The workmen had put on a new wheel and made one or two other repairs to the slightly damaged plane. A test of the motor showed that it was in fine running order, and Mr. Damon took his seat in the small cockpit.
“I suppose it’s all right to take off from here, isn’t it, Tom?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” replied the young inventor. “I’ve often done so with bigger planes than this.”
The roof over Tom’s office and the adjoining shop had been built with special adaptability to aeroplanes, and a little later, when the engine had throbbed and roared after starting, Mr. Damon had no difficulty in getting into the air.
The little plane gathered speed, sped across the roof, and, reaching the edge, dipped down a moment and then sprang into the air like a veritable bird, which it resembled more than it did anything else.
Mr. Damon was observed to lean over the edge of the cockpit, wave his hand and shout something down to those on the roof.
“Did you hear what he said?” asked Tom of his business manager.
“No; but it probably was that he’ll send Blythe over to see you,” chuckled Ned.
“He needn’t; it will be of no use. I’m going to work on the tidal engine and the mill machinery for my own purposes,” declared the young inventor.
Those on the roof watched for a time the soaring little plane, becoming smaller as it receded from view.