“I declare I don’t,” replied Dave with a laugh. “I’ve seen the word in print, and I know it refers to some part of the grounds here, but I don’t exactly understand it.”
“Well, I’ve got to find out. I’ve got to see this Mr. King.”
“Is he the airship man?” asked Dave.
“That’s him. Say, where are the hangars?” persisted the lad, addressing the old gate keeper.
“Why, down there, of course,” was the reply, and the speaker pointed to the buildings at the other end of the field, where the airships were housed.
“I’ll go with you down that way,” said Dave, “if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” replied his companion.
Dave wondered what the awkward countrified youth was doing on the aviation field, and what business he could have with Mr. King. He decided that this was his chance to meet the man whom he had traveled so far to see.
Dave’s companion did not explain his mission. He acted and walked like a fagged out person who had not had much sleep or a great deal to eat for some time. He was dusty and travel worn, and made Dave think of a raw country bumpkin starting out in life to find some work other than that of the farm. He had an innocent, credulous face, but showed a certain doughty spirit, as if he was very much in earnest as to what he was about and intended to stick to it.
There was a good deal stirring around the hangars. Everything was airships and airmen. Over beyond the hangars some of the machines were in action. Dave’s companion kept on asking about Mr. King, and at length his search was rewarded.