“Mother,” he exclaimed impulsively, “I’ve got a chance to get a good job operating the new aeroplane.”
“So soon?” replied Mrs. Osborne, with a smile. “I supposed you’d have to have a lot of experience before you could do that.”
“Oh, I can do it—now—I know enough. I ain’t afraid of that. But the job’s a long way from here. I’ve got to go to Utah.”
“Utah!” exclaimed his mother, wrinkling her brows. “Why that’s away out west. It’s further than Chicago, isn’t it?”
“A thousand miles,” responded Roy on a guess, and with a smile.
“Yes, certainly,” added Mrs. Osborne. “I know. Just beyond the Rocky Mountains. Utah—Salt Lake City. It’s where the Mormons live.”
“Right,” exclaimed Roy, laughing. “Do you care if I go?—I want to very much.”
“That’s where my Uncle Willard Banks went.”
Roy, who had taken the basket of flowers from his mother’s arm, stopped short.