“Then I reckon he knows all about ’em,” put in Phil.
“Considerably more than I do, at least,” answered Mr. Mackworth. “But I’ve got some books and maps in one of these bags,” he went on, starting to pick out a bag.
“Not just now,” suggested Mr. Graham, rejoining the group. “No books and maps now. Frank’ll call for you with the car at eight thirty, and you’d better get your speech ready for your sister.”
When at the appointed hour Frank piloted the big machine up the driveway, its passengers presented quite a formal appearance—Mr. Mackworth and his two guests being in full evening dress. Mrs. Graham received them on the big colonial porch or gallery where lights were glowing behind the vines. East India chairs; taborets for cigars; cooling drinks and oriental rugs made the place more comfortable than indoors.
The formalities over, Mrs. Graham good-naturedly took her brother to task for his recent shortcomings. She had not heard from him for over six months, in which time he had gone to England, drifted to India and was just home.
“And now,” Mrs. Graham went on, shaking her head, “the chances are that we shouldn’t have heard from you had you not taken a notion to steal our boys. I’m sorry you want Frank and Phil,” she went on, “but I’m glad you’re going to take the airship. It’s the first one of your crazy ideas I ever approved.”
“And I can’t even take credit for this idea,” Mr. Mackworth roared, “it is Captain Ludington’s notion, sister. Give him all the glory.”
Before the embarrassed Mrs. Graham could reply, Captain Ludington was on his feet, his hands raised in protest.
“On my word, my dear madam, I must protest. I did have in mind a possibility of big game shooting from an airship; I even suggested the idea. But, as to using your son’s airship—or even your son—I must protest; I knew of neither.”