Before the end of the coming week the aeroplane would be finished. As this time approached, Andy began to be greatly bothered. At first, he had worried alone over the airship and the possibility of being able to construct it. Now, he was satisfied that a practicable air craft would result.

“And what then?” Andy was debating this on Sunday morning as he stood before the idle boathouse. “What’s the good of it all? It’s a cinch that my mother ain’t goin’ to let me try to run it. And what if she does consent? For a fellow who hasn’t had a particle of experience, to bang away with a car like that’d be a crime. Everyone has to learn. I can, I know, but a fellow certainly don’t do it the first time. It’s twenty chances to one that I’d break the thing the first dash out of the box. Gee whiz! but it does seem a shame.”

“What’s a shame?” asked Captain Anderson, who was strolling to a seat on the pier.
 
Andy explained, walking by his friend’s side.

“Seems to me you’ve begun that line o’ reasoning pretty late,” commented the captain, as he filled his morning pipe. “To tell the truth, I haven’t bothered about it because I’ve thought all along that your mother would first object and then relent. And I supposed anyone could operate an aeroplane who had the nerve—”

“That’s it,” acknowledged Andy, “they can’t. I’m not afraid, but a fellow ought to begin with a gliding machine and learn how to handle it—get used to dips, angles, and darts, and what’s necessary to correct ’em. If he don’t do that, he should, at least, go up several times with someone who can tell him all about it.”

The captain drew on his pipe slowly.

“Then what have we been breakin’ our backs over?” he asked soberly. “All along we’ve been makin’ something we haven’t any use for.”

“I don’t agree with you there,” answered Andy positively. “It is of some use—we found we could make it.”

“Humph!” exclaimed the captain. “I could have told you that; I wouldn’t have begun her if I hadn’t known that.”

[111]

“You’re not sorry, are you?” asked the lad, a little plaintively.

“Sorry!” laughed Captain Anderson. “Not a bit, except for you. All I was doin’ was for fun and because you were so eager.”

“I know,” answered Andy quickly, “and you bet I’m grateful enough. I’m only gettin’ cold feet now because you’ve made such a dandy. If it was only my own work, a sort o’ patched up thing with a common engine, I’d bang away and take a chance in it, if I could. But I don’t believe there has ever been a better flyin’ machine made, and if I smashed her, I’d never forgive myself. But it ain’t because I’m afraid.”

“Then,” answered the old boat builder sympathetically, “we’ll finish the job if we never use the machine. It’ll be a nice piece of work—”

“And maybe something’ll happen,” interrupted the boy.

“There’s always a chance,” answered the man, with a big smile. “But I can’t see what can happen that’ll ever make it of use. Not unless the clouds part some day and drop a trained aviator at our feet—someone lookin’ for a job.”

[112]

“That’s it,” exclaimed the boy impulsively. “Not out of the clouds, of course. But, perhaps, maybe, someway, somehow such a man might happen along.”

The captain smiled and began to unfold his paper.

“Or,” went on Andy, “if he didn’t happen along, we might send for one—”

“Send for one!” exclaimed the man. “You mean hire an aviator to come down here into the wilderness?”

“I guess I didn’t mean that,” said Andy in confusion. “I don’t know what I meant.”

His companion saw tears of chagrin and disappointment almost showing.

“Don’t you bother, Andy. We’ll finish the airship in the best manner we can. I hardly think we can employ a professional aviator, but something may happen—something usually happens when you’re young enough and eager enough.”

“If mother lets me, I’ll do it anyway,” broke out the boy.

“And smash our beautiful machine?” laughed the captain.

Andy winced.

“Come,” went on the captain. “I always[113] worry to-morrow. Run into the house, get something to read, and forget aeroplanes to-day. I think it’s gotten on your nerves a little.”

But the day was too fine for reading, and, as a good sailing breeze came up, Captain Anderson soon followed Andy, with a proposal that all, including Ba, should sail to Melbourne.

The plunge of the swift Valkaria through the water and the savor of the semi-salt spray were enough to revive all the lad’s old enthusiasm. He took the tiller at times, helped with the sheets, and, long before Melbourne was reached, the joy of sailing had pushed the aeroplane temporarily into the background.

While waiting in the parlor of the little hotel, his elders busy with new acquaintances, Andy stumbled upon something that set him thinking. In a few minutes, with almost a gasp—as if some idea was too much for him—he left the house and curled up on a seat on the gallery. His forehead was wrinkled. He had come to a sudden and bold decision, and he was trying to persuade himself that it was not ridiculous.

“Anything new botherin’ you, Andy?” asked Captain Anderson, as he appeared to tell the boy that dinner was ready.

[114]

“Nothin’ that’s botherin’ me,” answered Andy, in a rather confident tone, “but I’ve got an idea. I reckon it’s so foolish that I ain’t agoin’ to tell about it—yet.”

As the boy followed the man into the house, he folded up a newspaper he had found on the parlor table and put it into his pocket. After dinner Andy secured from the landlady some paper, an envelope, and a stamp. In the office, he wrote a letter which, however, he did not seal.

That done, he composed himself until there was talk of starting home. There was no post-office at Valkaria, and as Andy had an important letter that he wanted to mail at the earliest opportunity, he managed to get Captain Anderson aside.

A little nervously he drew out the paper he had in his pocket. It was an Indian River region paper—the Daytona Daily Beacon. The boy pointed to the main article on th............