“It seems such a frail thing,” observed Sybil, musingly.
“Just wooden ribs and canvas,” laughed Steve; “but anything stronger would be unnecessary, and therefore foolish.”
“Now, then,” said Mr. Cumberford, when the aircraft rested once more upon its rack, “I’ve something to tell you, Kane. I’ve known it for several days, but refrained from speaking until you had made your trial.”
There was an ominous suggestion in the words. Steve turned and looked at him questioningly.
“Any bad news, sir?”
“Time will determine if it’s bad or good. Anyhow, it’s news. Burthon is building an aircraft.”
“An aëroplane?”
“I said an aircraft.”
“But that word designates only my own machine.”