“Did you ever see such nerve, Puss, in all your life?” gasped Sandy, as the two newcomers brought up alongside the astonished Andy.
“Look at the vandal, would you, ripping the cover off our cylinder just as cool as you please! Hey! Sandy, see anything of the yard watchman around? We ought to have him pinch this thief straight away!” snapped the Carberry boy, as he glared at the stooping figure.
“Ain’t he the bird, though?” went on Sandy, pretending to be surprised in turn; “And as sure as you live, Puss, it’s the tail end of that wonderful Bird combination that’s going to do such stunning stunts one of these fine days. Oh! me! oh! my! What a loss there’ll be when he is shut up in the cooler!”
“Looky here, just explain what right you’ve got cutting open our freight, that’s the ticket!” blustered Percy, shaking his clenched hand in front of Andy’s nose.
“Take that away! I don’t like it. And what the dickens do you mean saying this thing is your freight?” demanded the threatened one, beginning to gain his feet; for he did not just fancy kneeling so close to a fellow like Percy Hollingshead, whose reputation for treachery was well known.
“Because it is our freight. Go back to school and learn to read, you lunkhead!” the other went on, seeming to get more and more angry—because they were two to one, and the freight yard was a usually sequestered place, where no one would be apt to interfere, if so be they chose to administer a drubbing to the offensive investigator.
“But it’s certainly a cylinder for an airship!” declared Andy, casting a quick glance down toward his feet, where the partly uncovered object lay.
“Who said it wasn’t, tell me that? Did you hear either of us whisper anything to that effect?” demanded Percy, aggressively.
“Must think you’ve got just a monopoly of the flying business!” sneered Sandy, puffing out his chest like a pigeon strutting along the barn roof. “Time you woke up and learned a few things, one of which is that with all your bluster and brag the firm of Bird and Bird is soon going to be a back number. Back to the junk heap for yours, Andy. Your name should be spelled Mud!”
“Oh! that’s it, is it!” exclaimed the other, more than a little surprised; for these fellows had up to now kept their intentions secret. “Let me take a peep at the tag then. Didn’t occur to me to think of doing that before, because neither of us ever dreamed that anybody else in Bloomsbury but us could be getting a cylinder for an aeroplane.”