"Guess Andy's gone to bed," he mused, as he saw the house wrapped in
darkness, for it was now after half past nine.
Frank cast a glance back toward the big field where the shed stood in
which the great little monoplane, in which they had won their victory
during Old Home Week, was stored. But he could just barely make it out,
owing to the distance and the faint light of the moon coming through the
clouds.
Naturally the hearts of both lads went out toward the gallant aircraft
which had answered every call made upon it for speed and endurance. It
was equipped with an engine of the latest make, weighing only a third as
much as the average aeroplane motor and a triumph of modern scientific
discovery. Since the Bird boys had constructed that monoplane
themselves, after patterns obtained elsewhere, surely they had reason to
be proud of their work and the gallant victory which had come to them.
Frank pedaled on, thinking nothing of the trip. He was accustomed to
being abroad at night with his wheel, and, indeed, had taken many a
twenty-mile run by the light of his lamp alone.
What was there to fear? Bloomsbury was a peaceful community. Rarely did
anything occur to indicate that a spirit of lawlessness was
abroad. Occasionally the police had some trouble with wandering tramps,
but Chief Waller's strong point seemed to lie in that direction, and as
a rule hoboes gave Bloomsbury a wide berth.
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