“Hey—Bob—got her filled? Warm her up for Mr. Tredway.”
Bob nodded, consulted the brand new instruments and noted that the fuel and oil registered at “full.”
“Gas on—switch off,” he told Al. “Whirl that prop, Al.”
His brother did his bidding. It took several trials to start the new engine but Bob got it going and then drew back the throttle to idling speed and went over to rejoin the group.
“I don’t think Arthur ought to take that crate up,” Barney was half laughing. “Of course I know that the only wires I ever crossed was when I flew my crates over telegraph lines—but he might think I had ’em crossed in this ship!”
“Oh, no!” Tredway laid a hand on his protege’s shoulder.
But Bob was not watching Barney.
His eyes were fixed on Sandy Jim, and he beckoned to his father.
Hurriedly, rapidly, Bob spoke to his father. The detective nodded.
“I’ll get the speedster of Mr. Tredway’s warmed up, too,” Bob said softly, “in case——”