gets hold of one of the
gardeners, tips him a dollar, and drags out of him the fact that cook
says how all the folks are off on the yacht, which is gen'rally
anchored off the dock. He don't know if it's there now or not. It was
last night. I can tell by goin' down. The road follows that little
creek.

So I gallops down to the shore. No yacht in sight. There's a point of
land juts out to the left. Maybe she's anchored behind that. Comin' down
along the creek too, I'd seen an old tub of a boat tied up. Back I
chases for it.

Looked simple for me to keep on; but when I get started on a trail I
never know when to stop. I was paddlin' down the creek, bound for
nowhere special, when along comes a sporty-dressed young gent, wearin'
puttee leggin's and a leather cap with goggles attached. He's luggin' a
five-gallon can of gasoline, and strikes me for a lift down the shore a
bit.

"Keepin' your car in the Sound, are you?" says I, shovin' in towards the
bank.

"It's an aerohydro," says he.

"Eh?" says I. "A--a which?"

"An air boat, you know," says he. "I'm going to try her out. Bully
morning for a flight, isn't it?"

"Maybe," says I. "Get aboard. Always have to cart your gas down this
way?"

At that he grows real chatty. Seems this is a brand-new machine, just
delivered the night before, and he's keepin' it a dead secret from the
fam'ly, so Mother won't worry. He says that's all nonsense, though; for
he's been takin' lessons on the quiet for more than a year, has earned
his pilot's license, and can handle any kind of a plane.

"Just straight driving, of course," he goes on. "I don't attempt spiral
dips, or exhibition work. I've never been up more than five hundred
feet. And this is such a safe type. Oh, the folks will come around to it
after they've seen me up once or twice. I want to surprise 'em. There
she is, up the shore. See!"

Hanged if I hadn't missed it before, when I was lookin' for the yacht!
Spidery lookin' affairs, ain't they, when you get close to, with all
them slim wire guys? And the boat part is about as substantial as a
pasteboard battleship. While he's pourin' in the gasoline I paddles
around and inspects the thing.

"Five hundred feet up?" says I. "Excuse me!"

He grins good natured. "Think you wouldn't like it, eh?" says he. "Why?"

"Too cobwebby," says I. "Why, them wings are nothin' but cloth."

"Best quality duck, two layers," says he. "And the frame has a tensile
strength of three hund