“What for?” the boys chorused.
“My fee for legal advice!” Lon chuckled. “Reg’lar office rate, ain’t it? Settle up!”
“Guess you’ll have to charge it,” Sam told him.
“Can’t do that, but I’ll drop out to the camp when you’re settled, and take it out in board and lodgin’s.”
“That’s all right,” Sam declared. “But we’ll want to have you along, anyway.”
“Then find out whose land you’re on, and get his permission. I allers did hate to be waked up at midnight and told to move on because I was trespassin’.”
“We’ll attend to it,” Sam said. It was good and sensible advice, and he meant to improve it; but, as it chanced, there was a difficulty in the way. Division lines in wooded tracts are often very faintly indicated; even neighbors’ ideas on the subject are vague. Sam made inquiries; failed to gain light; discovered nobody who offered objections, and came to the conclusion that a tent pitched near the big rock was not likely to lead to protest.
Tom Orkney had an old tent, somewhat in need of patches and repairs; Herman Boyd produced the remnants of one still older but furnishing material for strengthening the other. The club massed its strength for cutting and sewing, fitting fresh guy ropes and providing pegs. Then one afternoon Lon announced himself ready to transport the equipment to the lake, and Sam started out to round up his clan.
Orkney, the Trojan and Herman were reached by telephone, but the Shark was not at home. Sam, descending upon the airship builders, found him in consultation with Poke and Step. Poke’s barn was more than ever like a cavern of mystery. The blankets at the windows were drawn back for the sake of better light for the workers, but the confusion of tools, cans, motor parts and wire had multiplied since Sam’s former visit. In the midst of it all loomed the framework of the wings.
Sam peered at the machine with lively curiosity.