McGlory spun around on his heel and would not remain near to talk with Dhondaram. The Hindoo, as he halted in front of Matt, was smiling in his most ingratiating manner.
"I have come to look, sahib," said he, "at your most wonderful performance. It is read of everywhere, and in Chicago most of all. It will be a pleasure. It is permitted?"
"You can stay here," answered Matt, "providing you keep out of the way."
"I will see to that, Mattrao Sahib," and the Hindoo walked around the aëroplane, giving it his respectful attention.
The wonder was growing upon Matt as to the whereabouts of Ping. The Chinese boy was always on hand when the flights were made, for the Comet was the apple of his eye and he took it as a personal responsibility to make sure that the "get-away" was always safely accomplished.
He did not appear to be trailing the Hindoo. If he had been, why was he not somewhere in the crowds that were pressing against the guard ropes.
"Watch the brown tinhorn, Le Bon," muttered McGlory, in the kinker's ear, "and see that he don't tinker with anything."
"Why," exclaimed Le Bon, "he wouldn't do anything like that!"
"He might," was the sharp response. "I haven't any faith in these fellows who wear a twisted tablecloth for a hat. If anything should go wrong, up in the air, it'll spell your finish as well as my pard's. I'm going to have a word with Matt."
The band had come from the mess tent. Instruments in hand, the members had climbed into the band wagon, which was hauled up near the point from which the Comet would start, and a rattling melody was going up from the horns, the drums, and the cymbals.