“‘Oh, belay there!’ snorts Nate, impatient.  Tell me this—­he’s awful rich, ain’t he?’

“‘Why, I believe—­yes, Harmon said he was.  But to think of my bein’—­’

“‘Now, nephew,’ Nate cut in, ’let me talk to you a minute.  Me and your Aunt Huldy Ann have been mighty kind to you sence you’ve been here, and here’s your chance to do us a good turn.  You stick close to science and the professor and let me attend to the finances.  If this family ain’t well off pretty soon it won’t be your Uncle Nate’s fault.  Only don’t you put your oar in where ‘tain’t needed.’

“Lord love you, Gus didn’t care about finances.  He was so full of joy at bein’ made assistant to the great Ansel Whiskers Dixland that he forgot everything else, nerves and all.

“So in another day the four of ’em was landed on Ozone Island and so was the freight-car load of crates and boxes.  Grub and necessaries was to be provided by Scudder—­for salary as stated and commission understood.

“It took Nate less than a week to find out what old Dixland was up to.  When he learned it, he set down in the sand and fairly snorted disgust.  The old idiot was cal’latin’ to fly.  Seems that for years he’d been experimentin’ with what he called ‘aeroplanes,’ and now he’d reached the stage where he b’lieved he could flap his wings and soar.  ‘Thinks I,’ says Nate, ’your life work’s cut out for you, Nate Scudder.  You’ll spend the rest of your days as gen’ral provider for the Ozone private asylum.’  Well, Scudder wa’n’t complainin’ none at the outlook.  He couldn’t make a good livin’ no easier.

“The aeroplane was in sections in them boxes and crates.  Nate and Augustus and the professor got out the sections and fitted ’em together.  The buildin’s on Ozone was all joined together—­first the house, then the ell, then the wash-rooms and big sheds, and, finally, the barn.  There was doors connectin’, and you could go from house to barn, both downstairs and up, without steppin’ outside once.

“’Twas in the barn that they built what Whiskers called the ‘flyin’ stage.’  ’Twas a long chute arrangement on trestles, and the idea was that the aeroplane was to get her start by slidin’ down the chute, out through the big doors and off by the atmosphere route to glory.  I say that was the idea.  In practice she worked different.

“Twice the professor made proclamations that everything was ready, and twice they started that flyin’ machine goin’.  The fust time Dixland was at the helm, and him and the aeroplane dropped headfust into the sandbank just outside the barn.  The machine was underneath, and the pieces of it acted as a fender, so all the professor fractured was his temper.  But it took ten days to get the contraption ready for the next fizzle.  Then poor, shaky, scart Augustus was pilot, and he went so deep into the bank that Nate says he wondered whether ‘twas wuth while doin’ anything but orderin’ the gravestone.  But they dug him out at last, whole, but frightened blue, and his nerves was worse than ever after that.