"Well, it was something along the same lines," explained Frank; "in fact, I meant to suggest that one of us stay here nights until we had word from Headquarters that the hour had come to make our test, and prove that the _Sea Eagle_ could stand up against a gale when common seaplanes would go to smash, or have to stay at their moorings."
"Mumps and mathematics, but I agree with you there, Frank!" cried Pudge. "And for one I'm in favor of camping out here right along. We could rig up a little stove, and cook our meals. It would be good fun at that, because then we'd have the real old-fashioned Yankee grub instead of this French fool stuff that never satisfies a healthy appetite."
The others looked at Pudge and exchanged nods. They knew his failing, and could sympathize with the poor fellow. Pudge was patriotic enough to prefer the American style of cooking, which always spelled abundance according to his way of thinking.
"I'm off, fellows," he now announced. "Look for me inside of an hour or so. Of course, it'll be about dark by then, but I know every stone on the road between here and town, I've traveled along the way so often. So long!"
With a genial wave of his hand, Pudge left them. The other pair looked after him with considerable solicitude; there was only one Pudge after all, according to their opinion, and he had a happy faculty for wrapping himself in the affections of his mates.
"You don't think anything could happen to him going or coming, do you, Frank?" asked Billy Barnes, as they saw Pudge vanish through the partly open gate of the high stockade.
"Why, no; I hardly think so," replied the other slowly. "Perhaps I should have gone for the padlock myself. If I had thought twice, I would have done that."
"Too late--Pudge is on the way," remarked Billy. "Let's go up and take a peep around once more to see that everything is in apple-pie shape--each wire-stay keyed up to the right tune for efficiency, the motors ready to do business, the gas pump lubricated, and, in fact, our machine fit to toe the scratch as if there were a race on."
Once they were inside the hangar, Frank fastened the door with a bar that had been arranged for just such a purpose. Then, turning on a flood of light from an acetylene gas battery, they examined every part of the big seaplane. It had something of the appearance of a gigantic sleeping bat as it lay there motionless, but with all the attributes of tremendous power for skimming along on the surface of the water or soaring among the clouds.