"Dear, dear Dora!" he murmured fondly. "The best girl in all this wide world! Some day you are going to be Mrs. Dick Rover, and that day can't come any too soon for me. Oh, I hope those rascals don't do anything more to harm you!"
Dick was still holding the picture when there came a soft knock on the door.
"Who is it? What do you want?" he asked, as he put the picture down.
"Dick, my child," came in a whisper from the fun-loving Tom. "Be careful and don't kiss all the glaze off that photo. She's a sweet girl, warranted all silk and a yard wide, but the glaze may be poisonous, and——"
"Tom, if you don't get to bed I'll—I'll throw a pitcher of water over you!" cried Dick, and started to unlock the door. With a merry laugh Tom ran off; and that was the last seen or heard of him that night.
Before retiring Dick gave his wounded head another application of liniment, and in the morning he was gratified to find that much of the soreness was gone. The cuts, of course, remained, and he bound these up with extra strips of adhesive plaster. The three lads had an early breakfast, and by half-past seven o'clock were in the touring car, bound for Rayville.
"How are you going to get the biplane back here, even if you do find it?" questioned their uncle, before they started off.
"I don't know," answered Dick. "It will depend on what condition the Dartaway is in. She may be so broken up as to be unfit for anything, and then it wouldn't pay to move her."
"Well, better not attempt to fly in the craft," cautioned Randolph Rover.
"Hardly," said Tom. "Maybe we'll telephone for Captain Colby to come and get her."