Andrew looked sharply at his nephew over the rim of his cup. "Airship scare? Yes, I remember; the papers in Canada were full of it—well?"
"That was my ship. People said that a mistake had been made; that folks had imagined the ship. They said the same in Germany. But it wasn't imagination: it was a real ship, the one I had built."
"And—and what became of it?" gasped Andrew—for this was news—"Why didn't you sell it to the War Office authorities?"
Joe smiled. "War Office authorities! Know 'em?" he asked.
"Never met them—why?"
"They're too slow for words," declared Joe, laughing. "I'll tell you about them. I went there, to the War Office. I got lost in the place, it's so vast and has such huge lengths of corridor. And I'm inclined to believe that the folks who work there get lost. Anyway, they couldn't for an hour or more direct me to the department likely to have some knowledge of airships. But I reached it at last and told my tale."
"Ah! You got home. Then, what happened! They sent right off to investigate."
"The official who interviewed me, and who had, I imagine, as much knowledge of airships as I have of turnips, informed me that he was vastly interested and would put the matter before the authorities and communicate with me. I left my address; I waited; I got tired of waiting."
"What! How many days?"