“Oh, there’ll be glory enough for all,” said Poke easily.
Sam coughed. “H-g-h! I—I guess I understand. Say, though! Your folks know about all this?”
“They know we’re doing something in the barn. And they don’t care.”
“Said so, have they?”
“Well, not—not exactly. But they haven’t tried to stop us. We don’t keep a horse now, you know, so they don’t have to come out this way often. But they wouldn’t mind, anyway.”
Sam did not press the point. “Look here, Poke!” said he. “I don’t know much about flying machines, but the little I know makes me think they’ve got to be all right, or they’ll be all wrong. So, unless you understand how to build ’em——”
“But I do! Saw an article in a magazine and saved it. It’s just full of diagrams and dimensions and all that sort of thing.”
“But there must be problems of weights to be lifted—engine weight, your weight, and so on. And you’ve got to figure out the size of the planes to suit the load and the power.”
Poke waved a lordly hand. “Humph! Don’t you suppose I know that? And don’t you suppose I’m looking out for such details? Well, I am! You trust your Uncle Dudley to be crafty in a thing like this!”
“But——” Sam began; then checked his speech. It was clear that Poke and Step were committed to their amazing enterprise. On the strength of long acquaintance with the pair he had no doubt that somehow or other they would contrive to come to grief; but he failed to see that there was anything he could do about it. Moreover, there were certain present advantages to the Safety First Club in having two of its members so thoroughly occupied.