He came finally to a portable tarred canvas house. One end of it held a monoplane, which both boys regarded with interest through the half open door. Near an open door at the other end of the building an old man was pottering around with a pail and a brush. Dave’s companion ran up to him.
“Say, Mister,” he bolted out in his usual unceremonious way, “I want to see Mr. King.”
“Oh, you do, eh?” retorted the crabbed old fellow. “Well, you sit down on that bench yonder and wait your turn, will you?”
Dave and his companion did as the man directed. The boy looked sharply at Dave.
“Say,” he observed, “you going to stay here and wait, too?”
Dave nodded an assent. The boy looked anxious.
“Got business with Mr. King?” he inquired.
“Why, yes,” replied Dave. “He lost something, and I want to tell him about it.”
“Oh, that’s it,” spoke the boy with a great sigh of relief. “I was afraid you was after a job. If you was, I got here first.”
“Oh, you can see Mr. King first,” said Dave. “Some one is with him now.”