CHAPTER VIII--THE AERO FIELD

"That's settled," said the Airship King. "Come, Andy, and I'll introduce you to our living quarters."

Andy felt as if he was treading on air. He was too overcome to speak intelligently. Clear of the spiteful Talbot brood, the proud possessor of a new suit, a watch, five dollars, and the prospect of a princely salary, he felt that life had indeed begun all over for him in golden numbers. He caught at the sleeve of his generous employer.

"Mr. Parks," he said with emotion, "it's like a dream."

"That's all right, Andy," laughed the aeronaut. "I'm pretty liberal, they say--that is, when I've got the money. I've seen my hard times, though. All I ask is to have a man stick to me through thick and thin and I'll bring him out all right."

"I'll stick to you as long as you'll let me," declared Andy.

"Yes, you're true blue, Andy, I honestly believe. I've staked a good deal on the aero meet next month. I've just got to get that five-thousand-dollar prize to make good, for I've invested a good deal here."

"I hope I can help you do it," said Andy fervently.

"The _Eagle_ is only a trial craft. Over in the workshop yonder, I've got a genius of a fellow, named Morse, working for me, who is turning out the latest thing in airships. Here's our living quarters."

Mr. Parks led Andy into the shed-like structure that formed the back of the tent which sheltered the aeroplane and also a dirigible balloon. They passed through several partitioned-off spaces holding cots. Then there was a comfortable sitting room. Next to it was a kitchen.

This room was sizzling hot, for it held a big cooking-range, before which an aproned cook stood with an immense basting spoon in his hand. He was the blackest, fattest cook Andy had ever seen. His eyes were big with jolly fun, and his teeth gleamed white and full as he grinned and nodded.

"I've brought you a new boarder, Scipio," said Mr. Parks. "His name is Andy Nelson. You'll have to set another place."

Then he stepped through a doorway outside, and Scipio took a critical look at Andy.

"'Nother plate, eh?" he chuckled. "Dat's motion easy, but what about de contents of dat plate? Fohteen biscuit do de roun's now. Yo' look like a likely healthy boy. I reckon I have to double up on de rations."

It was a royally good meal that was spread out on the table in the sitting room about four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Where's Mr. Morse, Scipio?" inquired Mr. Parks, as the cook brought in a smoking roast.

"Mistah Morse have to be excused dis reflection, sah, I believe," responded Scipio. "I ask him 'bout noon what he like foh dinnah. He dat sorbed in his work he muttah something bout fractions, quations and dirigible expulsions; I hab none ob dose to cook. Jus' now I go to call him to dinnah, an' I find him deeper than ever poring over dose wheels an' jimdracks ob machinery, and when I say de meal was ready, he observe dat de quintessimal prefix ob de cylinder was X. O. plus de jibboom ob de hobolinks. It sounded like dat, anyhow. Berry profound man, dat, sah. I take him in his meal later, specially, sah."

From this and other references to the man in the shop, Andy decided that Mr. Morse must be quite a proficient mechanician. He longed to get a peep into his workshop. After dinner, however, Mr. Parks said:

"Would you like to stroll over to the big aero practice field, Andy?"

"I should, indeed," responded Andy.

He found the aviation field to be a more or less shrouded locality. It was reached only by crossing myriad railroad tracks, dodging oft-shunted freight-cars, scaling embankments and crossing ditches. The field was dotted with shelter tents for the various air machines, trial chutes and perfecting shops.

There were any number of monoplanes, biplanes and dirigible balloons. On the different tents was painted the name of the machine housed therein. There was the _Montgo_, _Glider_, the _Flying Dutchman_, the _Lady Killer_, and numerous other novelties with fanciful names.

"Every professional seems to be getting up the oddest freak he can think of," explained Parks. "Do you see that new-fangled affair with the round discs? That is called the helicopotol. That two-winged, one-hundred-bladed freak just beyond is the gyropter. Watch that fellow just going up with the tandem rig. That's a new thing, too. It's of the collapsible type, made for quick transportation, but not worth a cent as a racer."

Andy was in a realm of rare delight. He passed the happiest and most interesting hour of his life looking over and studying all these wonderful aerial marvels about him.

When they got back to camp, the aeronaut showed Andy where he would sleep, and told him something about the routine.

"I am making test runs with the _Eagle_," he explained, "and will want you to sail with me for a day or two. Then you may try a grasshopper run or two yourself."

"I shall like it immensely," declared Andy with enthusiasm.

When Mr. Parks had left him, Andy wandered outside. The sound of a twanging banjo led him to the front of the kitchen quarters.

Seated on a box, his eyes closed, his face wearing an expression of supreme felicity, was Scipio. Strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" floated on the air. The musician, opening his eyes, happened to spy Andy.

"Tell you, chile," declared the portly old cook, with a rare sigh of longing, "des yar Scip could play dat tune all night long."

"Keep right at it, Scipio," smiled Andy. "You go on enjoying your music, while I do up any little chores you have to attend to."

"If it wouldn't be a deposition on yo'," remarked Scipio thoughtfully, "dar's de suppah dishes I'd like brung back from Mistah Morse's quarters."

"Can I find them?" inquired Andy.

"Yo' jess follow yo' nose down through the big shed," directed Scipio. "Mistah Morse nevah notice yo'. He's dat substracted he work all night."

Andy proceeded on his mission. Passing through one shed, he saw a light at the end of one adjoining. In the second shed he came to a halt with sparkling eyes and bated breath.

Across a light platform lay the skeleton of an airship. Its airy elegance and fine mechanism appealed to Andy intensely. He went clear around it, wishing he had the inventive faculty to construct some like masterpiece in its line.

Just beyond the machine was a small apartment where a light was burning. Near its doorway was a table upon which Andy observed a tray of dishes and the remnants of a meal.

He moved forward carefully to remove them, for seated at a work-bench and deeply engrossed in some work at a small lathe, was a man wearing great goggles on his eyes.

"It must be Mr. Morse, the airship inventor," thought Andy.

Just then the inventor removed his goggles, rubbed his eyes and turned his face towards Andy.

With a crash the boy dropped a plate, and with a profound start he drew back, staring blankly at the man at the bench.

"Oh, my!" said Andy breathlessly.