completed the work of the dirt and soot, and a few seconds later, each
face looking like a stage Indian's ready for the war-path, the trio
dashed out. They shed shavings, sawdust and lampblack at every step,
and from their clothes and hands and faces dripped the carmine paint.

"Better have your pictures taken!" cried Ned, peering from an upper
window.

"Yes, and send us one," added Tom, joining his chum. Andy looked up at
them. He dug a mass of red paint from his left ear, removed a mass of
soot from his right cheek, and, shaking his fist, which was
alternately striped red and black, cried out in a rage

"I'll get even with you yet, Tom Swift!"

"You only got what was coming to you," retorted the young inventor.
"The next time you come sneaking around this airship, trying to damage
it, you'll get worse, and I'll have you arrested. You've had your
lesson, and don't forget it."

The red-haired bully, doubly red-haired now, had nothing more to say.
There was nothing he could say, and, accompanied by his companions, he
made a bee-line for the rear gate in the fence, and darted across the
meadow. They were all sorry enough looking specimens, but solely
through their own fault.



Chapter 8 - Winning a Prize