“I like his money, anyhow,” laughed Steve; “and we didn’t have to give him a half interest to get it, either. I imagine the man was really touched by your endeavor to save him from what you thought was a bad bargain, and certainly his magnanimous act could have been prompted by nothing but kindness.”
“It saved our half interest, at least,” she said, evasively. “Has he been here to-day, Steve?”
“Haven’t seen even his shadow,” was the reply. “I don’t imagine he’ll bother us much, although he has reserved the right to look around all he wants to. He must be a busy man, with all his wealth.”
The next morning, however, after Orissa had gone to her work, Mr. Cumberford’s car spun up the lane and he came into the hangar, nodded to Steve and sat down quietly on the bench.
For a time he silently watched the young man shave a Cyprus rib into shape; then got up and carefully examined the motor, which was in good order. Steve knew, when first Mr. Cumberford began asking questions, that he understood machinery, and the man was quick to perceive the value of young Kane’s improvements.
“It interests me,” he drawled, after starting the engines and watching them work. “As a boy I longed to be a mechanic. Got sidetracked, though, and became a speculator. Needs almost as much ingenuity to succeed in that as in mechanics. Pays better, but ruins one’s self-respect. Stick to mechanics, Kane.”
“I will,” promised Steve, laughing.
“This new profession,” continued Cumberford, “will throw you in with a lot of ‘queer’ people—same sort that used to follow the races and now bet on automobile contests. Keep your sister away from them.”
“I’ll try to,” returned Steve, more soberly. “But Orissa is crazy over aviation, and she’ll have to go everywhere that I do.”
“That’s all right; I like the idea. But don’t introduce her to every fellow you are forced to associate with. Girls are queer, and your sister is—beautiful. I’ve a daughter myself.”