“All right,” announced Jack, after a while, and they prepared to “cast off.”
But just as they were about to pull on the triplines and release the anchors, there was a sudden commotion on the road behind them. They looked around and saw a farmer approaching in a small wagon drawn by a dilapidated-looking mule. The mule was careering about, and evidently objected to coming closer to the weird-looking structure—half auto, half flying machine—that was drawn up in the road in front of it.
“Whoa, thar, you obstreperous critter!” shouted the farmer, getting out and hitching his refractory animal.
This done, he came rapidly toward the boys and their—to him—extraordinary machine.
“Waal, what under ther sun be this yar contraption?” he demanded, gazing curiously at the big balloon bag which was swaying and tugging at its bonds.
“It’s a sort of flying machine,” rejoined Jack, repressing an inclination to laugh; “didn’t you ever see one before?”
“Ya’as, I seen one at ther country fair, but it warn’t nuthin’ like this yar.”
“If you’ll wait a minute you’ll see us fly,” said Jack; but the former didn’t seem to hear him.
The countryman’s eyes were riveted on the notice concerning the bridge.
“Gosh all hemlock!” he exclaimed, in a vexed tone, “if that ain’t jes’ ther peskiest kind er luck. I suppose ther crick has swolled frum ther rain an’ ther old bridge has busted at last. Consarn it all!”