"Do you know of any one around here that has an air-ship?" asked Matt.
The question was something of a novelty, and the man laughed as he rested one foot on the ground and balanced his motor-cycle upright.
"I suppose air-ships will be thicker'n hops, one of these days," said he, "but just now they're about as seldom as hen's teeth. I understand there are a couple of men here who are working at air-ships—one of them came to the mills to see if he couldn't get some aluminum castings. He's got a balloon house about a quarter of a mile down the road, on the left. Drop in there and maybe you'll find the man—and the ship, too."
Matt thanked the man and followed him slowly as he sputtered off into town.
The balloon house, which was plainly visible from the road, was a long, high shed, and occupied a solitary position in the midst of a marshy field. The doors in one end of the shed, arranged in a series and reaching from ground to roof peak, were open.
Leaving the automobile at the roadside, the boys climbed a fence and made their way across the flat ground to the big house. On reaching the opened doors, one glance showed them that there was no air-ship in the shed.
On the earth floor, along one side of the great room, were two or three work benches and a litter of wood and metal scraps. There was also, in the farther end of the chamber, a number of small tanks, presumably used for the manufacture of hydrogen gas. As the boys stood in the doorway, two brawny men showed themselves from behind these tanks. They wore greasy overclothes and their sleeves were rolled up.
"Get out of here!" yelled one of the men. "We don't allow any reporters around this shebang."
"We're not reporters," answered Matt, standing his ground. "Do you keep an air-ship here?"
"Well, that's what this big shed is for."