“Feud fighters?”
“Yes, feuds. He told them they couldn’t do it and be good citizens.”
“Right too, exactly right.” The aviator reached for a pair of pliers.
“Now!” his tone changed. “Just give me a lift shoving this thing into place and we’ll be away before you know it.”
A half hour later the airplane rose above the meadow and soared away. It was a trial flight and the stout little ship was handled with greatest care. They climbed far up into the blue sky but never was the narrow meadow out of their sight. Johnny knew enough about flying to realize that from that height, even though their motor went dead, they could go gliding down to a safe landing.
“Working perfectly,” he shouted in the pilot’s ear.
Just then, as if to give the boy a shock, the motor let out a sudden pop-pop-pop. The aviator, after touching a lever, tapped his head with his knuckles as much as to say:
“Knock on wood.”
A half hour later they came soaring back to earth. “She’s working.” The pilot heaved a sigh of content. “Two or three more days and I’ll be ready to cross the continent. Tell that boy at the mill to freeze me up a good lot of liquid air.”
“All right, I’ll tell him,” Johnny agreed. “It’s—it’s wonderful!” he cried. “Riding through the air with only air and carbon for fuel. Is it practical, a truly great thing? Will people everywhere be using liquid air for airplane fuel before long?”