“It’s Puss Carberry beyond a question, and he’s flying all right,” he said.
Naturally there was a trace of disappointment in his voice, for he had never dreamed, while working at the monoplane, but what he and his cousin would be the pioneers along these lines in that part of the state.
Still, Frank was a good loser. He knew how to fight down that feeling when it threatened to grip him.
“They certainly deserve a lot of credit,” he continued.
“What for—stealing our thunder?” demanded the indignant Andy.
“Oh!” Frank remarked, laughingly, “I guess they had as much right as any one to build an aeroplane. And if they managed to keep the secret it was to their credit. Perhaps we’ve been doing a little too much talking. And it looks as if Puss did pick up some points down at the aviation field. He seems to be managing the biplane fairly well for a new beginner.”
“Well,” admitted Andy, grudgingly, “he is going around after a fashion; but lots of times it makes a swoop down at the ground like it meant to whack them into a cocked hat. But somehow the fellow at the wheel, which I reckon must be Puss, manages to recover just in time.”
“And he’s doing better all the while,” Frank pursued, still watching. “When he gets used to it that fellow will run an aircraft decently, and we’d better make up our minds to that. I only hope we come out as well when our turn arrives to make the trial spin.”
Indeed, the biplane seemed to be behaving quite handsomely. Its evolutions, as it was sent around the field where Puss must have taken it for a trial, were by degrees assuming a more positive form. It no longer dodged and shot sideways, but acted more like a wild colt that has recognized the hand on the bridle rein.
So deeply interested were the Bird boys in watching that they even forgot how the lunch hour had arrived. The ringing of a bell from the back stoop of the Whympers domicile aroused them, and Andy, with a look of disappointment on his face, trotted off to eat first, since they would not leave the hangar together.