At the mill they bought and had trimmed four spruce sticks about twenty feet long and an inch square. These were considerably thinner than the corresponding timbers of Goodwin’s machine, but they were the best that could be procured.
“And they’re six feet longer than you said, Harry,” said Howard Brent.
“Well, never mind that,” Harry answered.
“Might as well have them cut down to the length we want.”
“No,” said Harry, “leave them this size.”
“Twenty feet is long enough for any glider,” said Langford, eyeing him shrewdly. “I know what you’re up to. You expect to put a motor in her.”
“We’ll see how she goes first,” said Harry.
Besides the four long strips, they managed to root out, with the help of the mill foreman, a couple of dozen strips four feet long and three-quarters of an inch in thickness. Some of these would be used for the horizontal struts, or cross-bars, and some for the upright stanchions. None were according to the regular specifications for a glider, but they were not so far out of the way as to destroy the chance of success and safety; and, as the boys agreed, they “ought to take what they could get and be thankful.” For one thing, the uprights should have been round and highly polished to lessen their resistance to the air, but the boys had to be satisfied with having the edges smoothed off with a few runs of a hand plane.
Up to this point in their negotiations, the mill foreman had exercised his resources to satisfy their peculiar wants, though his manner was not encouraging. But when Mac asked for about forty or so strips, four feet long and thin enough to steam and curve, he could contain himself no longer.
“Ye ain’t buildin’ a hen-coop, then?” he asked.