The man suddenly broke in, “Yes, that’s the way it goes—Signal Corps and government money, and hydroaeroplane, and here I am, with the greatest aeroplane in the world, and hardly a cent left to finish it. If I had the army behind me— Once I thought I would—I’d finish my machine—go flying across the hills—make the government back me.” “I’d be glad to introduce you to my father and Lieutenant Adeler—and, and Captain Welch, though you won’t—he isn’t so nice, quite—if you’d come up to the Monterey Presidio, some time,” stammered Hike, feeling very shy before this man, who looked as though he had lost his last friend. “I’m sure they’d be glad to help you.” The man threw back his head, shook his fist at the sky (“which didn’t seem to mind being shook at,” Poodle noticed), and roared: “I’m sure they wouldn’t. Pigs—scoundrels—thieves—impostors—all of them. If they aren’t in a conspiracy against me, it’s because I’ve kept ’em from knowing anything about me.” Hike’s eyebrows lifted. Poodle was thinking that he had looked just that way when the captain of the San Dinero Freshman team had made fun of Santa Benicia, before the game. “Sir,” said Hike, “you are speaking of my father and my friends. They are gentlemen, and they love the army. The army needs good aeroplanes. If yours is good, they would even forgive your talking the way you have!” The man glared and shook his beard. Then he saw Poodle’s happy face, with a smile hiding in his eyes. Suddenly the man laughed: “You’re both of you amusing little cusses, and hanged if I don’t believe you’re right. I apologize. I’ve been living here alone—not seeing anybody except a Portygee ranchero, that brings me my grub and tools and aeronautical journals. I guess I’ve kind of lost my party manners. Young sir, I apologize. I’ll be glad to come up to Monterey and meet the officers—and I’ll be glad to show you my machine. Fact is, if somebody with money doesn’t back me, I can’t go on. I’m broke. But I have it done now—the aeroplane itself is all done. I’ve even flown it a little. But all I’ve got for engine is an old 1909 fifty horse-power Gnome, and I need two hundred and fifty horse-power.” “Two hundred and fifty!” shrieked Hike. “Why, nobody uses over seventy or so. They tried a hundred and fifty in the French army contest, but it was too much.” “The French didn’t have my aeroplane. It’s the first really practical tetrahedral that—” “Ouch!” cried Poodle, as the hard word hit his ears. “Tet-ra-hé-dral—it’s made up of a number of little parts that look like paper wings. Each of them is made up of two triangles, the bottoms together. Like this.” With an old nail, he scratched on a rock this plan of one of the tiny “wings”: [Illustration: wings]