“Yes, I reckon Sanborn and the police corralled a bunch of winged cartwheels at the factory while we were away on our joy-ride.”
“Sure—and look! Look, Bill!”
Their chase had led them miles to the southeast and now they were approaching New York City on their return toward Connecticut. They were speeding over the Narrows, heading up the harbor when Osceola uttered his exclamation. High over the Battery, and downtown Manhattan, a skywriter was at work. Together the lads watched the airplane spell out its gigantic smoke letters above the city.
“BOLTON SAVES NATION
READ THE—”
“That’s enough—” cried Bill in a disgusted voice, and headed the Ryan over Brooklyn. “Fast workers, aren’t they? Well, it looks as if Mizzentop has fallen.”
“I guess it has. Remember what Ashton Sanborn said about you getting the credit?”
“Yes, I do. He’s kept his promise all right—confound him!” said Bill.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
- Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
- Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard (or amusing) spellings and dialect unchanged.
- In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)