e looked at Augustus and he at her.
'Wheel me to the window!' yells Dixland. 'Tolliver, what are you waitin'
for? The doors are open, the aeroplane is ready. Go this instant and
fly.'

"Augustus was a bird all right, 'cordin' to Nate's opinion, but he
didn't seem anxious to spread his wings. He was white, and them nerves
of his was all in a twitter. If ever there was a scart critter, 'twas
him then.

"'Go out and fly,' says Nate to him, pretty average ugly. 'Don't you
hear the boss's order? Here, professor, I'll push you to the window.'

"'Thank you, Scudder,' says Dixland. And then turnin' to Gus: 'Well,
sir, may I ask why you wait?'

"'Twas Olivia that answered. 'Uncle Ansel,' says she, 'I must tell you
somethin'. I should have preferred tellin' you privately,' she puts in,
glarin' at Nate, 'but it seems I can't. Mr. Tolliver and I are engaged
to be married.'

"Old Whiskers didn't seem to care a continental. All he had in his
addled head was that flyin' contraption.

"'All right, all right,' he snaps, fretty, 'I'm satisfied. He appears to
be a decent young man enough. But now I want him to start my aeroplane.'

"'No, Uncle Ansel,' goes on Olivia, 'I cannot permit him to risk his
life in that way. His nerves are not strong and neither is his heart.
Besides, the aeroplane has failed twice. Luckily no one was killed in
the other trials, but the chances are that the third time may prove
fatal.'

"'Fatal, you imbecile!' shrieks the professor. 'It's perfected, I tell
you! I--'

"'It makes no difference. No, uncle, Augustus and I have made up our
minds. His life and health are too precious; he must be spared for the
grand work that we are to do together. No, Uncle Ansel, he shall NOT
fly.'

"Did you ever see a cat in a fit? That was the professor just then, so
Nate said. He tried to wave his sprained wrists and couldn't; tried to
stamp his foot and found it too lame. But his eyeglasses flashed sparks
and his tongue spit fire.

"'Are you goin' to start that machine?' he screams at the blue-white,
shaky Augustus.

"'No, Professor Dixland,' stammers Gus. 'No, sir, I'm sorry, but--'

"'Why don't you ask Mr. Scudder to make the experiment, uncle?' suggests
that confounded niece, smilin' the spitefullest smile.

"'Scudder,' says the professor, 'I'll give you five thousand dollars
cash to start in that aeroplane this moment.'

"For a jiffy Nate was staggered. Five thousand dollars CASH--whew! But
then he though