GIVE me your hand on that!” exclaimed Harvey Hamilton, impulsively, stepping forward. Professor Morgan met him half way, for he had been completely won over. The change of mood on his part was almost incredible. The young aviator had gained a remarkable victory.  
“I have been so delayed,” said the elder, “that I’m not willing to lose another minute.”
 
“Why should you? I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing you start and wishing you the best of luck.”
 
The inventor’s delight was childish. He chuckled and boasted of the sensation he would cause when, at the end of a week, he returned from the Pacific coast, and picking up Harvey Hamilton skim away for the other side of the Atlantic.
 
“And you will go with me sure, young man?” he asked, after seating himself in his monoplane, looking wistfully down upon him.
 
“Just as sure as I secure my father’s consent,—you may depend on that.”
 
“I shan’t forget it.”
 
Seated at the front the Professor glanced sharply around. The package of supplies which he had gathered at the hotel in Dawson was secured on the seat behind him, and the controls which governed the uplifter, the searchlight, the rudders and motor were found in perfect trim. Nothing remained to be done except to call a cheery good-bye to the friend whom only a little while before he looked upon as his most execrated enemy. Harvey swung his cap and never were more hearty good wishes shouted to a voyager than he sent after the inventor, who turned his monoplane westward, as if the course was as familiar to him as that between Purvis and the points immediately surrounding it.
 
The young aviator stood watching the helicopter as it sped away, until it became only a flickering speck in the distance and then faded from sight.
 
“Poor man!” sighed Harvey, “I wonder if I shall ever see him again.”
 
He never did. Somewhere in those impressive solitudes, Professor Milo Morgan and his Dragon of the Skies met their fate. On that summer day in 1910, when he steered the astonishing product of his brain toward the setting sun, he passed into the great unknown, from which he will never[287] return. He was only one of the martyrs whose numbers must be added to before the problem of successful aviation will be solved.
 
Now that he had taken himself out of the affairs of Harvey Hamilton the latter stood for a long time, wondering, speculating, hoping, and yet fearing what the end of it all was to be. The inventor in his haste had not even paused to close the door of his workshop. Harvey gently shut it, but observing no lock, he walked to his biplane and a few minutes later was at the home of Aunt Hep, where he had dinner with her and Ann. When he had told his story of the departure of Professor Morgan he made a proposal.
 
“I want to surprise your brother, of the Washington Hotel at Dawson, by taking both of you with me. This you know will be only a call, and I can bring Ann back to finish her visit.”
 
“I never can think of it,” protested the elder lady.
 
“There’s no need of thinking of it; come on.”
 
The good woman shook her head and remained obdurate, but in the end she yielded; the two passengers took their seats, and if there was ever an astounded man it was the landlord, when the aeroplane settled to rest in front of his hotel, and springing lightly to the ground, the young aviator helped out the ladies.
 
Not only was the man amazed, but he was indignant. He declared that the two had taken their lives in their hands and done the most tomfool thing ever known. Ann’s declaration that she intended to return with her aunt by the same vehicle that had brought them thither was met by an emphatic refusal. The daughter was forbidden ever to repeat the act, and though she pleaded and whimpered, she was ordered into the house, there to stay until her “paw” allowed her to step outside. Harvey had made a mistake in counting upon the consent of the parent. So, perforce, he bade Ann good-bye and returned with her aunt, who was safely deposited at her own door.
 
His next proceeding was to sail to the camp on the shore of the lake, and rejoin brother Dick, Hunter, Wadsworth and Bohunkus Johnson, who as may be supposed were consumed with curiosity to learn what the flight of the monoplane and its owner meant. They had seen it heading to the westward and could not guess the explanation. They soon had the story from Harvey, who blushed at the compliments he received.
 
“I’ll admit that you are ten times wiser than your big brother,” said Dick; “for you did the only thing that could avert the gravest peril.”
 
“There can be no question as to that,” assented[289] Hunter; “the Professor was boiling with rage and revenge and he would have done terrible things with those torpedoes of his.”
 
“But he is out of the running now,” commented Wadsworth.
 
“I wonder,” continued Dick, “that he did not attack you the minute you came within reach.”
 
“I think he would have done so had he not seen I was armed. I took care that he should know that. You had already given him a good scare with your Winchester and he had no liking for my smaller weapon. I fell in with his views or seemed to, and he was won over. I gave him my promise that when he returned from the Pacific coast I should go with him across the Atlantic, provided father and mother consented.”
 
“A mighty safe promise to make.”
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