“It will be like getting into some palace of wonders,” he reflected, “and the grand chance to learn from the star man of them all, Mr. King.”
Dave hurried by many a group surrounding aeroplane models that would have halted him usually. He was anxious to get to the hangars. He had not yet examined the crack monoplane belonging to his employer. He knew its name, the Aegis, and had got a mere glimpse at its outlines. Now he was free to look it all over.
“Hold on there!”
To make a short cut to the hangars, Dave had passed between a part of the grandstand and a building where refreshments had been sold during full attendance at the meet. There were not many people around just there, and this short cut took Dave into a still more lonely space.
Some one had come up behind him, butted into him forcibly, and sent him up against a wooden platform.
“I want to speak to you,” sounded a voice strange to Dave.
“You’ve got a nice way of introducing yourself,” began Dave, turning around with some asperity. “Hello, I know you.”
“Do? Then there’s no need of any explanations,” jeered his assailant.
Dave recognized the latter instantly. It was Jerry Dawson, the boy whose father had visited Mr. King less than two hours previously. Dave had seen this youth only once before. It had been at a distance, too. He knew that sullen, scowling face, however, at once.
The boy was taller and older than Dave. He was stockily built, and strong. He stood with his fists raised, blocking Dave in against the platform.