“I’m not,” dissented the young airman’s assistant staunchly. “You’d just laugh and say it was another of my grand schemes. All right! Those bags mean something—provided you go into this new contest. Honest, Dave,” went on Hiram with impressive earnestness, “I can put you onto a wrinkle in aeronautics that is new enough, and strong enough, to carry the day any time—oh, bother!”
Whatever scheme the young lad had in his mind, its disclosure was prevented at that moment by the arrival of an intruder. A man of about thirty, wearing a monocle, mincing in his steps and looking the typical English “dandy” to perfection, approached the bench where the two friends sat.
“It’s Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer,” remarked Dave with a faint smile.
“Lieutenant nothing!” declared Hiram forcibly. “He’s no more a British army officer than I am.”
“Ah, Mr. Dashaway,” spoke the newcomer, bowing, “I hope you’ve thought over my proposition.”
“Why, yes, Lieutenant,” replied Dave, “I have done so.”
“And have arrived at a decision?” questioned the other with marked eagerness.
“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Dave promptly. “You see, Lieutenant Mortimer, I am not a free agent in aviation matters. In fact, you might say I am under contract indefinitely to Mr. Brackett, who has financed me in the past. I should have to refer your offer to him, you see.”
“When will he be here?” asked the man, evidently very much disappointed.
“He may be here within a week.”