So Red Deer was taken into their councils. The upshot of it was that Howard Brent, Matthew Reed, Mac, Tom Langford, and Harry spent the rest of the morning with Dr. Brent making and criticising little diagrams on one of the doctor’s prescription pads.
“I think,” said Red Deer, at length, “that that is about all you’ll need; the cross-ribs that are left over we can use for splints, in case of broken arms and legs—they’ll come in very handy.”
The five boys went into Port Henry in the boat that afternoon in search of a sawmill or lumberyard.
“When G. Lord hears of this taking place in his absence, he’ll explode,” said Tom, as they chugged up the lake.
Their first business was to send a telegram for Howard Brent’s old balloon-silk shelter, which would, with piecing, amply cover the two planes.
“What would you say if I sent for my old wheel?” asked Mac. The suggestion was received with acclaim, for an old bicycle is a perfect treasure house of fittings, wire bars, and various odds and ends useful to the ingenious amateur mechanic. So Mac, with much adding and eliminating and changing of words, finally succeeded in concocting a satisfactory message to his father.
“Better underline the word ‘old,’ Mac,” said Harry, quietly, “or he may send your new one.”
McConnell dutifully obeyed, while the operator grinned. Then, realizing what he had done, Mac proceeded to administer suitable chastisement on Harry.
“Do you think your father can make out your handwriting?” Tom asked innocently, as they went out; “that was a pretty hasty scrawl.”
Mac could hear the operator snicker. “I’ll put a hasty scrawl on your face, Tommy,” he said.