McGlory and Ping started at once for the calliope tent, which they used as general rendezvous and dressing room. They rode on the machine in costume—McGlory in swell cowboy regalia and Ping in a barbaric get-up that made him look as though he had tumbled off a last year's Christmas tree.
Carl had nothing to do until after the aëroplane flight, and so he remained with Matt until the procession started.
"Here comes dot pad elephant, Racha," murmured Carl, pointing to the string of four elephants lumbering in their direction from the animal tent. "Der Hintoo iss pooty goot ad bossing der elephant, aber I don'd like his looks."
"He's all right, Carl," laughed Matt easily. "It's Rajah's looks you don't like."
"Vell, I dell you somet'ing, bard. Oof der elephant geds his madt oop, all you got to do is to turn some veels und sail indo der air mit der Gomet."
"We couldn't do that. When the Comet takes to the air she has to have a running start. There's no chance for such a start while we're in the parade."
"So? Vell, keep your eyes shkinned bot' vays und look oudt for yourseluf. I got some hunches alretty dot you vill haf drouples."
"We'll not have any trouble," returned Matt confidently.
A few minutes after the elephants had dropped into line in front of the aëroplane, McGlory, his big spurs clinking at his heels, and Ping, rattling with tin ornaments and spangles, ran toward the Comet. Ping was helped to the upper wing, and Matt and McGlory took their places in the seats on the lower plane.
Carl drew off and cast a gloomy look at Ping, sitting cross-legged on the overhead plane and languidly beating the air with a fan.