The unloading of the aeroplane was a joy to Roy. As each box and crate was eased from the wagon by twice as many hands as were necessary, it was checked off in the little red book. Nor was a single box opened until every item was accounted for. Then the precise and careful young manager went to the further extreme of arranging each lot in proper numerical order.
All the crates and boxes were fastened with screws. There was no knocking and banging of nailed boards. The spruce section posts, struts and connecting strips came first. As these aluminum-covered, exactly finished parts came out of their protecting canvas covers, it was no longer possible to restrain the curious plainsmen. With a tinkle of sounding spurs, there was a concerted rush, and Roy had to appease the crowd by holding up a couple of long, slender strips.
“That’s it, gentlemen,” he said, laughing. “That’s part of the airship. This afternoon we’ll join ’em. Now, let’s all go and eat.”
“Would you believe it?” asked Mr. Cook, as the crowd good-naturedly took its leave and Roy and his friends made ready for the noonday meal. “But the boys are sort o’ hungry for something besides faro and whisky. I’m glad it amuses ’em.”
“That’s nothing,” remarked Roy. “If you’d open up that outfit in the streets of New York or Chicago, the people’d tramp each other to death to get a sight of it. Everybody’s crazy about airships. And I’ve got it bad,” he concluded, laughing.
Mr. Cook took the entire “aeroplane crew” to his own house, having previously sent word to his cook. He was a bachelor, but he was not “roughing it” in his home life. A Jap cook gave them a meal without a single Mexican dish--native beef and excellent bread and a pie made with “canned” peaches.
Then came the real work on the aeroplane. By sundown the two sections across which the planes extended, one behind the other, had been put together, bolted, and wired. Beneath these, the long and delicate but stout landing and starting skids had been attached. In a moment of rest Roy explained to Mr. Cook a detail that Mr. Atkinson and his father had taken the liberty to add to the ordinary aeroplane such as the Development Company had bought.
Model No. 1 was planned to start, practically, from the ground without track or wheels. But this presupposed ideal conditions--a smooth surface and the assistance of attendants. Realizing that the aeroplane would often face far from ideal conditions in both starting and landing and that it would be mainly where there would be no one to assist in either starting or landing, Roy’s father had sent with the airship a set of starting wheels. Four of these, small pneumatic-tired rubber wheels, were arranged for automatic attachment to the ends of each skid. They were light and, when not needed, could be easily detached.