“I wish we could solve the mysteries!” Garry spoke earnestly: he felt sorry for the harassed man who had put all his available capital into the new airport, who had enlisted his friends’ savings in the swamp draining and expansion project. The engineers, Garry knew, had been “called off” and their activity in the marsh had been stopped. It was of no use to add further expense, increase available runways or hangars.
“Solve the mystery of how I am going to meet unpaid bills,” growled Bruce McLeod. “You’ll please me enough if you do that!”
“Uncle,” Don jumped from his seat on the table edge, “it was partly my fault that the mail was held back all night-—”
“Oh—no!” The older man shook his head.
“It was, in a way!” Don insisted. “I should have flown straight here and tried to beat the storm, but I prevented the mail from coming in by going above the storm and getting lost. Won’t the steamship company give us another trial?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t bothered them.”
“Why not try again?” Garry suggested. “All pioneer work has to fail before it succeeds. They ought to let you have another chance.”
“I suppose they would.”
“See!” urged Don, “Scott could meet the ship. He’d never dive for any ghost,” with a grin. “He likes spooks!”
“I’d like to bring in the ocean mail, too,” Scott agreed.