"Oh, well!" laughed Frank, as his cousin wheeled his bike out to the
front gate, where he could mount better, "it makes mighty little
difference, because, from what I've seen of Shea, I imagine he sleeps on
his post. I'm glad we didn't let him inside, because, like all Irishmen,
he is fond of his pipe and might have set fire to the shed. It's
dangerous smoking where there's a lot of gasoline about."
"Of course we've got that Puss Carberry and his mean crony, Sandy
Hollingshead, to consider. They tried to injure our machine once and
might again, especially after what happened today," said Andy, throwing
one leg over his saddle and standing there a minute.
"Oh, I guess not, Andy. They understand that we're keeping tabs of that
hangar, with its precious contents. Besides, they've got their hands
full of other matters, if what Puss said about that big trip to the
Amazon country is true."
The other sighed.
"I only wish I was as sure of going down there as Puss seems to be," he
observed. "I don't know how it is, but something queer seems to be
drawing me that way. Day and night I have pictures rising in my
mind. I've read every scrap concerning the Isthmus and northern coast of
South America, until I guess I'm as well posted on such things as one
who had been there."
"Yes," said Frank, softly, "and I'm afraid you let your mind dwell too
much on that subject, old chum.
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