“I’ve got bicycle friction tape in my little toolcase.” Al ran to get it.
“The place is hard to reach,” Bob told Curt.
“Maybe I could do it,” Curt responded. “My hands are thinner and my fingers are longer than yours.”
As soon as Al brought the roll of pitched fabric, Curt, with the flashlamp set for steady burning, located the damaged insulation and began to work with strips of the tape, having some difficulty in winding it without pulling the wires too much.
“This is going to be a slow job,” he called out. “Bob, somebody ought to go and call up Griff, to see if he has any news.”
“I think so too,” Al agreed.
“Why don’t you both go!” Curt urged. “One could stay at The Windsock and watch and the other could come back with news—or, Bob, you could ride back on my wheel, to The Windsock with Al, and then come on back here and we two could fly back to the hangars together.”
“Would you trust yourself with me, in the dark, flying this ship?” asked Bob. “Something else may be wrong with it.”
“That’s so. I’ll look it over. I know how they inspect them,” Curt suggested.
Al and Bob agreed, and went to the two bicycles. Off they rode.