“Covers it, yes!” cried Andy, now growing excited; “but it gives me a creep just to think how that balloon, drifting all the way from St. Louis, happened to pass straight over our heads! And then what a streak of luck to have the pilot drop his message at the door of our hangar. Why, it was just like he knew there were a pair of aeroplane boys here ready to grab his message as they would a gold nugget.”
“Right you are, Andy,” observed his cousin. “And do you know I take this as a sign that we’re going to have good luck with our aeroplane. Things are coming our way.”
“I should say they were. First some fellow sneaks in here and cuts the wings of our bird to flinders. Then these balloon racers get the notion that our camp would be a rattling good place to drop a message to their committee. Do we carry out their suggestion, Frank?”
“Do we?” echoed the other, instantly; “well, what would you think of our chances among the profession if we declined to assist fellow aviators hustling the news along? Why, I’d get up out of a warm bed any time of night and wheel twenty miles to carry such a message as that.”
“Then you’ll go to town with it and send to the papers in New York?” demanded Andy.
“Yes, right away; so they can have the news in the morning issues, if it isn’t too late. I’ll hunt up Casper Dunbar. You know he has some sort of connection with the Herald, and never fear but that he’ll find a way to tell the whole story.”
Frank was nothing if not energetic. Even while he was speaking he began to hurriedly dress himself.
“I suppose,” ventured the other, cautiously, as if an idea had suddenly come to him, “our names will have to be mentioned in the telegram?”
“We’ll leave that to Casper. Ten to one he’ll make it a point to say that the boys who had the message left at their door are known as local aeronauts,” replied Frank, secretly chuckling, for he could guess what was coming.
“Well,” said the other, presently, “would you mind asking Casper if he seems bent on mentioning us in his dispatch that he get my name as Andy and not Andrew? You know nobody but the dominie calls me that, and I’ve always detested the name. It belonged to an uncle who after all turned out bad. Spell it for him, Frank—just plain Andy Bird.”