“H’m,” observed Grimshaw. “That’s sort of puzzling. Now, what does it mean?”
Dave shook his head vaguely.
“I really don’t know,” he admitted.
Hiram began to grin. Then he laughed outright.
“Do you?” demanded Dave, glancing suspiciously at his friend.
Hiram slapped his knee emphatically, chuckling the while. He began feeling in the outside pockets of his coat.
“I didn’t know at first,” he spoke; “but I think I can guess it out now.”
Hiram drew out a folded newspaper, opened it up, glanced over it, and refolded it so as to show a half-column article with a display head.
“City evening paper, that just came down with the mail,” he explained. “Look at that, Dave Dashaway, and say you aren’t famous!”
Our hero was a good deal surprised to find in the newspaper a glowing article about the unselfish heroism of a rising young aviator, who had encountered vivid danger in doing a noble service for a poor girl.