"It might save a lot of trouble," answered Tom, dryly.
"Tell me—didn't you act on orders from that lawyer, Fogg?" questioned Dick, curiously.
"I did—if you want to know."
"I thought so. He's too sharp for his own good."
"You're right—and maybe he'll catch it for this," answered Jimmy Budley; and then he and his men rode away on the flat car, leaving our friends to themselves.
"Well, now you've got the wreckage, what are you going to do with it?" questioned Stanley.
"Offer it to the folks who build flying machines," answered Dick. "I'll write the letters to-night."
With the biplane off their minds, the Rovers rejoined their friends in the automobile, and took a run through the country for fifty miles or more. They stopped at a country hotel, and there Dick treated to cake, ice cream and other refreshments.
The letters to the flying machine manufacturers brought various replies. Several did not care to buy the wreckage at all, while others offered a ridiculously low price.
"This doesn't look encouraging," was Dick's
