"we--I--that is----"

"I presume that I have called at the right place," said the young officer,
with a smile. "They told me----"

"Oh, come in, won't you?" suddenly requested the embarrassed Peggy. "The
sun is fearfully hot. Won't you have a straw hat--I mean a seat?"

"Thank you," replied Lieut. Bradbury, gravely sitting in a garden bench at
the foot of one of the big maples. His eyes fell on the book Peggy had
been reading. It was a treatise on aeronautics.

"It isn't possible that you are R. Prescott?" he asked, glancing up
quickly.

"Oh, no. I am only a humble helper. R. Prescott is in town. He--he will be
back shortly."

"Indeed. I had hoped to see him personally. I was anxious to inspect the
Prescott type of monoplane before visiting another aeroplane plant in this
neighborhood, the--the----" The officer drew out a small morocco covered
notebook and referred to it.

"The Mortlake Aeroplane Company," he concluded.

"Oh, yes. They are just down the road, within a stone's throw of here. You
can see the place from here; that big barn-like structure," volunteered
Peggy, heartily wishing that the Mortlake plant had been a hundred miles
away.