It was Saturday, and the "Big Consolidated" was to remain at Reid's Lake over Sunday and give two performances Monday. On Monday, therefore, it was quite possible the Comet would be able to carry out her part of the circus programme.
"Up in North Dakota," observed Joe McGlory, "where it blows like sin when it does blow, you've capered around in the sky in the face of a breeze every bit as strong as this, Matt."
"There it was different," answered the young motorist. "I didn't have to manipulate the machine over the show grounds, and there were not thousands of people directly underneath to suffer if the aëroplane didn't come down in the place from which it started. I don't want any more accidents like the one we had at Jackson."
"Where a snake short-circuited the engine, and you had all kinds of hair-raising experiences," breathed McGlory. "Speak to me about that! By gorry, I wouldn't even look on while you pulled off another such performance, pard, for a million in yellow boys!"
Before the king of the motor boys could make any reply, Landers, the man who had charge of the calliope, showed himself in the tent door. Behind him trailed a smooth-faced man of forty, in a cap and gray tweeds.
"That's Motor Matt," said Landers, pointing to the young motorist. "This gentleman wants a word with you, Matt," he added, "and I volunteered to show him where you could be found."
Landers ducked away again, and the stranger pushed into the tent.
"Fancy!" he exclaimed, staring at Matt, then at McGlory, and then letting his eyes wander around the tent. "So this is Motor Matt. Ah, by Jove!"
McGlory picked up a bucket, emptied the water out of it, and turned it upside down.
"Sit down, pilgrim," said the cowboy, "and make yourself comfortable."