The strain of anxiety under which Rogers was subconsciously laboring came out suddenly in his voice. "You'll be careful, lad?" "Yes, sir, of course. I--well, I might as well say good-by now, Father." They shook hands silently, and Rogers abruptly turned away. Loto shook hands with the others. The Banker had withdrawn to the farthest corner of the enclosure, where he stood regarding the airplane fearfully. Loto walked over to him. "Good-by, boy." The Banker's voice was gruff and a trifle unsteady. "Take it easy. Don't be a reckless fool just because you're young." "I'll be all right, sir." Silently they shook hands. Loto met his mother a few paces away. He stood head and shoulders above her, and her arms went around him hungrily as he bent down to kiss her. "You'll come back to me, little son?" she whispered. "You'll come back safely?" "Yes, Mother. Of course." He met her eyes, with the terror lurking in their gray depths. "Don't look like that, _mamita_. I'll be all right." Rogers was calling to them. Loto disengaged himself gently. "Good-by, _mamita_. I'll be back tomorrow or the next day. Don't worry--it's nothing." The last preparations took no more than a moment or two. Loto climbed to the cabin and disappeared within it. "Be sure and take off the canvas roof later tonight," he called down to them. "And leave it off so I can get back." "Yes," said Rogers, "we will. And one of us, at least, will be here watching all the time you're away. Good-by, Loto." "Good-by, Father." The cabin door closed upon him. At a distance of twenty feet the men stood in a solemn group, watching. "What will it look like going?" George whispered. But no one answered him. Presently a low hum became audible. It grew in intensity, until it sounded like the droning of a thousand winged insects. The airplane rocked gently on its foundation. It was straining, trembling in every fiber. A moment passed. Then the plane began to glow, seemingly phosphorescent even in the light of the electric bulbs on the scaffolding beside it. Another moment. There was a fleeting impression that the thing was growing translucent--transparent--vapory. For one brief instant the vision and sound of it persisted--_then it was gone_! The men stood facing a silent, empty space, where a few loose boards were lying, with a discarded hammer, a saw, and a keg of nails. They had forgotten the woman. In an opposite corner of the enclosure Lylda was seated alone, crying softly and miserably to herself. * * * * * George sat alone on a little bench in the roof garden of the Scientific Club. On the ground beside him, stretched on a broad leather cushion, Rogers lay asleep. It was well after midnight. There was hardly a breath of air stirring, and only a few fleecy clouds to hide the stars. In the east, a flattened moon was rising.