“You know as much about him as I do,” replied Andy. “Except that I have been told his name is Herman Blatz.”
“That sounds like a brand of near beer,” grinned Bert. “Wonder if he’ll be able to talk much English?”
“I expect so,” nodded Andy. “Those chaps at the Friedrichshafen works are cosmopolitan; they have to be the way the Graf Zeppelin has been hopping from one hemisphere to another. A fellow certainly has to hand it to Doctor Eckener for his work in proving how capable lighter-than-air craft can be.”
“When will this expert from Germany arrive?” Bert wanted to know.
“This letter doesn’t give an exact date, but I should imagine it would be within the week. I’ll show it to Merritt Timms so he won’t have his secret service men chasing Blatz out of here when he tries to get through the guard line.”
Bert stepped to the door of Andy’s small office and scanned the clear afternoon sky. He sniffed at the air eagerly. There was no mistaking it. There was a real tang and zest of spring on the breeze. Beyond the great doors of the home of the Goliath stretched a meadow which had been turned into an airport for the aviation experts who made visits to Bellevue usually came in their own plane and ships of the National Airways dropped down several times a day.
“It’s a wonderful afternoon,” said Bert suggestively.
Andy left his desk with its blue prints and stepped to the door. He chuckled as he looked at the sky and then at the wind sock on the beacon tower.
“That wasn’t, by any chance, a hint that it would be a nice afternoon for a little vacation in the clouds?” he grinned.
“Take it that way if you want to,” chuckled Bert. “There’s nothing that would suit me better than a hop over the hills. I’ve been on the ground for nearly a month; it’s been slushy and muddy underfoot and I’d like nothing better than a joy hop.”