“They’ve got my money,” he said, at last, “and they’ll have the old bus, too, some day—but they’ll never catch me to hold a court on me. They’ll never get my decorations!”
“What you mean, bus?” asked the Maliseet.
“The machine. The ’plane. Do you know where I can get oil and petrol? Are there any gasoline engines in Timbertown?”
“Sure. Doc Smith got one, you bet, for to pump water. He got bath-tub, too; an’ one little Ford what can jump fence like breachy steer.”
“Then he is the man I must see.”
Tom and Mick left the camp together next day, with an empty toboggan at their heels. They timed their progress so as not to reach the town before sunset. They went straight to Doctor Smith’s house and were fortunate enough to find him at home and about to sit down to his evening meal with Mrs. Smith, a lady of whose existence Mick Otter had not informed Tom.
Smith recognized Tom instantly, in spite of the beard, and welcomed him cordially.
“Dickon, this is Major Akerley, of whom I told you last night,” he said to his wife; and at the look of consternation on Tom’s face he laughed reassuringly.
“She is safe, major,” he continued. “She’d never peach on a good soldier. I first met her under bomb-fire; and she wears the Royal Red Cross when she’s dressed up.”
Tom talked freely during dinner; and after dinner he made known to the Smiths his intention of assembling the aëroplane and returning it to the Government in the spring. He said that he should require petrol and oil and certain tools.