While they ate, many questions flew back and forth. Larry wanted to know more particulars about that little affair with the dog, and just how Andy knocked the savage beast headlong with that handy monkey wrench; also what Miss Alice looked like; whether she had black eyes, or blue; and so many other things in connection with the dainty little miss that Andy begged Frank to seal his lips, because their comrade was only doing this for a lark.
Frank on his part was not wholly satisfied with what he had heard concerning the new attempt of the mysterious tourist to pry into his affairs. He every little while would spring some new question, which Larry answered to the best of his ability. Evidently Frank was trying to discover the real motives actuating Mr. Marsh when he so suddenly decided to remain around Bloomsbury a few days, and made such a lame excuse for so doing.
The balance of the afternoon was passed as usual. Frank and Andy went up again along about four o'clock, everything being favorable for an ascent. It was the desire of the young pilot to ascertain just what effect the several little changes he had made would have upon his mastery of the biplane.
Evidently they gave him more or less solid satisfaction; since, when the time came for a final landing, with the westering sun throwing almost horizontal beams upon the aviation field before dropping beyond the trees, Frank had a smile on his face, and Andy looked more pleased than ever.
So another night came around, on which at least they need not fear a repetition of the escaped convict's visit.
CHAPTER XX
THE RIVAL AVIATORS
"It's what I call a blooming shame, that's what!" declared Andy. "Here's the day of the big race come along, and it's within an hour of the time set for the start from Bloomsbury high school campus; and the measly old weatherman has to dole us out a 'probable rain' sign. Going to upset all our calculations sure; and disappoint all those fine people over in Hazenhurst."
"That's where the shoe pinches, Frank," spoke up Larry. "He's just thinking about one pretty little girl who will be waiting to wave her handkerchief when the hero of the bulldog scrap comes whizzing around that old liberty pole."
"Am I?" demanded Andy, indignantly. "Just you take a look yonder at the western horizon, and tell me what you see there?"