“It’s Dave Dashaway.”
“Dashaway?” repeated Mr. King, with a slight start and a look in his eyes as though he was searching his memory.
“Yes, sir, my father was a professional balloonist. Maybe you have heard of him.”
“Heard of him!” cried the aviator, with new interest. “I should say I have. And read of him. Why, he was a pioneer in advanced aeronautics. And you are his son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me all about it.”
Dave looked into the kindly, sympathetic eyes of his new acquaintance feeling sure that he had found a true friend. He told the story of his life simply. As he tried to make it brief, his auditor more than once checked him as if every detail interested him.
“You are a brave, deserving young fellow, Dashaway,” said the airman heartily. “I have you to thank for putting me on the track of that lost medal, which I value beyond price.”
“Do you think there is any chance of your getting it back?” inquired Dave anxiously.
“I am sure of it. I want you to come with me down to the field office. In the meantime think up the closest description possible of the fellow who stole it. Here,” added the airman pointing to a little writing table. “Just sit down there and jot it down as clear and brief as you can.”