“Cran can’t go,” said Willie.
“Perhaps you might allow him a few days of grace,” suggested Mr. Follett, with a smile.
For several days the boys enjoyed themselves in various ways; that is, all but Willie Sloan. He generally moped about on the porch, gazing listlessly into space. Tim Lovell had made a special effort to be friendly, only to find himself rebuffed.
“I won’t go back to that old farmhouse,” declared Willie, one evening, to Cranny.
The big lad pleaded and coaxed.
“Think of the fun you’ll have in that machine shop,” he remarked.
“So I might—if those air-ship duffers weren’t there,” said Willie, calmly. “Didn’t I see ’em with a don’t-touch look in their eyes all the time? Say, Cran, why couldn’t a fellow fly to the moon in an air-ship—a balloon, I mean?”
“Ask Major Carroll, when you make his acquaintance.”
“My! Your ignorance is something awful.”
“We’re goin’ to Lone Pine to-morrow,” snapped Cranny, out of patience.