“At night?”
“Sure! Once you get off the ground, the air’s all the same, day or night, ain’t it?”
Not exactly, Bob demurred, There were many considerations to be thought out, but his father had said “locate the brown ship.”
Here it was, flying away!
It seemed to be “up to him.”
“Can we get the crate out? Can we get it started? Is there any fuel aboard?”
Already the watchman had hold of the tail assembly of a trim, slender, dark fuselage.
“Grab on!” answered the watchman, jockeying the fuselage so that a wingtip missed the span of the cabin ‘plane’s spreading airfoils. “Grab on! I know you lads is detectiffs, and here’s your chance for a medal or somethin’.”
Bob “grabbed on!” with spirit. He had caught the enthusiasm of the older person. It took them only a short time to jockey the craft into the open, to get its gauges checked, to see that it had oil and at least a tank of gas three-quarters full.
“Holler out!” The watchman stood by the “prop.”