The lad who spoke was a rather thick-set youth, with a pronounced squint in his eyes which did not improve his mean and crafty face. Beside him was another boy, a little younger, dressed in a loud gray suit with a bright colored necktie. He was smoking a cigarette.
“Say, you Sam Taylor, put that thing out,” cried Jack, as he entered the shed and took in the scene before him.
“Oh, I suppose you are one of those sissies who get sick when they smoke,” sneered Sam Taylor, in an aggravating tone.
“I’ve never tried it, so I don’t know,” snapped Jack, “but if you want to ruin your health you’d better do it elsewhere than in this shed. And you, Zack Baker,” he went on, turning to the other lad, “what are you doing in here? You might have waited till you were invited.”
In the meantime Tom had stopped the motor and was draining the flooded engine.
“No need to get so mad,” retorted Zack, “as I told you, we thought we’d just drop in and see how the thing worked.”
“Yes, and you might have ruined it,” snapped out Tom indignantly. “I like your nerve in marching in here without speaking to us.”
“Oh, well, don’t get so cross about it. No harm done,” struck in Sam Taylor, who had prudently thrown away his cigarette; “what’s the use of getting all worked up over it?”
“I’m not worked up,” replied Jack, with a flushed and angry face, “but I don’t want you fellows prying about here.”
“Don’t be alarmed. We won’t steal your precious invention,” said Sam, in his sneering tones. “Come on, Zack, we’ve seen all we wanted to see, anyhow.”