By eight-thirty Sunday morning they were over New York City. The ship was all excitement. The passengers looked down with awe at the majestic city, at its soaring towers and deep canyons, at its embracing rivers running to the sea, where the ships of all the world come laden to the wharves. The sun blazed on gilded domes and delicate spires, Liberty lifted her steadfast torch, and the Moonbeam turned her proud form toward Lakehurst. In the control room the operator met Red with a radiogram. “From the Padre, I suppose. Do you know, he never answered that telegram I sent him from Los Angeles?” Red commented, opening the message. He read the words over and over, as though disbelieving his eyes. “Well,” he said at last, “the thing that just couldn’t happen has happened. Read it!” David took the paper. It read: “Insist on seeing you at Lakehurst stop most important stop grandfather’s farm has let loose with two gushers best grade oil stop worth millions.” “Why, that’s immense!” cried David. “Yes, it’s the grand news,” said Red. “That farm! It wouldn’t grow anything but tarantulas and scorpions and prairie dogs. Two gushers! Now mother, God bless her, can have all her heart desires, and the Padre can build himself a whole row of hospitals for his poor. Ain’t it grand, David? I’m askin’ you!” “It’s the finest thing I ever heard. But what will you do?” “Stick to me engines,” said Red, “forever and ever. And pray that Old Foolish here will now stop tantalizin’ me about royalties.” As they walked back through the salon, they found the radio man talking to the youngest reporter, who stepped up. “What’s this, Mr. Ryan? I guess you have a story for me, haven’t you?” “Not any,” said Ryan. “Oh, sure you have—that message.” Red laughed. “Well, it’s luck I came along, if it’s this you mean.” He pulled the paper from his pocket. “From my brother,” he explained. “He uses a code. Decoded, it means that he wants me to go with him in New York to buy some B. V. D’s, and let’s see—Oh, some socks! And he wants ’em to look like a million dollars. It is a good code. You’d never guess it, would you?” Unbelief was stamped on the two faces. “Where is your home, Mr. Ryan?” asked the reporter. Red grinned at the trap. “Ayre,” he said. “But when you are not in the air,” persisted the reporter. Red sauntered toward the passage. “I’m never anywhere else,” he said over his shoulder. Mr. Hammond came in from the control room. “Almost there!” he said. “I have almost worn that indicator out, looking at it. But I know we have made the grade.” “We all congratulate you, Mr. Hammond,” said Doctor Trigg. “We do indeed,” added Doctor Sims. “I have already been approached by Parker’s Magazine for an article on this journey,” said Doctor Trigg. “I should like you to peruse the manuscript before I send it to them. I want to publish it with your personal approval.”