It happened that he passed the home of Colonel Josiah Whympers, the retired and lame traveler, in whose care Andy had been left by the will which his father had made before starting on what had proven his last air voyage.

“Guess Andy’s gone to bed,” he mused, as he saw the house wrapped in darkness, for it was now after half past nine.

Frank cast a glance back toward the big field where the shed stood in which the great little monoplane, in which they had won their victory during Old Home Week, was stored.  But he could just barely make it out, owing to the distance and the faint light of the moon coming through the clouds.

Naturally the hearts of both lads went out toward the gallant aircraft which had answered every call made upon it for speed and endurance.  It was equipped with an engine of the latest make, weighing only a third as much as the average aeroplane motor and a triumph of modern scientific discovery.  Since the Bird boys had constructed that monoplane themselves, after patterns obtained elsewhere, surely they had reason to be proud of their work and the gallant victory which had come to them.

Frank pedaled on, thinking nothing of the trip.  He was accustomed to being abroad at night with his wheel, and, indeed, had taken many a twenty-mile run by the light of his lamp alone.

What was there to fear?  Bloomsbury was a peaceful community.  Rarely did anything occur to indicate that a spirit of lawlessness was abroad.  Occasionally the police had some trouble with wandering tramps, but Chief Waller’s strong point seemed to lie in that direction, and as a rule hoboes gave Bloomsbury a wide berth.  The word had gone out that they made stragglers work when caught there, and nothing could be more horrible in the eyes of these “Wandering Willies.”

After passing Andy’s home it was not more than twelve minutes before Frank found himself approaching the quiet farmhouse where he was to leave the medicine.

The doctor had told him to ask a number of questions with regard to the little sufferer, and Frank was well enough up in medicine to know what to say when he learned how matters were going.

A big watchdog boomed his hoarse bark upon the night air, as Frank dropped off his wheel at the gate where the mail box was fastened.

“Hello, Kaiser!  Good dog!  Don’t you know me, old fellow?  Come here and be friends, Kaiser!  It’s all right!  I’m coming in!”

Frank knew how to use a wheedling voice that a dog instantly recognized as belonging to a friend.  Besides, instinct doubtless told Kaiser that any one who had evil intentions would come sneaking around and not in this bold fashion.

At any rate, the big mastiff began to wag his tail, and though he still barked, it was by way of a welcome now.  Frank fearlessly opened the gate and walked in.  The guardian of the farm came up to him, sniffing, and Frank, without hesitation, rubbed his hand over the shaggy head of Kaiser.