Workmen were putting up grand stands, tents and sheds were being
erected, exhibitors were getting their machines in shape, and excited
contestants of many nationalities were hurrying to and fro, inquiring
about parts delayed in shipment, or worrying lest some of their pet
ideas be stolen.
Tom and Mr. Damon, with Frank Forker, the young machinist, were soon
busy in their big tent, which was a combined workshop and living
quarters, for Tom had determined to stay right on the ground until the
big race was over.
"I don't see anything of Andy Foger," remarked Mr. Damon, on the second
day of their residence in the park. "There are lots of new entries
arriving, but he doesn't seem to be on hand."
"There's time enough," replied Tom. "I am afraid he's hanging back until
the last minute, and will spring his machine so late that I won't have
time to lodge a protest. It would be just like him."
"Well, I'll be on the lookout for him. Have you heard from home to-day,
Tom?"
"No. I'm expecting a message any minute.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191