Before reaching Alexandria the two boys found themselves among the country villas of the middle-class suburbanites. Then the park-like expanse and neatly trimmed hedges of Arlington Cemetery rose on their right. Intent on this pleasing picture, which Amos was slow to believe was a cemetery—a soldier’s grave-yard—Morey did not for a time notice another institution on his left. But, when he did look and saw the national colors fluttering from a tall, white flagstaff, and the open parade ground and orderly rows of officers’ homes, he knew instinctively that he had stumbled upon Fort Meyer at the front door of the city. His heart leaped.
Giving Betty a slap with the lines he hastened on toward the entrance, through which, in the distance, he could already see a thin stream of people passing. A moment later the surrey reached a sort of rear entrance. Here a soldier on guard duty walked slowly back and forth.
“Is this Fort Meyer?” Morey asked anxiously as they passed.
“That’s what.”
“May we drive in?”
The soldier, dropping his gun to “parade rest,” shook his head but jerked his thumb down the road where people on foot and in carriages were entering.
“Come to see the airship?” he remarked.
“What airship?” asked Morey, eagerly.
“I reckon you’re in time,” said the soldier smiling. “Always in time for them boys. They fuss around all day and then tell you at dark that it’s too windy. But I reckon they’ll go up today,” he added, glancing skyward.