us with an airship!" growled Macaroni. He had never gotten over the
accident.

"I believe you are growing childish, Mac!" snapped Blake, in unusual
ill-humor.

The last of the army camp films had been made and sent in safety to the
studios in New York, where the negatives would be developed, the
positives, printed by electricity, cut and pasted to make an artistic
piece of work, and then they would be ready for display throughout the
United States, gaining recruits for Uncle Sam, it was hoped.

Blake and Joe said good-bye to the friends they had made at the
Wrightstown camp, and, with Macaroni, proceeded to Manhattan. There they
were met by Mr. Hadley, who gave them their final instructions and
helped them to get their outfits ready.

"We'll take the regular cameras," said Blake, as he and Joe talked it
over together, "and also the two small ones that we can strap on our
backs."

"Better take the midget, too," suggested Joe.

"That's too small," objected the lanky helper. "It really is intended
for aeroplane work."

"Well, we may get some of that," went on Joe. "I'm game to go up if they
want me to."

"That's right!" chimed in Blake. "I didn't think about that. We may have