"I'd rather see him about the aerodome," put in Harry; "we don't want everybody to know all the details of our trials."
"That's so," assented his brother, "I'll speak to him about it when he comes in to-night."
The two lads fell to with keen appetites on their supper, which was served on tin plates and washed down with coffee out of tin mugs. Not a very aristocratic service, but the boys rather liked roughing it than otherwise, and you may be sure that the "dinner set" off which they ate did not engross a fraction of their attention. The meal disposed of, Le Blanc and the boys fixed up the folding camp cots and spread their blankets. There was still no sign of Sanborn. Frank was still struggling to keep awake in order to read the man a sharp lecture when he returned when drowsiness overcame him and he dropped off to sleep.
It was an hour later, and not far from midnight, when two dark figures crossed the deserted aviation field and threaded their way among the various aerodromes. They paused in front of the one in which the boys were asleep. Had the lads been onlookers they would have seen that one of the men was Sanborn, the new machinist, and the other was Malvoise, the driver of the sable Buzzard.
"You won't lose your nerve?" said the Frenchman.
"Not me. I'm sore at those kids, anyhow," was the reply. "The eldest one undertakes to call me down for going out at night all the time."
"Well, you have a good chance to get back at him and make some money at the same time," was the other's rejoinder.
"You are sure the money will be forthcoming?"
"Well, I should say! Old man Barr, who bought the patent of the Buzzard dirt cheap from her inventor, has a pile of it. He's going to manufacture the Buzzards to make money out of 'em and he'll stop at nothing to gain the prestige of winning this Hempstead Plains Cup."
"I've heard of old Barr before. He's a regular skinflint, but I suppose, if you say it will be all right about the money, I'll have to take your word for it. I need some coin too badly to stick at anything."