This was done for a double purpose. It not only gave the machine an attractive and finished appearance, but the nature of the varnish provided a safeguard against accidents. After the aluminum varnish was dry and set, any split or new defect in the wood at once produced a break in the aluminum coat. Instead of concealing damage to the wood, the varnish at once called attention to it.
But Roy was not investigating varnish or lacquer. When he left, a little strip of plane-silk was drying in a corner of the paint shop. On this in brilliant crimson letters nearly a foot high, was the word “Parowan.”
“I don’t know that I can use it,” Roy chuckled to himself, “but if Mr. Cook and his company don’t object and haven’t any other name for the air-line express, it’s going to be the ‘Parowan.’”
Roy could not get away from the thought of his great uncle, Willard Banks, and the mountain town where his mother’s family history said the old Mormon had lived.
“Those long whiskers and that big black hat seem to belong to the desert where I’m goin’. They bob up whenever I think of Utah. That’s why my machine is the ‘Parowan,’” he said.
Roy was exceedingly anxious to learn more about Utah—more about the Indians and some additional details concerning the nature of the country. He told his father he meant to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the Newark Public Library. On his way to the street car, he passed the open window of President Atkinson’s office.
That gentleman chanced to look up at the moment and as Roy lifted his hat, Mr. Atkinson called to him to come in.
“I have something that may interest you,” the president explained. “May interest me, too, if it’s right,” he added. He had in his hand a newspaper clipping. “Looks as if the boys of America were getting on to a good thing right away,” he added. Mr. Atkinson handed Roy the clipping. It had been taken from a Pensacola, Florida, paper, and read:
THE BOY AERONAUTS’ CLUB