“Airships!” shouted Warner. “Well, there’s one airship, as you call ’em, that won’t fill your head with nonsense any more.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Dave anxiously.
“I mean that I won’t stand you loitering and wasting my time any more,” declared Dave’s guardian. “I mean that I’ve settled one end of your nonsense. I’ve smashed that crazy model of yours, and if I hear any more of this airship rot, I’ll give you the trouncing of your life.”
“You’ve—smashed—my—model!” gasped Dave, in unspeakable amazement and dismay.
“Yes, I have. What about it?” challenged the irate old tyrant.
“You dared to—” began Dave, his face on fire, and he felt as if he could no longer control himself. Then fortunately at just that moment there was a diversion. His guardian’s eye chanced to fall upon the dismantled wagon with one wheel gone and the box supported by the dragging fence rail.
With a shriek of rage that was almost a bellow he grabbed Dave by the arm and dragged him up to the wrecked vehicle.
“Who did that?” he raged. “Don’t tell me—it’s a piece of spite work! Who did that, I say?”