“Anywhere on the other side,” replied Branson. “But can he play the part?”
“He can play any part,” replied Marquette. “I’m going with you on the Colonia; we’ll fix everything up. Count on me. Don’t be discouraged, old man. You’ll get another chance at it.”
Vic Marquette received a phone call shortly after he reached his hotel.
A quiet voice asked him if everything had been satisfactorily arranged. Marquette gave an affirmative reply.
A LARGE crowd was assembled at a Long Island flying field early the next morning. The dim light of a new day shone on the wings of a glistening monoplane, which gleamed like burnished silver.
An automobile rolled up, and four men stepped out. Among them was one dressed in an aviator’s costume.
“It’s Branson!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. The man did not appear to notice it. He walked over to inspect the plane.
Another aviator joined him; the two shook hands, while photographers sought to obtain shots.
“Branson’s in great shape, isn’t he?” said one of the men who had driven up in the car.