Frank was carrying the little part he had expected to knock together at
the workshop; but as he drew nearer, his chum could readily see that he
was considerably excited.
"Is everything all right here, Andy?" he called out, even before
reaching them.
"Yes," replied the other Bird boy, promptly, "though we did have a call
from four fellows who had their faces hidden behind handkerchiefs, but
we fired our guns in the air and nearly frightened them to death. Felix
grabbed the double-barrel I had, and gave them a last shot when they
were climbing the fence over there; and we heard some howls too, so I
guess a few of the Number Eight shot pinked them. But what makes you
look so bothered, Frank? Has anything happened at home?"
"There sure has," came from Frank, as he joined them, and cast a pleased
glance over the flying machine that lay upon the grass like a huge bat,
with wings extended.
"Tell me what it was?" demanded Andy, breathlessly.
"Somebody broke into our hangar and workshop, and knocked things around
at a great rate," Frank went on to say. "Acted like they might be just
mad because they didn't find our new machine there, and wanted to show
their spite. And nobody in your house knew a thing about it till I came
along, after an early breakfast, meaning to get the piece I'd been
working on up to eleven last night, when I went home to sleep, and
locked up the place as usual.
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