CHAPTER X
AT THE HANGARS
“Hello there, what’s struck you?” cried Dollinger.
The chauffeur and general utility man of the moving picture combination dropped a big spoon with which he was stirring something in a pan outside of the shed. Near by was a tripod with an oil lamp burning under it. Dave understood that Dollinger was preparing breakfast.
Dave did not reply. He could not, at just that moment. It seemed to him as though at the touch of a magician’s wand his whole life had been changed—as if the most ardent desires of his heart had been granted.
The day previous, if some genii had promised to gratify one special wish, Dave would have asked to be put among just such airships and in the company of just such airmen. Now all that he had desired was before him.
Circling majestically aloft was a big biplane. Way over at the end of the enclosure was an elevated apparatus, from which an airship of another type was evidently making a trial ascent. The machine rose only a few yards, described a half circle, and had to be hoisted up again and again.
Between it and the sheds were several small buildings, and at least two of these held some kind of air craft. The one in flight finally enchained the entire attention of Dave. He watched it till it had made a score of dizzying manoeuvres, and returned to the ground at the far end of the enclosure as graceful as a bird and as easily as if landing on springs.
“Sets you dreaming, does it?” demanded Dollinger with a grin, slapping Dave on the shoulder to wake him up.