Harvey Hamilton was astounded. In all his imaginings he had never dreamed of this explanation of the destruction of his aeroplane. One admirable trait of the thick-witted Bohunkus Johnson was his truthfulness. His friend knew he was not trying to deceive him and what he had told could be accepted as fact.

“Why did you wait so long, Bunk, before telling me this story?”

“Wal, Harv, I didn’t want to ’bleve it myself; I didn’t at first,—dat is, I didn’t think de Perfesser was as mean as all dat, but it was him and no mistake.”

“I am sure you are right, though I can’t understand why he should do such a thing.”

“Guess he war jealous ob us.”

“Possibly so, but even then it is hard to understand.”

Harvey still refrained from giving the obvious explanation that presented itself. A man who is mentally unbalanced cannot be held accountable for his acts. It was impossible to feel the resentment toward Professor Morgan which he would have felt had the man been in his right mind. Harvey sighed.

“Only one thing remains for us to do, Bunk.”

“What is that?”

“Go home and give up our outing. Hist! some one is coming.”

Footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Whoever the person was, he came with deliberate tread along the hall, and halting in front of the door, knocked smartly. Harvey sprang to his feet and opened. The landlord stood before him.

“Here’s a telegram for you; I signed; nothing to pay.”

The wondering youth accepted the yellow envelope and tore it open. He read:

“Go to Groveton and wait. You will learn something to your advantage.”

The message was dated at his father’s place of business in New York, and as shown was signed by him.

“There is no answer,” said Harvey to the waiting landlord, who departed.

“This is beyond me,” he remarked after reading the telegram to Bohunkus, who of course was as much mystified as his companion. “Why we should go to Groveton and what is there that can be of advantage to me, is a greater puzzle than the wrecking of the aeroplane.”

“What am yo’ gwine to do, Harv?”

“Obey orders. Come on.”

The two traveled with so light baggage that they had only to fling their extra coats over their arms, the few minor articles being in their pockets, and descend the stairs. Harvey paid his bill and explained that he had been called suddenly away by the telegram from his father, but it was possible he might return. The landlord expressed his sympathy for the loss of the aeroplane and promised to do all he could to find out who the criminals were.

“Don’t bother,” said Harvey airily, “it’s lucky it didn’t happen when we were a mile or two up in the sky.”

“I understand that you will pay a reward of two hundred dollars for the detection of the scamps?”

“Yes, the offer stands,” replied Harvey, confident that the really guilty individual would never be discovered. “You have my address on your register; if you learn anything, write or telegraph me. By the way, how far is Groveton from here?”

“Twelve miles by railroad.”

“Is it much of a town?”

“Not quite as big as Chesterton.”

“What time can we leave for the place?”

The landlord glanced at the clock behind him.

“If you walk briskly you can catch the next train.”

Harvey engaged the man to take care of the remains of the aeroplane during his absence, and having been directed as to the right course, the two hurried along the single street and turned off to the station on their right. They were just in time to buy tickets and take their seats. Their course was to the westward, which was the direction of the wide valley between the mountainous ridges. Twenty minutes later they stepped out on the platform and inquired the name of the nearest hotel. As in the town they had just left, there was only one hostelry, the Rawlins Hotel, to which they made their way.

Wondering and perplexed to the last degree, Harvey entered the place of board and lodging. He explained that he did not know how long he would stay, and as it was only the middle of the forenoon, he did not register, saying he would do so at noon, in the event of his remaining that long.

The day was so pleasant—the prophecy of the weather prophet having been fulfilled to the letter—that they sat down on the long bench which ran along the front of the hotel, and waited for whatever might turn up.

“If any one is to meet me, he would come here,” reflected Harvey; “I can’t imagine who he is or what news he will bring, but I shall learn in due time.”

A half hour later, while the two were seated side by side, occasionally making a guess as to what it all meant, which guess both knew was wide of the mark, Bohunkus said:

“Seems to me dem folks out dere am looking at something.”

Excitement was fast spreading through the town. Groups stood on the corners, halted in the middle of the street and at every coign of advantage. All were peering into the sky, where some object attracted their attention. Naturally Harvey and Bohunkus rose from their seats and passed out to the front where their view was clear.

“Gee! it am anoder airyplane!” exclaimed the negro.

“You are right; they seem to be growing plentiful in this part of the world.”

“Wonder if it am de Perfesser.”

Harvey whipped his binoculars around and leveled them at the object, whose outstretched wings identified it as one of the most modern ships of the air. A brief scrutiny showed that it was not the extraordinary invention of that extraordinary man who had crossed their path more than once. It was a biplane, and though still a considerable distance away the noise of its motor was audible. It was traveling fast and heading for the little town of Groveton.

It was evident that whoever was guiding the aerial craft was an expert. Harvey saw that it carried only the operator, who described a large circle over the town at a height of nearly a thousand feet and then began descending.

“He’s gwine to land here!” exclaimed Bunk.

“And has picked out his spot,” added Harvey.

Such proved to be the fact. There was a broad, open space in front of the Rawlins House, where a large number of teams could find room, the area being such as to offer an ideal spot for the landing of an aeroplane. The aviator, who was now seen to be a youth not much if any older than Harvey himself, guided his machine with consummate skill, and lightly touched the ground within fifty feet of where our young friends and half a hundred others were standing. The aeroplane ran a few yards on its wheels, and then came to a halt. The young man stepped lightly to the ground and smilingly greeted the crowd. His next words were:

“I am looking for Harvey Hamilton and his colored companion.”

“Dat’s us,” whispered the startled Bohunkus.

Harvey stepped forward.

“That is my name; what do you wish with me?”

“I have orders to hand over this biplane to you.”

“To me!” repeated Harvey, who felt as if wonders would never cease; “why to me?”

“Your father, Mr. Gabriel Hamilton, ordered it by telegraph to be sent here this morning. I understand your machine has been wrecked.”

“It has, but how did you learn it?”

The handsome youth smiled as he offered his hand.

“I am Paul Mitchell, from Garden City; we received a telegram from your father this morning asking us to send a biplane to you at once, as yours had been knocked out of commission. We happened to have one ready and I started right off and have made pretty good time to this spot in Pennsylvania.”

“I should say you had, for it is several hundred miles from Long Island; but how in the name of the seven wonders did father come to know of my mishap?”

Young Mitchell laughed.

“He gave no explanation, but some one must have told him.”

“Who could it have been?”

“I give it up.”

“Were you asked to come to Groveton?”

“No; Chesterton was given as the place where your misfortune overtook you. Since I did not know the particulars, our folks thought it best I should meet you at some point not far from there. In replying to your father’s telegram, I stated this, which explains why he repeated the name to you.”

“But not where he got his knowledge.”

“Let that question go till you meet him, when he will make it clear. What caused the breakage of your machine?”

“Somebody chopped it up; it was done in spite.”

“Did you catch the scoundrel?”

“Catch him! no; nobody knows where he is.”

“Well, such things happen and it is all a part of the game. Suppose we go to Chesterton, and have a look at the remains; there must be some salvage which I can ship to the factory. How about the engine?”

“It is battered, but must be worth repairing.”

“If you and your friend will seat yourselves, I shall have you there in a jiffy.”

Bohunkus and Harvey climbed into the seat and adjusted themselves. Young Mitchell examined the different parts of the biplane, which was an almost exact replica of the one that had been wrecked, and then took charge of the business. At his request one of the bystanders swung the blades of the propeller around so as to start the motor, and several held on until the tugging almost drew them off their feet. Then they let go, and away sailed the second machine for Chesterton.