long-distance conversation with Mary V, but he had come to the point in
his finances where a two-bit piece looked large as a dollar. He would
miss that small gold piece.

Since the government had refused to consider accepting his services and
paying him a bonus for his plane, he would have to sell it--if he could.

There it sat, reared up on its two little wheels, its nose poked
rakishly out of an old shed that had been remodelled to accommodate it,
its tail sticking out at the other side so that it slightly resembled a
turtle with its shell not quite covering its extremities. The Mexican
boy whom Johnny had hired to watch the plane in his absence lay asleep
under one wing. A faint odor of varnish testified to the heat of the
day that was waning toward a sultry night.

Without disturbing the boy Johnny rolled a smoke and stood, as he had
stood many and many a time, staring at his prize and wondering what to
do with it. He had to have money. That was flat, final, admitting no
argument. At a reasonable estimate, three thousand dollars were tied
up in that machine. He could not afford to sell it for any less. Yet
there did not seem to be a man in the country willing to pay three
thousand dollars for it. It was a curiosity, a thing to come out and
stare at, a thing to admire; but not to buy, even though Johnny had as
an added inducement offered to teach the buyer to fly before the
purchase price was taken from the bank.

The stalking shadow of a man moving slowly warned Johnny of an
approaching visitor. He did not trouble to turn his head; he even
moved farther into the shed, to tighten a turnbuckle that was letting a
cable sag a little.