hovered over a village and planed down to a grassy spot not more than a stones throw from the marshy shoreline.
"All out for Knott's Island," sang out the pilot as he alighted under the staring eyes of a group of fishermen. "Boy, you're a seasoned birdman," he added patting the exultant lad on the shoulder. "You're wearing your wings; you're getting the bird look in your eyes. But, see here, keep off the swell-head and, while I chase off for Smith, keep a close watch on this plane and don't let any of those oyster rubes get their whiskers tangled in my propeller. I'll bring Nash back with me and turn you over to him to keep till I get back. Hell stuff you with prunes and persimmons. He has a grocery store yonder."
Hardy strode off to the shop, a few rods up the shore.
"Well, I'll be switched! Hello, sky pilot," hailed the grocer, bluff and hearty, red-headed and red-cheeked, in shirt sleeves and corduroy breeches spotted with marks of flour and other reminders of his trade. "Saw you coming with a tail to your kite. Looks more like chine than
