’t take long,” replied Frank lightly; “anyhow, we’ve got lots of time to do it.”
“Unless,” put in Billy.
“Well, unless what?” demanded Frank, though he guessed the young reporter’s meaning.