"No, it's a work-shop of some sort. But what? Old man Harding is interested in it, that's one thing sure. I heard, too, that while we were away, cases of machinery had arrived and been delivered there, and that active work of some sort had been going forward ever since," rejoined Roy, who was clad in white tennis flannels, with white shoes and an outing shirt, set off by a dark-red necktie.
"See Roy," cried Peggy suddenly, "they're putting up some sort of sign on it, or else I'm very much mistaken."
"So they are. I see men on some ladders, and now, look Peg, they are carrying up a big board with something painted on it. Perhaps at last the mystery will be solved, as they say in the dime novels."
"Can you read the printing on that sign?" inquired Peggy.
"Not a word. I can see the letters to know that they are printed characters, but that's all. Tell you what, Peg, just run and get those glasses we used on the desert—there's a good fellow—and we'll soon find out."
"Isn't that just like a brother? Always sending his long-suffering sister on his errands."
"Why, you know you are dying with curiosity yourself, to know what's on that signboard," parried Roy.
"And I suppose you're not," pouted Peggy in mock indignation. "However, I'll get the field glasses to oblige you—just once."
"As if you won't try to secure the first peek through them!" laughed Roy, as sunny Peggy tripped off across the lawn to a big shed in the rear of the Prescott home, where the aeroplanes and their appurtenances were kept.
She soon was back with the field glasses, and, as Roy had prophesied, raised them to her eyes first. Having adjusted the focus, she scrutinized the sign carefully. By this time the big board had been raised horizontally above the doors and was being fixed in position.