“You don’t mean to tell me you don’t know what ‘aeroplane’ means?” almost shouted Morey, when he saw from his mother’s look that she was puzzled. “Well, I’ll be—”
“Mortimer!” exclaimed Mrs. Marshall with as much sternness as she ever used.
“Mater,” he laughed, “you certainly are behind the times.”
“What does it mean?” she asked placidly.
“I suppose you never heard of ‘aviator’ either?”
“I’ve heard of ‘aviary’. I believe that has something to do with birds.”
“Right! Though I never heard of an aviary,” added Morey, partly to himself. “It is a bird. It’s a human bird. An ‘aviator’ is a man who drives an aeroplane.”
“And this—this airy—?”
“Mother, sit down,” answered Morey in despair, “and I’ll begin your aeronautical education.”
For the next quarter of an hour Mrs. Marshall dodged and parried verbal volleys of airship talk. Beginning with hot air balloons Morey led his mother along through a history of aeronautics until he came to aeroplanes. And then, not satisfied with the bewildered condition of his patient parent, he began with the dreams of the enthusiast.