He is only on a flying visit--no pun intended. He was to
have taken in the establishment of the Mortlake Aeroplane Company this
afternoon. You know, they are in that red, barn-like place, down the road
from our place, although Roy and I only found it out to-day."
"That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Peggy dear,"
said Jess, sinking into an old-fashioned Andrew Jackson chair by the
hearth. "Dad said at dinner last night that he had heard in New York that
a lot of their stock had been floated on Wall Street, and that that
hateful old Mr. Harding was back of it."
"They are actually selling stock?" asked Peggy, growing a bit pale.
"Yes. They have half-page advertisements in a lot of papers, I believe.
Dad said so. But why do you look so distressed, Peggy?"
"Because they must be very sure of the merits of their machines, if they
are going ahead so confidently."
"Rumor has it that their make of aeroplane is the most up-to-date and
complete yet constructed, but nobody knows the details so far. They have
kept that part of it close."
"They are making a bid for the navy contracts, at any rate," said Peggy
presently, after a pause, during which both girls winked and blinked at
the lightning and stared at the red glow of the fire.
"So you said. But you stole a march on them by kidnapping your lieutenant
in this way.
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