A confused buzzing sound, as of many voices speaking at once, assailed Willie’s ears. Then, presently, Cranny said:
“The whole crowd will be there in time to meet the train. Good-bye, Willie.”
Mr. Beaumont’s ward, his face wearing a rather odd expression, hung up the receiver.
“I shall be glad to meet your guardian, Willie,” remarked Major Carroll, rising from his chair. “Come—it’s time to leave for the workshop.”
The boy followed him briskly down-stairs.
At the hangar, Kindale and the other mechanicians often found a use for his services. Willie Sloan was always active now, and eager to learn all he could.
About half-past four o’clock that afternoon the boys from the ranch rode up to a long shed which was built against one side of the hangar, and dismounted; then, after tying their bronchos, they made a concerted dash toward the entrance.
“They sure ain’t got no rheumatiz.” This from the art connoisseur.
“It’s only because they hain’t lived long enough,” growled old Si Peterson.
In about five minutes the boys reappeared, accompanied by a small, slight lad, and began to walk briskly toward the road.