Andy’s busy brain was full of the aero-catamaran and the wonderful engine, but, mindful of his mother’s admonition, he restrained his enthusiasm. It was agreed that all should start for the late home of the boy’s eccentric uncle as soon as Mrs. Anderson’s morning work was done.

“We’ll use both the little boats,” explained the generous captain. “I’ll take the ladies in one, and we’ll tow the other one with Andy and the baggage for cargo.”

The moment breakfast was over Andy managed to get the captain into the boathouse again that he might see the propellers—for he was still thinking. These, with the engine shaft, chain drives, steering wheel, and rudder wires had also been preserved.

“Are you thinkin’ o’ tryin’ to rig her up again?” asked the captain, as Andy began a close examination of the parts.

The boy looked up with a doubtful smile.

[42]

“You could,” added the captain, “but she’d have to be better braced. The trouble was when you turned her in a sea. The waves would raise one boat and drop the other. The steel beams wouldn’t hold.”

Andy nodded, and carried one of the six-foot propellers nearer the door. It was of some light, close-grained wood, finished as smoothly as glass. The blades, pear-shaped with a decided pitch, tapered gracefully to the metal shaft-block in the center.

“Where’d he get these?” asked Andy admiringly, as he brushed the dust from the golden-varnished blades.

“I’m a little proud o’ them,” confessed the captain. “I made ’em. But they weren’t my idea. I never saw anything like ’em until your uncle laid ’em out on paper, curves and all.”

“What’ll you take for them?” asked the boy longingly.

“Didn’t I tell you all that truck is yours or your mother’s, or your father’s?”

“Did uncle pay you for your work?”

“Well, to tell the truth, it wasn’t a question of pay between us,” explained the captain. “It was his idea and his boat. I made him a present of all I did.”

[43]

“You think so, now,” said the boy with a smile. “But I reckon what’s here is as much yours as it was his—or more. Much obliged for the offer, but I think my mother would make a fuss if I took anything.”

The captain only shrugged his broad shoulders. In an instant the boy had replaced the propeller and was at his new friend’s side.

“Captain,” he said in almost a whisper, “don’t you say a thing to her. But I have an idea—and it’s a dandy. It’s a big idea, and it’s goin’ to take both you and me to work it out—”

“Bully for you!” exclaimed the captain. “But it ain’t another motor boat, is it?”

For answer, Andy hurried to the captain’s desk and picked up an illustrated paper he had seen there. As he held it before the boat builder, he placed his finger on one of the pictures and glanced at his companion with snapping eyes.

“A flyin’ machine? An aeroplane?” the captain almost shouted.

For answer, Andy’s hand shot up as if warning silence. With the other he pointed toward the bungalow.

“My mother,” he whispered significantly.[44] “See that?” he continued, pointing to the pictured propeller. “And see that?” he added, indicating the motor. “They are the only hard things about an aeroplane. And we’ve got ’em both!”

The captain’s mouth was wide open in amazement. He scratched his chin and then suddenly asked:

“Do you know how to make ’em?”

“Not yet,” answered Andy all aglow, “but the man who carved that propeller can build anything he wants. I’ve got a book about ’em—‘How to Construct and Operate an Aeroplane.’”

Perplexity shone on the captain’s face.

“Who’ll fly it?” he asked.

Andy smiled, and then slowly winked an eye.

“But your mother?” added the captain.

“That’s it,” answered the boy meaningly. “You’re goin’ to make the machine; it’s goin’ to belong to you—which it will. You’ll have to hire me to help. Why not? We’ll settle the flyin’ business when we get to it. How about it?” he concluded appealingly.

His companion shook his head.

“We’d need a lot of things we haven’t got—or I would,” and he grinned.

[45]

“We won’t need a thing but what’s right here in sight,” pleaded Andy, “except some cloth and steel wire.”

“I suppose we could get them up at Melbourne—or I could,” conceded the captain, his grin broadening into a laugh.

“Then it’s a go?” urged Andy.

“But I don’t see,” argued Captain Anderson in new doubt, “just what benefit an aeroplane will be to me if we could make it.”

“What good was the aero-catamaran to you? You helped build that.”

The captain could only laugh outright.

“I reckon I did it just to be tinkerin’.”

“Well, you’ll get tinkerin’ to beat the band buildin’ an airship,” exclaimed Andy. “Besides, there ain’t any law against you takin’ a ride in it.”

“Me?” exclaimed the captain. “Me? I’d sail the Valkaria from here to the Pacific. But I wouldn’t trust myself ten feet in one o’ these sky craft.”

The boy followed him outside the boathouse. They could see Mrs. Anderson and Andy’s mother ready for the trip.

“But I have always been sort o’ interested in aeroplanes—at long range. Bring me the[46] book about ’em and I’ll read up a little,” added the captain, locking the doors.

“Then you’ll think about it?” persisted the boy.

“Certainly,” was the captain’s answer, “I’ll think about it. But that isn’t promisin’.”

As Captain Anderson and Andy walked to the pier to get the trundle-cart to carry the trunks down to the landing, the boy was surprised to see a colored man sitting on the edge of the runway.

“Hello, Ba,” exclaimed the captain. “You’re just in time, if you’re lookin’ for a job to-day.”

“Yaas, sah, Ise yo’ honey,” replied the negro. “Loafin’ don’t git yo’ nothin’ but conch meat.”

Andy saw that the man had none of the flashiness of most colored men. His cheek bones were high, his skin was dusty black, his tremendously muscled and unusually long arms were in a marked contrast with his short bowed legs, and he wore neither hat nor shoes.

“Go up to the house and get two trunks. Then you can row us to Goat Creek.”

The man was off instantly.

“Ba?” said Andy. “That’s a peculiar name!”

[47]

“Short for Bahama,” explained the captain. “That’s the only name he has. He’s a Bahama man; turned up here a few years ago, and been hangin’ around the river ever since.”

“Looks as if he might have just stepped out of an African jungle.”

“His father probably did,” was the captain’s answer.

Ba needed no truck for the transfer of the trunks. He carried them to the pier, one at a time, balanced on his woolly head. Then the two ladies were seated in one boat and the other was tied astern to carry Andy and the baggage. But the negro, being a skilled waterman, took the captain’s place in the forward boat and the captain joined the boy in the other craft.

“Isn’t it great, mother?” called out Andy from the rear boat. “Let’s stay all winter.”

“It is certainly beautiful,” answered his mother. “I wish your father could be here. But we can’t stay. You must get back to school.”

The boy glanced slyly at Captain Anderson and drew down his mouth dolefully.

“We ain’t got any time to waste on this thing, Captain. Can’t we start her to-day?” he whispered.

[48]

“Well,” answered his companion, slowly, “you can give me the book to-day. I’ll see what I can make out of it. But—” and he shook his head again.

Undaunted by the captain’s hesitation, Andy fell into argument. He began with the simplicity of the aeroplane mechanically, and insisted that, aside from the engine and propeller, it was even less complex than a bicycle.

“Why, every boy in the country’ll be makin’ ’em. You need only some light, strong wood and wires, and a few yards o’ varnished cloth, and there you are. I’d take the engine home and make one myself this summer, only I know mother wouldn’t let me.”

“Wouldn’t it be sort of underhanded for me to make it for you?”

“Make it for yourself!” stoutly urged the boy. “Think of it! I can see her now—sailin’ off over that white beach o’ yours like a—a—”

“Pelican,” suggested the captain. “That’s our bird down here.”

“Pelican—sure!” said Andy. “That’s a great name—Captain Anderson’s Pelican. And say,” he whispered, leaning forward, “if you’ll do it, so far as mother’s concerned, I’ll give my promise now never to try to fly in it until she says I can.”

[49]

“That seems fair enough,” said the man scratching his chin thoughtfully. After a few moments, a peculiar smile shone on his face. Then, very soberly, he said:

“Young man, did I understand you to say you understood something about gas engines?”

Andy, mystified, opened his mouth.

“I—” he began.

“That’s what I understood,” said his questioner solemnly. “Did I also understand you to say you had some knowledge of the theory of flying machines?”

Doubly perplexed, Andy’s jaw dropped further.

“I—” he began once more.

“Very well,” went on Captain Anderson. “Then it’s all settled. But I can’t pay you over a dollar a day, and as money is scarce down here, I’ll have to settle in some other way. This is a pretty good boat we’re riding in. It’s worth about ten dollars. I’ll give it to you, and deliver it in advance, for ten days’ labor.”

A yell rent the air. Mrs. Leighton and Mrs. Anderson whirled about regardless of their equilibrium.

“Andrew,” cried his mother, “what’s the matter?”

[50]

“Nothing, mother. Only I’ve just made a good bargain. I’ve just bought this boat.”

“Bought it?” called back his mother.

“Yes—for ten dollars. We needed it.”

“And he’s going to work it out,” explained Captain Anderson. “I can use him whenever you can spare him.”

“That’s very good of you,” responded Mrs. Leighton. “But please don’t pay him more than he is worth.”

The only way by which Andy could show his gratitude and appreciation was to pat the captain affectionately on the arm, and then the mouth of Goat Creek was reached.

A few minutes later Andy was assisting his mother up the path leading to the little estate of his late uncle, Abner Leighton. Then he sprang down the path again to help Ba with the trunks. His thoughts were not on oranges, nor pineapples, nor his late uncle’s house. Nor did he pause to think of the laboratory shop and the power generator. A certain red book in one of the trunks, “How to Construct and Operate an Aeroplane,” blotted out all these.

“Andrew,” called out his mother, with a laugh, “I think I see one thing, already, that we’ll have to do.”
 
“What’s that, mother?” panted the boy, as he tugged at his trunk strap.

“The house needs painting badly. I’ll have you do that first.”