Within a few hours after Frank received this astonishing communication, he had collected five opinions concerning it. These were:

Frank: “Next to sailin’ away to a tropic island in the South Seas on an old-fashioned three-masted brig in search of lost treasure, it’s the greatest thing that could have happened.”

Phil: “I’ll go if I lose my job.”

Mrs. Graham: “It’s perfectly ridiculous. I can’t understand what brother Guy means.”

Mrs. Ewing: “I always knew that flying machine would bring us bad luck.”

Mr. Graham: “Talk it over with me, eh? Well, meanwhile, you boys needn’t bother with any preparations. You’re not goin’.”

Mr. Graham’s speech was made about noon. Frank expected that his father would be against Mr. Mackworth’s plan. Therefore, after several futile attempts to introduce reasons in[51] favor of the expedition, he gave up for the time. He had scarcely left the office when Mr. Graham received a letter from Mr. Mackworth.

After repeating what he had written to Frank, Mr. Mackworth went on:

“You will, of course, object to this. In that you will be unreasonable. As there is no school, it cannot interfere with his education. From what I read, I know that he is capable of doing what I want. Because you are his guardian you will probably want to show your authority. This is the day of progress. Men no longer wait until they are thirty or forty to become famous. And the thing I propose may be the thing that is to make the boys famous. Having no son myself, Frank is almost my nearest relative. And I have not suggested this trip as a means of taking chances with his life. I am perhaps only less concerned in him than you are. Not even you, or his mother, could watch over him more carefully. But, after all, if you don’t[52] want the boy to go with me, we’ll cut out the flying machine. However, I’d like to use both the machine and the boy and his friend. If you consent, I’ll stop with two English friends about the end of the week.”

During the noon hour Phil rushed home from the factory to get his mother’s views, but he found little to give him hope. The two boys had instantly agreed that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. They jumped at the suggestion as if they had been nursing the idea all their lives.

“Scoopin’ the snow off the loftiest mountain peaks,” suggested Phil smacking his lips, “lead me to it. Do you reckon he’ll pay me wages?” he added, suddenly alarmed over the thought of this loss.

“Wages? Shucks,” answered Frank. “Father gives you two weeks each summer for a vacation. Make this your vacation.”

“But your father says you can’t go,” said Phil. “So what’s the use of getting all worked up?”

[53]

“But you don’t know Uncle Guy,” answered Frank. “He’s awful strong with father.”

“I wish he was as strong with my mother,” Phil said at last.

No sooner had Mr. Graham reached home than he went into an immediate conference with his wife. There was a new outburst of tears and protests but, when the family reached the dinner table, Mr. Graham said:

“Frank, are you confident you and Phil can operate that airship as well as professionals?”

“Better’n most of ’em.”

“Do you think, if we let you go on this foolish trip, that you can act more like a sane person and less like a lunatic?”

“You mean flyin’ in the rain at night?” laughed Frank.

“I mean, will you cut out experiments?”

“That means you’re goin’ to let me go?” shouted Frank. “Wait till I call up Phil.”

“I have decided to listen to your uncle’s request and I may consent. I telegraphed to him this afternoon.”

“Whoop-e-e!” yelled Frank, springing from the table. “I’ll tell Phil—”

[54]

“I called up Mrs. Ewing,” explained Mrs. Graham. “I told her what your father had decided—”

“Then it’s all settled,” shouted Frank. In another moment he was kissing his mother. “As for you, father,” he cried with another shout, “I’ll show how much I thank you by calling on you to carry out the rest of Uncle Guy’s request.”

“The rest?” asked Mr. Graham.

“Yes. He asked you to let me have any money I needed to prepare the Loon. There’s considerable we can do, you know.”

“I believe he did,” answered Mr. Graham with his first smile. “Well, go ahead; don’t stint yourself. It’s nothing more than your uncle deserves and you can be sure I’ll keep strict account of every penny.”

“Good for you, pop. Now I want a real favor. Can’t Phil have his vacation at present, instead of in August?”

“I suppose so,” was his father’s answer.

“Then I wish you would let him off up to that time—to help me. And don’t dock him.”

“Do you mean so that he can work on the flyin’ machine?”

[55]

“Yes. It takes two of us.”

“Then it’s one of the expenses you have been authorized to incur. I’ll charge his absent time to your uncle. But remember,” he added quickly as Frank laughed, “the thing isn’t finally settled yet. I must see your uncle first and talk with him.”

The perilous flight of the boys in the storm had taken place on a Monday night. Mr. Mackworth’s last letters reached the Grahams just a week later. Therefore, Frank and Phil began work on the preparation of the car Tuesday morning.

After a week’s idleness the Loon was out of its hangar early Tuesday morning. It was as efficient as ever. Having shot out over the fields for a few miles the boys headed back to town, crossed the big lumberyards and furniture factories until the Grand River was reached. This was a favorite stunt of the boys; to follow the beautiful, winding stream until a deep looking stretch was reached and then to dart down, hit the water with their hydroplane boat and, like a flying duck, scatter the spray in a cloud.

[56]

“That’s sport,” exclaimed Phil, “but wait till we hit the mountains; hot as blazes one minute and scrapin’ the snow off the peaks the next. Listen to me: that’s the real stuff.”

“I reckon, from uncle’s letter,” said Frank a little later when the monoplane was again in the air, “that they are countin’ on us takin’ two passengers up with us—”

“Maybe three,” suggested Phil. “Both of us don’t have to go every time.”

“Well, three—and we’ll draw lots for turns,” answered Frank. “One of these, of course, will be Sam Skinner. I can kind o’ figure out what a mountain looks like, but I can’t get any notion of what a western hunter looks like. I hope he’ll wear buckskin and a bowie-knife. After we sight old Mr. Sheep I suppose we’ll take orders from Sam and I reckon he’ll tell the Englishmen when to shoot.”

“By the way,” added Frank, “what’s your idea about uncle’s guests?”

“Easy,” answered Phil. “Captain Arthur Ludington is a young officer with a little cheese-box cap; a sofa pillow stuffed in his chest; his handkerchief up his sleeve; tight pants and a[57] snappy little cane. That is, at home when he is soldierin’. Out here I reckon he’ll be in huntin’ tweeds with a Scotch cap and orange-yellow puttees—also a bad smellin’ pipe.”

“And Lord Pelton?” asked Frank.

“Oh, he’s different. He’ll wear a monocle and his face’ll look as if it had been shaved two or three times a day. It’ll be red and his hair will be white. He’ll wear tweeds, too; but he’ll have a high, soft Austrian hat with a rooster feather in it. I suppose he’ll wear yellow puttees, too; and he’ll say ‘Ah! Thanks’ every time you go near him. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d want someone to carry his gun.”

“Kind o’ sounds like ’em,” commented Frank. “Which one do you choose?”

“Sam Skinner,” answered Phil, chuckling. “Say,” he continued, “do you suppose we’ll eat with the quality?”

“Eat with ’em?” snorted Frank. “We’ll eat with ’em and so’ll Sam Skinner.”

Saturday morning a telegram announced that Mr. Mackworth would reach Grand Rapids at four P. M. The Loon was ready for dismounting[58] but the boys kept it standing that Mr. Mackworth might, if he desired, see it in flight. Men from Mr. Graham’s factory had prepared packing cases for each part.

The principal additions made to the monoplane were the warming coils, small shaded incandescent lights at all the instruments—compass, anemometer and altitude barometer, a powerful searchlight using either acetylene gas or electricity, adjustable seats on each side of the car and a light but strong rope ladder, hanging from the floor port of the car so that one on the end of it could be landed by dropping off. And, what was more important, the purchase and testing of a special supply of gasoline and lubricating oil.

The town of Grand Rapids is known for the number of its men who are sportsmen. This is probably because of the game possibilities in that region. In addition to this, many of its business men are interested in furniture and consequently in lumber. The present lumber country is in Canada and the Grand Rapids men have acquired large holdings there. A Michigan man will run up into Ontario for[59] moose with as little ceremony as if he were going to his country club over Sunday.

But, a day’s inquiry showed the boys that the only men who had shot either the Rocky Mountain goat or Bighorn sheep were out of town, and it was not until Friday evening that they were able to get a book giving them the information for which they were thirsting. When they received this book—a simple narrative with most graphic photographs of the adventures of two men in the lower Canadian Rockies—even the equipment of the Loon was temporarily forgotten.

Although the book was a large one, Phil secured permission to spend the night with Frank and, reading by turn, they finished the volume between one and two o’clock.

“It seems to me,” said Phil, “that your uncle has solved the whole problem. With the monoplane there’ll be no more perilous slides or scaling of dizzy heights. Instead of stalking Mr. Goat or Mr. Sheep for days through the snow, we can go to him like a telegram. I wonder why no one else has thought of the safe and sane way to go about this kind of hunting?”

[60]

Frank was laughing.

“Safe and sane, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I reckon the a?roplane business is spreadin’. But wait till you try to get old Sam Skinner to go after the Bighorn in your ‘safe and sane’ way. He’ll probably prefer the good old Alpine way.”

“In which case,” answered Phil, “it will be up to us to educate him.”

When Mr. Mackworth’s message arrived the following morning announcing that he would be in Grand Rapids that afternoon, the boys rapidly brought every preparation to a close. At four o’clock they and Mr. Graham were at the depot with the six-cylinder. As the Eastern train drew into the train shed Mr. Graham pressed through the gate to receive his relative. The boys remained behind and in the background. Then they made out—far down the train shed among the heaps of unloaded baggage and express matter—Mr. Graham, Mr. Mackworth, two other men and Jake Green, all busy with bags, cases and boxes.

“Say,” exclaimed Phil at once. “I wonder where the Englishmen are?”

[61]

“I reckon that’s them,” answered Frank, a little skeptically however.

“What, those—? They look like New Yorkers.”

“Maybe we didn’t guess right,” suggested Frank, rubbing his chin.

A moment later, with three or four porters in their wake and each laden with bags and boxes, Mr. Mackworth and Mr. Graham piloted the strangers through the gate. Mr. Mackworth greeted the boys jovially but with no loss of time. Then the lads were presented to the strangers. This formality over, Frank and Phil took charge of a portion of the hand luggage and the men hurried forward in the big car to the hotel.

As the car sped away, the two boys faced each other and whistled—the first chance they had had to compare notes.

“I guess we got our ideas from the funny papers,” said Phil at last.

“Or the newspapers,” added Frank. “Captain Ludington hasn’t got a cap and a cane.”

“And Lord Pelton hasn’t a monocle,” added Phil. “Say,” he went on as if he himself[62] were amazed at the idea, “we’d better not be too previous about these men—they don’t look like jokes at all.”

“But I feel like one,” said Frank as he piled the baggage into a taxicab. “Why, they don’t look at all like funny paper Englishmen; they’re just regular folks.”