“Seems like a brilliant idea,” I said approvingly.
“Will you fellows help me to get it together?”
“Of course,” said Joe. “And the sooner the better.”
“Then order your men to fetch up the boxes with the red bands. There are three of them.”
I went to Uncle Naboth and my father and explained what Little Jim wanted to do. They both considered the thing impracticable and foolhardy, but said we could give the young Colombian whatever assistance he needed.
So the boxes were sent for and presently hoisted from the hold by means of the cranes provided for such purposes. Only one was at all heavy, and that contained the motor and tools.
The carpenter unscrewed the covers and soon a confused mass of canvas planes, braces, platforms and other odds and ends lay upon the deck. Alfonso, with his coat off and sleeves rolled up, began to select the pieces and connect them. He had written instructions for setting up the machine, but did not need to refer to them often, being evidently quite familiar with the details of its mechanism.
It did not seem to me that the thing was at all serviceable; it was very frail and more like a toy than a flying machine; but the boy assured me it was an exact duplicate of the one that held the world’s record for altitude and speed.
“Aren’t you afraid to trust yourself to it?” asked Joe.
“Afraid! Of course not,” was the reply. “It is perfectly safe if operated intelligently—barring unavoidable accidents.”