"Look out, Ned!" called Tom. "You're making those top boards too
long. They'll stick out over the edge, and be ripped off if the box
catches on anything."
"Yes, you can't be too careful," cautioned Mr. Preston. "Each box or
package must be the right weight, or the porters and mule drivers
won't carry them into the interior. You may have to cross rough
trails, and even ford rivers. And as for bridges! well, the less
said about them the better. You aren't going to have any picnic, and
if you want to back out, Tom Swift, now is the time to say so."
"What! Back out?" cried our hero. "Never! I said I'd go and I'm
going. Ned, pass that brace and bit over, will you. I've got to bore
a hole for these screws."
And so the work went on in the big aeroplane shed, which they had
made their packing headquarters.
The Lark, that small, but strong and speedy aeroplane, had been
safely packed, and most of it had been sent on ahead to New York,
where the travellers were to take the steamer. There remained to be
transported their clothing, weapons and ammunition, and several
bundles and cases of trinkets which would be of more value in
bartering with the natives than money.
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