“All right. This is a bag, I tell you. Perhaps it’s got gold dust in it, for all I know. Feels hard enough for that. I’ll put you wise, Frank. Just you try giving it a good kick, if you want to see,” grumbled Andy, nursing his injured toe.
“A sandbag! Whew! I wonder——”
Frank did not finish what he had on his mind, and his companion looked his surprise at seeing him drop down alongside the object in question, which he began to handle eagerly.
Then, to the utter amazement of Andy, he made to pick the heavy bag up and start away with it.
“Hey, come back here!” called the other, trailing and limping after him; “what under the sun are you going to do with that thing? Want it for a pillow? Maybe you think we can make a breakfast off it? Why, what ails the fellow? He acts like he’d struck a prize, that’s what!”
“Come along inside and I’ll show you something,” called the other over his shoulder, which, of course, only added new fuel to the fire of curiosity that was already raging in Andy’s soul.
When he got inside he found Frank in the act of scratching a match, which he immediately applied to a lamp, one of those by which they were wont to work of nights.
There upon a rude table where they planed and sawed Andy saw a small, stoutly made canvas bag that had what seemed to be a handle on one side.
“Well, I declare, it’s got a label of some sort tied to it! Nice, pleasant fellows these, trying to smash in the roof of our hangar and then sending their compliments along with it!” Andy exclaimed, for like a flash it had come to him that the sandbag had been hurled down from above!
“Here, listen while I read what it says!” exclaimed Frank.