“We don’t want any newspaper fellow to get wind of the airship until we’ve _proved_ it,” he said. “A pretty fool I should look if they gassed about it for a column or two and then the whole thing went _pop_ like a paper balloon. And that Morocco fellow will have plenty of spies, of course; _I_ know their Eastern ways; and if he got a hint of what we’re up to, he’d be on his guard and then there’d be fizzle.” “How many passengers will the machine carry?” asked Oliphant. “Three or four light-weights, I should think,” Tom replied. “You’ll have room for me, then?” “Good heavens, no!” cried Mr. Greatorex. “Couldn’t _hear_ of it!” “But it was my idea, you know, Mr. Greatorex. I was only longing for something to fill these holidays.” “Absurd! Preposterous! You’re under age; you couldn’t go without your father’s permission; you couldn’t ask that without giving the whole thing away: and I couldn’t be responsible for you.” “Well, I tell you what it is, Mr. Greatorex. You invite me to go a cruise in your yacht. The mater’s got a notion that my lungs are weak, and was saying only the other day that a sea trip would do me good. I’d see some of the fun, then.” “_There_ you are, Mr. Oliphant! _Fun! I_ regard it as most _serious_, I assure you. Now, in _my_ young days——” “I bet you liked fun as well as any of us, Mr. Greatorex,” said Oliphant quickly. “If the truth were known, I dare say you really beat us all.” Mr. Greatorex’s eyes twinkled. “Well, now I come to think of it, I _was_ a wild young rip. So they all said. I remember—— But come now, I mustn’t tell you _that_. _Never_ do! Your father would never let you go; he doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to, and I’m doing my level best to kick him out at the next election.” “And he’ll probably be jolly glad if you succeed! Mayn’t I come, Mr. Greatorex?” “Sorry to disoblige you, Mr. Oliphant, but it would _never do_. No. In fact, I think we’ll give it up altogether. Too risky! We’ll give it _up_, Tom.” Oliphant went home in a very bad temper. “Mrs. Greatorex is a dear old thing,” said his sister. “And Mr. Greatorex is an old rotter,” retorted Raymond in a tone of disgust. Margaret Oliphant obtained very unsatisfactory answers to the questions to which this remark gave rise, and concluded that in some way Raymond had not hit it with his host. Mr. Greatorex would doubtless have been much surprised had he seen the letter which Lord Langside wrote to his son a few days later. “My dear Ray,” wrote the Prime Minister,— “Are you conspiring against me, like Absalom? Mr. Greatorex can’t do me much harm on a yacht. He won’t see a newspaper for a month! Hope you’ll enjoy yourself. “Your affectionate “Dad.”