“I’m a-goin’ ter open ther door now. Be you fellers ready?”
“We’ve been ready for the last ten years,” declared Tom, referring to the length of time it appeared that Reuben had been gone.
The lock clicked and the doors swung open. One by one they cautiously filed out and tip-toed across the yard to the place where the Electric Monarch lay bulked in dark shadow. Luckily, it was moonlight, and the craft lay in a sixty-acre field so that there was plenty of opportunity to get a good start.
“Old Turpin didn’t monkey at all with the machine, did he, Reuben?” asked Jack, as they crept along. He was not quite sure how far the farmer’s malevolence might have led him.
Reuben gave a suppressed chuckle.
“Turpin touch it? Not him. He wanted to, but the old woman told him thet ef he did as like as not he’d get electric—something or other.”
“Electrocuted?”
“Likely. Say, be you really going ter Portstown?”
“Certainly. You’re not scared, are you?” said Jack with an inward smile.
“Naw, but I got a funny kind ‘er prickly feelin’ down my back like what I git when straw gits down my neck in threshing time,” admitted Reuben with a nervous giggle.