“Wait till we’ve tried it out,” smiled Jack, less impetuously; “it may prove the biggest bump we’ve ever struck.”
“Well, I’m willing to risk it. When shall we make the trial trip?”
“No time like the present. There are a few finishing touches still to be seen to, but by this evening everything will be ready. Besides, night is the best time. We don’t want a crowd around. There has been enough curiosity in what we have been doing, already.”
“I should say so. Look at this Boston sheet, will you? A column of mystery for a cent!”
Tom drew from his pocket a copy of a Boston paper and indicated some staring head-lines.
“’A Mystery of The Night Skies!’” he declaimed vociferously, waving an arm. “Some class there, eh?”
“Quite enough,” chuckled Jack. “We didn’t think that our little spin the other night was going to cause such a stir-up, did we?”
“It was all the fault of those red and green lights you hung out,” protested Tom. “Can you blame a community for getting worked up at the spectacle of colored lights like those on a ship, skimming around above their heads at sixty miles an hour? Hullo!” he broke off, still scanning the paper. “Here’s a letter from one fellow who declares that what was seen was a comet.”
“A comet, eh? Well, that wouldn’t be such a bad name for the new Flying Road Racer,” mused Jack reflectively.
“Never heard of a comet that would swim,” retorted Tom.