“Have you, Tom? That’s fine! Put one on and I’ll fly off your roof. You may charge me storage if I stay here too long,” and Mr. Damon laughed in a way which showed, better than anything else, that he had suffered no ill effects from the sudden ending of his flight.
“Are you going to trust yourself again to that plane?” asked Mr. Jackson.
“Of course I’m going to fly again!” cried the odd man. “A little bump like this doesn’t disturb me. I’ve been in worse smash-ups; haven’t I, Tom?”
“Off hand, I should say you had,” was the smiling answer.
“Besides, I want to learn how to run this jigger!” cried Mr. Damon, sitting up on the pile of workmen’s garments while the men gathered smilingly about him, for they all knew him. “What did I do wrong, Tom? Or is the steering gear out of order?”
“It seems to be all right,” answered the young inventor, who had been looking at the mechanism. “Tell me just what happened.”
“Well, as I say, I was coming over to see you. Or, if I didn’t say that before, I tell you now. I have a big offer for you, Tom Swift, a most important offer. I’ll get to that in a moment. But I was coming over in this plane, which I bought only yesterday, and I decided to fly across your shop and land in the meadow.
“But, just as I got here, I felt the machine dip suddenly. First I thought I had struck an air pocket, but I didn’t have time really to decide what it was before I came down with a crash. Luckily I was able to straighten her out a little before I struck, so I made a slanting landing. Otherwise I might have gone through the roof.”
“And right down on our heads!” exclaimed Ned. “Mighty glad you didn’t!”
“So am I,” said Mr. Damon. “But what’s wrong, Tom? I want to know so that the same thing won’t happen again.”