"Oh, come in, won't you?" suddenly requested the embarrassed Peggy. "The sun is fearfully hot. Won't you have a straw hat—I mean a seat?"
"Thank you," replied Lieut. Bradbury, gravely sitting in a garden bench at the foot of one of the big maples. His eyes fell on the book Peggy had been reading. It was a treatise on aeronautics.
"It isn't possible that you are R. Prescott?" he asked, glancing up quickly.
"Oh, no. I am only a humble helper. R. Prescott is in town. He—he will be back shortly."
"Indeed. I had hoped to see him personally. I was anxious to inspect the Prescott type of monoplane before visiting another aeroplane plant in this neighborhood, the—the——" The officer drew out a small morocco covered notebook and referred to it.
"The Mortlake Aeroplane Company," he concluded.
"Oh, yes. They are just down the road, within a stone's throw of here. You can see the place from here; that big barn-like structure," volunteered Peggy, heartily wishing that the Mortlake plant had been a hundred miles away.
"Indeed. That's very convenient. I shall be able to make an early train back to New York. Do you suppose that Mr. Prescott will be long?"
"I don't really know. He shouldn't be unless he is delayed. But in the meantime I can show you the aeroplane, if you wish."
"Ah!" the officer glanced at this girl curiously, "but you know what I particularly desired was a practical demonstration."