There was a mischievous twinkle in Roy’s eye as he bent over the engine.
“How would you like a ride, Mr. Beasley?” asked Peggy presently, while Roy adjusted the engine.
The weather-beaten old fellow fairly threw up his hands.
“Land of Goshen, miss!” he exclaimed, “I’ve lived on the earth and sea, man and boy, for fifty years, and I ain’t agoin’ ter tempt Providence by embarking in a sky clipper at this late day.”
“You bet you ain’t,” put in Mrs. Beasley with deep conviction. “Why, if you ever done such a thing we’d be like to be read out of church—not but what it’s all right for young folks if they know how to manage the contraptions.”
“Now, then, Jeff, if you are ready will you get in?” said Roy presently.
The slender young wireless operator hopped into the chassis with alacrity. But his face was a bit pallid from excitement at the idea of the new method of locomotion he was about to test.
Last good-byes were said, and the motor began to whirr like a gigantic locust. There was a grinding and buzzing as the gears meshed and the aeroplane began to scud off.
“Fer all ther world like some big, pesky grasshopper,” declared Mrs. Beasley, as it scudded off across the smooth turf.
But if the good lady was astonished, then it was nothing to her amazement when a moment later the Butterfly soared up into the air, lifting as gently on the windless atmosphere as a bit of drifting gossamer.