In a few moments the excited aviators and the well-satisfied Colonel Howell emerged from the aerodrome just as young Count Zept ran up.
“Are you fellows going to stay here all night?” he exclaimed, almost out of breath. “I thought you told me you’d meet me at seven o’clock at the car. Father’s been there for a half hour. We’re waiting to take you home.”
It was necessary at once to introduce Colonel Howell to young Zept. As the oil man heard the name, his face brightened anew.
“You’re not the son of Jack Zept, are you?” the colonel asked as he grasped the young man’s hand.
“John C. Zept is my father’s name,” answered the Count. “He’s a horse ranchman. Do you know him?”
The colonel chuckled. “Of course,” he answered hastily. “I met him on the upper Peace; shot sheep with him in ’95. Forgot he lived here. If I can join you, I’d like to meet your father. You can put me down at the King George. I think,” the smiling colonel added, turning to Norman and Roy, “that you boys had better go home, talk it over with your fathers, and I’ll look you up a little later in the evening.”
“Anywhere you like,” exclaimed the young Count, “the machine’s waiting. Father’ll be glad to see an old friend.”