“Certainly! Let’s hear it all!”
So Gordon recounted his adventure with his wonderful discovery as a climax, and Harry listened with a dry smile. “Guess it was a lynx, all right,” he said.
After supper Harry displayed an elaborate drawing of a model aeroplane which he had made on the inside cover of his book. Ever since he had left Mr. Danforth’s hospitable roof, his thoughts had run somewhat on Penfield and his model. The result of his studying the diagram was that he had written Penfield a letter on the fly leaves of the book and stuffed it in his pocket to mail as soon as he should strike a post-office. It read:
Dear Pen:—
Be sure to soak your clockwork in kerosene oil. If you can’t hit on any whalebone, get an old umbrella and use the ribs. The silk will make good covering, too. Drop a glass bead on your propeller axle—it will do for ball bearing. Put some vaseline on it. Be sure to have your covering hang a little over the back of the planes to hold the air a second, and I think the cover of a fountain pen would do better than a gas tip to hold your sticks together—it’s lighter. Hairpins are handy, too. Maybe you’ve got one of those bamboo porch screens that pull up and down. The strips would be great if you’re making a curved plane. If your sisters have any old hats with flowers on them, you’ll find good thin wire inside the stems. Peel the green stuff off. The wire would be just the thing for binding your frame corners, too. Don’t get discouraged. We’ve got them beaten already. Only don’t be too reckless with your glue, and have plenty of oil on your cog chain. And don’t have your propeller go too fast—it only cuts a hole in the air. If you could get hold of one of those little hoops ladies embroider on, you could cut it in half and you’d have good rudder frames. If you need strong spring wire, the sides of a pair of spectacles would be just the thing. You might find some good stuff in a willow chair. Be sure not to have any flat surfaces against the air.
We’ll try to see you before we go home. We’re up on Bulwagga Mountain now—still hunting. Hope to get a clue this afternoon or night.
Your friend, Harry Arnold.
P. S—If you can’t get hold of a lady’s hat, maybe Miss Crosby, over at Buck Mansion, can fix you up. Tell her I deduced that she has a few. Gordon had a fight with a lynx—how’s that? Lost his shirt and gained an adventure.
The night continued cloudy, and the boys had no alternative but to turn in again with neither information nor clue. And this was especially unfortunate since the moon was rising later each evening and soon all hope of night searching would have to be abandoned.
“Kid,” said Harry, “I don’t think they’d have gone north of this—I can’t get that woods down there out of my mind. But we could never follow the stream down, old boy, not with your leg as it is. It means more climbing than walking. It looks to me as if the stream would be a series of waterfalls. Then I wouldn’t dare go far from it without a compass.”