The boys grinned.
Headlund, after wishing them success, turned again to Bill. “Do you see any of the old boys?” he asked.
“Pat McDermott’s my partner,” said Bill. “He’s flying the old boat in this afternoon sometime.”
“He is! That’s great! And quite a coincidence, too. Do you know who was here—left just before you came in?”
“Not Hank Brown!” shouted Bill. “By golly, I thought I recognized that face! Old Hank! What was he doing here?”
“He’s got a ship down here in one of our hangars. It’s a beauty—a four passenger cabin plane, with the pilot’s seat up front—a beautiful job. Listen, Hank’s gone down to the hangar now to look it over. Maybe you can catch him down there. It’s Avenue B, the last hangar in line.”
“Great. I’d like to see Hank. Last time I saw him he was in an English hospital, eating porridge and not liking it at all. Who would have thought that the old skinny marink would have put on all that poundage? Old Hank fat! And flying in a cabin plane. Come on, fellows, we’ve got to go down there and see him.” He turned to Headlund. “I’m going to be in town all summer, Heady, and I guess you’ll be seeing plenty of me. What street did you say? Avenue B?”
Captain Bill and the boys hurried out, found the right road, and walked along it until they came to the last hangar. A beautiful plane, black and aluminum, stood outside. But as they approached, there was nobody to be seen.
“Ahoy, there!” shouted Bill. “Anybody here know Hank Brown?”
Hank himself appeared from the other side of the plane, where he had been conferring with a mechanic. “I’m Henry Brown,” he said, peering from behind gold-rimmed glasses at Bill and the boys. His face registered no sign of recognition at first. Then suddenly it lighted up, he rushed forward, and gripped Captain Bill’s hand in his, slapping him heartily on the back with the other. “Well, Bill! You old sock! Where on earth did you come from? What are you doing here? Where have you been?”