“Those long whiskers and that big black hat seem to belong to the desert where I’m goin’. They bob up whenever I think of Utah. That’s why my machine is the ‘Parowan,’” he said.
Roy was exceedingly anxious to learn more about Utah--more about the Indians and some additional details concerning the nature of the country. He told his father he meant to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the Newark Public Library. On his way to the street car, he passed the open window of President Atkinson’s office.
That gentleman chanced to look up at the moment and as Roy lifted his hat, Mr. Atkinson called to him to come in.
“I have something that may interest you,” the president explained. “May interest me, too, if it’s right,” he added. He had in his hand a newspaper clipping. “Looks as if the boys of America were getting on to a good thing right away,” he added. Mr. Atkinson handed Roy the clipping. It had been taken from a Pensacola, Florida, paper, and read:
It became known yesterday that the six juvenile members of the Anclote Boat Club, who were recently awarded ten thousand dollars salvage in the Honduras mahogany schooner wreck, have determined to put a part of their treasure trove into an up-to-date aeroplane. Thomas Allen and Robert Balfour, nineteen and eighteen years old, and president and secretary of the club, respectively, have been delegated to go to New York to select the airship.
It also became known at the same time that there is a decided objection to this on the part of the parents of more than one boy. But the youngsters seem determined, and there is a strong probability that parental objection will be defied.
Tom Allen, president of the club, said yesterday: ‘You bet we are going to do it. Every one of the six members of the club risked his life to earn that money and why shouldn’t we spend it as we like? We are going to use five thousand dollars to buy an aeroplane, one thousand dollars to fix up our club house over on Anclote Island, and divide the rest. The court awarded us the money, and we’re going to beat the men of Pensacola by bringing an aeroplane down here before they wake up.’
Then followed nearly a column story that set Roy’s nerves tingling. It reviewed the history and adventures of the Anclote Boat Club. This juvenile organization of boys, ranging in age from sixteen to nineteen years, had for a couple of winters maintained a sort of winter quarters on Anclote Island about five miles off the west Florida coast and north of Tampa.