Whether secret springs were put into operation by Mrs. Martin that afternoon or not, nevertheless Hal was able to join the party going to the airport early the next morning. It was a beautiful morning. It had stopped raining, and the sun, coming out strong and bright, had dried everything so thoroughly that only an occasional puddle here and there on the road showed that it had rained at all. The drive to the port was pleasant, too; the port being about a mile out of town, and at least five miles from the Martin home. When they arrived, the day’s program was in full sway. A huge tri-motored plane was loading passengers for a cross-country trip. As the three approached the port, they saw the great plane rise into the air and take off exactly on schedule. Smaller planes were flying about above the airport, and on the ground mechanics were working over several planes that needed overhauling. Captain Bill wanted to go first to the administration building, a large white brick structure, modern as any office building in appearance. He wanted to see the head of the airport, an old friend of his, and make the final arrangements for the care of his plane when it came in. As they were about to enter the building, a tall, heavy-set man passed them, on his way out. Captain Bill started, and half turned. “Well, if that didn’t look like—” he began, then turned and went on into the building. “Looked like an old flying buddy of mine. But of course, it couldn’t be. Old Hank never was that fat. Never had an ounce of fat on him. All skin and bone. But you never can tell, eh, boys?” “You’ll be getting there yourself, some day, be careful,” laughed Bob. John Headlund, delighted to see Captain Bill, jumped up from his desk, and pumped his hands up and own. “If it isn’t the Captain! Man, it’s great to see you again!” Headlund and Bill had flown together in France, and although they had kept in touch with each other a few years after they had returned to America, the press of business had kept them apart, and they had not seen each other for years. Captain Bill presented the boys. “They’re going to bring new business for you, Headlund,” said Bill. “Here are two of America’s future flyers.” The boys grinned. Headlund, after wishing them success, turned again to Bill. “Do you see any of the old boys?” he asked. “Pat McDermott’s my partner,” said Bill. “He’s flying the old boat in this afternoon sometime.” “He is! That’s great! And quite a coincidence, too. Do you know who was here—left just before you came in?” “Not Hank Brown!” shouted Bill. “By golly, I thought I recognized that face! Old Hank! What was he doing here?” “He’s got a ship down here in one of our hangars. It’s a beauty—a four passenger cabin plane, with the pilot’s seat up front—a beautiful job. Listen, Hank’s gone down to the hangar now to look it over. Maybe you can catch him down there. It’s Avenue B, the last hangar in line.”