Lieutenant Jack Adeler stood before the Army Board of Aviation giving a crisp short account of the Martin Priest Tetrahedral Aeroplane, how it was made, how run, how much it cost, how fast and how slow it could go, how much freight and how many passengers it could carry; and proving the fact that it was the only absolutely safe aeroplane. When he finished, he could not help glancing over at the corner where Captain Willoughby Welch sat, silent and angry. General Thorne, thanking Lieutenant Adeler for his report—made without notes—ended by following Jack Adeler’s glance over at Welch’s corner, and said, very dryly: “As for the eloquent report on the admirable aeroplanes of Messrs. P. J. Jolls and Company, made by Captain Welch, I think that can be forgotten. I wish, of course, in no way to appear to attempt to control the decision of this Board, but, in my opinion, there is no _possibility_ of this Board’s deciding to devote its funds of nearly a million to the purchase of anything but Priest tetrahedrals—unless it be, perhaps, that some small part of it be devoted to the purchase of one or two machines of one or two other models, for experiment. “If the persons not members of this Board will now be so kind as to retire, this Board will go into Executive Session. “As for you, Captain Welch, as for _you_— “But pray pardon me, gentlemen, this is no time and place to take up a matter of discipline. “Uh, before Mr. Gerald Griffin and Mr. Torrington Darby retire, will some member of this Board offer a suggestion as to a suitable manner of thanking them for—” “Oh, please don’t, General,” begged Hike, blushing, adding, under his breath, “Aw, _please_ cut it out!” As they retired from the Board room, Hike knew that the General’s long words meant they had won; had _won_! that Martin Priest would have all the money he needed behind him, and no longer be hid from the world by Captain Welch. But there were other things Captain Welch _could_ do. CHAPTER XI THE MERRY BELL-BOY Two boys lay a-bed till the disgracefully late hour of ten, in twin beds, at the New Willard Hotel, Washington. They didn’t feel like great aviators, not they; but like lazy youngsters. Poodle, having waked up first, had Hike in his power, for he had crawled on Hike’s chest and was keeping Hike powerless by pitilessly tickling him under the chin. When Hike was finally sufficiently awake to throw him off, Poodle discreetly barricaded himself behind an armchair, and, brandishing a pillow, shouted, “Come on, base caitiffs, I defy ye.... Say, Hike, let’s pretend we’re Boy Aviators, and that we’ve just come from the Pacific Coast in an aeroplane, and that a Brigadier General has been kow-towing to us.” “Gee, cut it out, Poodle, you make me dizzy.”