“There’s your machine,” spoke Grimshaw, with a grin.
“My machine?” repeated Dave Dashaway.
“Yes, that’s the biplane I expect to see you handle better than any operator on the field, or I shall be mightily disappointed.”
It was early morning. Just as breakfast was over at the Aegis hangar, Grimshaw had appeared. He had nodded knowingly to Mr. King. Then he had taken Dave in tow; to lead him to his quarters, and back to a shed the doors of which he had just thrown open. The most exquisite little biplane upon which Dave had ever feasted his eyes was revealed to view.
“Why,” exclaimed Dave, “where did it come from?”
“Fresh from the factory.”
“When?”
“Last night. We housed it when everybody was asleep. I suppose you understand, Dashaway?”
“Hardly,” answered Dave in a vague tone.
“Why, what have I been training you for, do you suppose?”